Equestria's Secret Service

by EdwardJ

XIII - The Cause

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Chapter Thirteen

"'You see these things I can do for you?' the spirit sang. 'Not a single wish of yours would go unfulfilled.'
Shadowfoot gazed over the limpid pool, over the images that played out on its surface. The were reflections of deep within his heart of hearts, his most mighty desires and wishes. The sight pulled at him, and he took a step forward without realizing it. 'And you can do this?' he asked, a tear forming in his eye.
'If you wish it, it is already done.' Wisps of smoke began rising from the pool; the bent and swayed and joined together on the other side, slowly darkening, slowly becoming more real.
Shadowfoot smiled his half smile. 'All these things are wondrous,' he said to the spirit. 'My wildest dreams and more.' He took one last look at the smoke, at his dreams becoming real and alive. 'But I am a servant of Equestria, and you shall never have me.'"

~Excerpt from 'Legends of the Service'
Tale of Shadowfoot's Temptation
Children's fantasy book

Golden Lock sat behind his desk, his hooves pressed together under his chin. On his desk was a letter—a headache on paper, conflicting heavily with recent reports. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"It has been verified as his writing," Puzzle supplied, shifting uneasily. The violet-coloured unicorn councilmare had brought him the letter

"Of course it has," Lock said. He opened one eye and looked at her. "You realize how much more difficult that makes this, yes?" She was silent a moment, then simply nodded. "And you say Dew brought this to you?"

"To Intelligence, yes. In the afternoon, after receiving it in the morning."

"Who gave it to her?"

"She found it in her room. According to Dusk and Spell Swirl, it was placed there by one of Luna's Nightguards. Apparently they used the tunnels Gale's team found."

Lock didn't like the implication that gave. If Luna was working with Autumn, then he'd have to put an extra watch on her and her doings. On the other hoof, it might just be the one Nightguard. Leaving that thought for later, he leaned back and looked Puzzle in the eye. "What do you make of it?"

Puzzle frowned. "If Luna is on his side, then it makes sense that this is a lure, trying to drag us away from Autumn. On the other hoof, it may not have been Autumn himself, but an ally of his who was at Manorial's commemorative yesterday, and Autumn is honest in this letter." She pursed her lips and sighed. "I don't like that explanation, though. Dew has met with Luna several times, albeit under the explanation that Luna was digging for information. This suggests that's a lie, though, so if she truly believed Autumn was a traitor, then why continually meet with one of his allies? She certainly hasn't given us any information. Until this, anyway."

"You believe this is a lure, then?"

"Yes, though whether to a goose chase or a trap I don't know. Autumn might very well be at the end of this, setting up to strike should we follow, leaving other allies to dig at us while we're chasing him. If so, we might be able to close the trap on him, instead."

"You think it likely that he has allies? Outside the palace?" Lock asked, frowning.

"I think it's possible," she responded. "Setting aside the fact that Cotton didn't get positive ID on the pony, this would be the first time anyone spotted Autumn while hiding. Doesn't really sound like him, does it?"

He had to admit: she was right, and the thought tasted like bile. He slid the letter across his desk. "Take this to Gale—tell him what you think. Autumn is his hunt, so I'll leave it to him. In the meanwhile, make it look as though we plan to follow it, but make no move—it's Gale's game. Additionally, if Autumn does have allies, then he's dragging others into this and he's willing to expose the Service. We'll need to double our efforts, and prepare for serious damage control."

"Of course, sir. Do you want us to notify the Princess?"

He shook his head. "No. If we can keep this below her permissiary level, we will, and I don't want to risk her telling her sister."

Puzzle nodded. "And Keystone?"

"She doesn't need to know. She needs to rest and recover. If it becomes too big to handle quietly I'll inform her."

That earned a chuckle from Puzzle. "For a pony who needs rest, she sure is being active."

Golden Lock sighed. "She came into work today?"

A nod. "She also wants to see you when you have time. I told her I'd pass on the message."

He rubbed his temples. "Why am I always the last one to hear about these things?"

"Probably because you assume she's going to behave, and then never follow up with making sure. Don't know why, really—she's always pushed the rules around."

Lock gave a tired groan; Keystone was being far too difficult. May as well see what she wants. "You're dismissed. Gather the council—closed meeting. I'll address them in two hours."

"We'll be ready," Puzzle said. She bowed and left the room, taking the letter with her. He stared at the empty space it left for a few seconds before getting up and following her out the door.

A minute later, he entered the Commissar's office and frowned. "You should be resting," he said.

"Too much work to do," Keystone responded. She spoke through gravel. "Can't let all this pile up, else it'll never go away."

He sighed and lit his horn. "That's what I'm here for. You shouldn't have to—"

Bam! Her hoof slammed down on the stack of papers he'd tried to levitate away from her. "You," she wheezed, "are still on probation, in spite of what the council seems to think. I can handle this."

"You could handle this, before your health started failing," he insisted. "I don't want you to make your condition worse by ignoring it. Nopony does."

"What condition?" she scoffed. "You know what the doctors tell me? Nothing. In all the years of their practice, they can't tell me anything. What am I supposed to think besides 'nothing's wrong'?"

"Almost anything else." He shook his head. "You're no longer the young pony you once were; you can't just ignore these things anymore."

The glare she gave him could have made the Dragon Kings stay in their caves, pretending to sleep. "You calling me 'old'?"

"It happens to all of us," he said placidly, smiling. "It only gets worse if we fight it. I worry for you, Keystone—the whole Service does."

"Hmph." She pulled the papers close to herself again. "Tell them I'm fine." She pulled her blanket tightly around her as she examined the reports before her. "What're you here for?"

"You asked me to come by."

A pause. "Right, right. You were to keep me posted on your hunt for the traitor. Do you remember that? Then why am I hearing news on him from every other source?"

"You've been sick; I didn't want to disturb you."

"You had orders. Do I need to remind you how to follow those?"

His eyes closed as he sighed. "No, Commissar."

"Then follow them."

A pause. "We haven't found him."

When he said nothing more, Keystone scoffed. "That's it?"

"The only thing of note."

"You plaster my city with wanted posters, tell the guards to keep looking even though we've told them it's a prank, numerous interviews have been conducted on civilians, the palace security has increased with no explanation given, you've had a pony protest the posters, not to mention the number of assignments you've diverted for this case, and you're telling me there's nothing of note?"

Lock was unbowed. "Correct. Fancy Pants is doing an admirable job of keeping the nobles believing in the prank and disinterested in the palace security, and the rest of the city will follow their example, as always. We are still operating under the guise of catching the pranksters, and there have been no incidents where the story is questioned. Our protester went quiet on her own—she's being watched in case she starts again, but she's shown no signs so far. In point of fact, she's been avoiding conversation on the subject. As for the diverted cases, they are still being monitored, and none have yet shown any signs of becoming problematic."

"Like your take on Autumn's dog report?" Locks eyes narrowed, but Keystone did seem to notice. "I'm having a hard time trusting your judgement on what may or may not constitute a problem."

Lock spoke slowly, but casually. "I am not the one making the calls on these, Keystone. All indications are brought before the council as a whole, and they give their voice to the matter. It is their decision to divert, not mine, in compliance with my probation."

"Yes, and I've looked over some of those." She pushed a small stack of paper toward him. "These stink of a cover-up in the Eyrie. Perhaps I've been away from the council too long, and they're starting to take after you. Do I have to take over again?" She coughed.

Golden Lock paused. "No, Commissar."

"Then you will look over these again, won't you?" Her voice was strained.

"Yes, Commissar."

"Good." She pulled two medicinal pills from under her blanket, and washed them down with a gulp of water. "I expect an update by the end of today," she said, setting her glass down and returning to the pile at her side. "You're dismissed."

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

The Shaman smiled. Over the past few days the ponies had left him alone, and with little else to do he had focused more on the pony runes. He had learned much. The discovery that carving runes into solid objects amplified their mana-shaping properties to the point of actual spell-strength had caused much excitement—the dungeon walls bore scars of him carving runes and wiping them away. But these—the strange runes the mare had lied about— these were something else altogether.

They had strange shapes, and no matter what he tried he couldn't feel what they did. It had occurred to him that, perhaps, the mare had given him some meaningless shapes to toy with, yet there was a small part of him that insisted that they were something greater. So he had tried, and kept trying, and nothing had come of it until, just before he gave up entirely, he set the new runes in with others.

The effect had been magnificent.

He understood now; if the other runes were symbols of patterns and spells, then these were the caster and staff. With these he could make permanent spells that constantly glowed in reverence to him. With these he could set about making a new edict among the dogs. Never before had the message been so clear: the Divine Master was with him—his cause was holy and just. The Shaman had smiled.

The Shaman created a spell—a simple cantrip to quiet the turmoil of mana in the pony city. A barrier that allowed his battered mind a moment's rest. He carved the circle over one of his earlier practices and, for the first time in weeks, everything was still. At first it had felt alien, unnatural, but soon enough he relaxed into it and drifted off into sleep, dreaming of the Master's praise.

He was awoken by the soft tap of a pony's hoof on granite. His eyes snapped open to see the mare examining his circle. She saw him wake and took a reflexive step back, but then her face hardened and she planted her hoof down firmly. "What've you been doing down here, dog?"

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, taking his time to stretch his arms and punctuating it with a yawn. It had been the first good night's sleep he'd gotten since he arrived and he finally felt relaxed; he wasn't going to waste it by fighting a pointless battle with the mare. He smiled at her through half-lidded eyes. "Shaman left here alone for days. Beginning to wonder if ponies forgotten him. Perhaps decide to bury to keep little secret. But Shaman remember pony promise, and so Shaman wait. And Shaman sleep."

She glared at him and tapped his circle. "What's this?"

He ran his paw over a few of the runes. The mare was smarter than the stallion who occasionally bothered him; all the more reason to not drop his fool's act. "Is pretty, yes?" he said. "Not much pretty down here in pony cells. Wanted to change."

If her glare changed, in only got harder. After a moment she shifted her gaze to examine the circle itself. He watched her eyes flit among the runes, trying to read his spell—he wasn't sure he liked that. He caught her scent as he leaned in and interrupted. "You like?" She snapped her attention to him at the sound of his voice. He leaned in closer. "Is pretty, yes? Is quiet, yes?"

She took a step back, wrinkling her nose. "It's fine," she said, looking around. "Is this all you've done?"

"What else is there for Shaman? Given free roam of dungeon, yes, but still locked in. Cannot see sun, or family. All left is to draw pretties, and so Shaman does."

She glanced around, looking at all the scars across the walls that had been old spells written out and performed. "We can get you pictures if you want, but stop blasting these walls. These dungeons are old and we can't risk them collapsing."

The Shaman laughed. "Old walls, strong walls—too strong for Shaman to break. Shaman know; Shaman take care." He leaned forward on his staff. "But pony not come to talk about walls, did he?"

"She," the pony corrected acidly.

"My mistake," he replied, smiling. "Pony forgive?"

Her brow furrowed, but otherwise she gave no answer. Instead, she changed the subject. "I've managed to fix your spell. Should be more stable now, but you're still going to need a foal for it to work. Such a thing isn't easy to come by."

The Shaman's smile widened. "Pony promised to give Shaman what he needs. Shaman has no worry that foal will come." The mare cringed slightly, but said nothing. He leaned closer. "You teach Shaman now, yes?"

She hesitated a moment, then lit her horn. "Can you 'hear' this?"

The Shaman glanced down at his circle—he had to admit, it was so strange to see magic being cast yet feel none of it. This must be how they go through life, he thought. Like living numb. He might have pitied them if he thought them worth the effort. Still, he had to pretend like there was nothing wrong. Fortunately, there was an excuse. "Pony forget, I think—cannot hear in city. If Shaman listen, then Shaman leave city, else you teach to Shaman as you teach to ponies."

Her horn extinguished. "Of course," she said. "My mistake." She paused a moment, her hoof clicking against the floor, before a series of runes appeared around her.

She put on a brave facade while she taught. The Shaman listened and learned, but all the while he could smell it. It was the same scent she gave when she'd accidentally awoken him and when she'd examined his circle—the acrid scent of fear.

The Shaman smiled.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Grey Gale stepped into his home and noted the extra coat on the rack—the sound of voices from further inside confirmed his guest. He avoided the living room, heading to the kitchen for a drink while listening to the conversation.

"Madam, please!" The stallion's voice quavered.

"Mmmm, since you asked so nicely..." Starwind's voice purred. There followed a yelp and the thump of something hitting the floor.

Gale rubbed his temple—she was at it again. It had been a forlorn hope, he reflected, that she'd treat this situation as a professional. He grabbed a glass of water and entered the room.

"Ah! Grey Gale!" Frederic struggled to stand while Starwind hung from his neck. "S-so glad you made it!" His attempt failed, and he collapsed back onto the floor.

Starwind put on a pout. "Gale, you're interrupting. Frederic and I were just getting to know each other." She took a moment to tease his ear with her tongue, and he squirmed and gave intelligible noises in response. "See?" she said, a devilish smile on her lips. "He's ticklish."

"Fascinating," Gale replied, his voice completely flat. Frederic was glowing several shades of red and was having trouble forming complete words. "Starwind, let him go. He won't be able to help us like that."

She pulled him closer. "Maybe he needs learn how to handle a mare. It'd do him good at all those parties he attends. Oh, and the doors it'd open with his fellow performers... Beauty Brass, Symphony, Octavia..." The last she whispered into his ear, causing him to swallow his tongue and cough violently.

Gale glared at her. "Now is the time to stop."

She returned with an icy glare of her own, but it quickly faded to indifference. "Fine," she said, untangling herself and standing. "You boys have your fun, then. I'll just see about supper." Without a backward glance, she trot into the kitchen.

Frederic managed to stand on shaky legs, supporting himself long enough to sit on the couch. After taking a few breaths to calm himself—and return to his usual shade of brown—he scowled at Gale. "You're late."

"Unforeseen circumstances," Gale replied.

"You always say that."

"It is always true."

"Really? I'm starting to think that you don't care for schedule." He shifted his glare to the kitchen. "Or my dignity."

"Your belief isn't required to make the truth honest. If it makes you feel better, however, I take no pleasure in your discomfort." He sipped his water. "You are more useful when you're capable."

Frederic scoffed. "How humorous. Glad that I am merely useful to you."

"You are my friend and I enjoy your company," Gale said placidly, "but that doesn't mean you aren't useful. You have contacts and information, and such is the reason for your visit today. If being useful is abhorrent to you, then you could have turned down my request."

Frederic sighed, his hoof reaching toward the table—he caught himself and chuckled. "There's no tea," he said.

"Surely you haven't forgotten how to make your own?"

Frederic glanced up, his eyes narrowed. "Making your guest do chores? What kind of host are you?"

Gale put on a smile. "An efficient one." They stayed like that for a moment, staring each other down, before a grin broke over Frederic's face and he laughed. "Starwind," Gale called. "Some tea for our guest."

Frederic's smile faded the moment Starwind trot back in, balancing a tea tray on her splayed wing. "I don't know why you boys can't make this yourself," she said, sliding the tray onto the table. She then turned a sultry smile to Frederic and whispered, "Aren't you going to ask me for some sugar?" She leaned in suddenly and licked his nose, causing him to fall backward off the couch.

"Starwind," Gale warned. She turned her smile to him, then sashayed back to the kitchen. Looking over her shoulder, she gave a final wink to Frederic and licked her lips before disappearing from view.

Frederic fought against his new red glow as he shook his head, regaining his seat. "How do you live with her?"

"One gets used to her after a time," he replied. "If it helps, she only does it for the reaction—she will not go, hm, 'all the way.'"

"So she's doing it simply to discomfort me, then?" Frederic shook his head. "No, it doesn't help."

"As you wish," he responded, sipping his water. "Now that we have our drinks, shall we get down to business?"

"Yes, well, I suppose we must," Frederic answered, grasping a teacup and taking a sip. "Earth pony violinists, was it?" Gale nodded. "I looked around, made a few inquiries—nothing new came up."

Gale paused. "Nothing? Are you certain?"

"Just as certain as when you first asked. No new players, and no current players performing more often or disappearing. Well, not outside expectations, anyway."

"'Expectations?'"

Frederic nodded, but Gale's expression didn't change. He sighed. "Look, musical performance isn't exactly a steady job, yes? So there are expected variations to the number of times a pony performs."

"And—"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, Gale; I'm not going to pretend to understand why you want this information, but if you want my help, the least you could do is believe me."

Grey Gale frowned. The information wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but then, he wasn't exactly hunting easy prey. Still, though, all he'd found so far had been dead ends, and he was starting to get annoyed. He tried a desperate gambit. "What about unicorns? Any of them?"

Frederic swallowed as he set his teacup down. "Unicorns now?"

Gale cocked an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

A light chuckle. "Not at all. You were just so insistent on just earth ponies last time, I'm surprized you're changing your mind. Even so, I'll have to disappoint; nothing strange on that front either."

"You're certain?" He was grasping for threads flying away.

"Quite, old friend. There really hasn't been much changing in Canterlot music."

Gale almost cursed aloud. He was unnecessarily angry and he knew it, so he took a deep breath to calm himself. Nothing but dead ends. As much as the thought irritated him, there was a spark of excitement beneath it—a hunger for the good hunt. All he needed now was a new lead, some new trail to follow.

"Now, if you're willing to accept a pegasus, I might have something for you."

Gale stopped. He'd been about to send Frederic home, but this was unexpected. "A pegasus?" he repeated.

Frederic shrugged. "You seemed a little more open to other races, so I thought I'd mention it. If it isn't something you care for..." He sipped his tea, waiting.

A pegasus? He paused, rubbing his chin. He had studied most—if not all—of the rumours and reports surrounding Autumn, but none of them suggested him having wings. The idea that this new violinist might be his prey was ridiculous, and yet... it's easy to hide when no-one's looking for the right thing. A pegasus, hm? "What can you tell me about him?"

Frederic gave him a small smirk with raised eyebrows. "Opening up, are we? Well, then: he's recently in from Cloudsdale, trying to start afresh in Canterlot. He isn't bad, but has much room to improve. Staying with Octavia for the meanwhile, so if you try to book him you might get her as well, if only so he can play. Might be a worthwhile venture." He shrugged and returned his attention to his tea.

With Octavia? His mind began churning over the possible meanings and connections, but It was clear that Frederic wasn't going to give more information without incentive. "I might try that. What do you think of him?"

Frederic's face darkened slightly. "I think he's a dilettante. At his age he should be much more accomplished—he sounds like he's treating his talent as a hobby! And yet, somehow, he managed to make a living in Cloudsdale. Have they forgotten what music is up there? Letting half-cooked talents get—" He cut himself off, slowly taking a deep breath. "Sorry about that, Gale; it's just... he's supposed to be accomplished enough to have a living, yet I'd never heard of the colt. I've asked my Cloudsdale contacts, and they don't know anything either." He sighed and sipped his tea. "How can I care for our musical future if I start missing these ponies?"

Gale's wings were quivering, and he was struggling to maintain his neutral composure. A violinist that he doesn't know, that he can't find. It almost seemed too good to be true—so many fruitless trails and suddenly one just lands on his back. He had to remind himself that this laid claim to a pegasus Autumn, and should therefore be treated with suspicion, but the hunter in him was salivating.

The rest of the evening past by in something of a haze—his focus was elsewhere. He maintained enough presence of mind to keep good company, but all around he didn't care for it anymore. The hour passed slowly.

"...new piece of gryphon tech—a box that makes some facsimile of music. An interesting blend of pitches and whines, depending on how you interact with it. They call it a 'Theremin,' or something."

"Planning on getting one?" Gale asked.

Frederic scoffed. "As entertaining as it may be, the sound of it can get grating in the best of times. Undoubtedly, it will get some use in those noise-ridden nightclubs, but real music isn't something that those places feature often.

"But," Frederic continued, standing, "it is that time, and I must attend elsewhere. As always, Gale, it has been a pleasure. Pity there wasn't time to see your newest paintings."

"Perhaps next time," Gale replied, standing and escorting his guest to the door, "though I'm sure they're just as bad as the last few."

"Nonsense. Considering it as your hobby you do a remarkable job, and I truly look forward to seeing what you've done."

Gale smiled and shook his head. "Very well. Next time, then."

"Next time," Frederic agreed, and closed the door after himself.

"Well, I still think they look like a foal discovered crayons," Starwind provided.

Gale didn't respond. He was busy thinking about an unknown pegasus and the hunt of his life. Frederic was gone, and without that distraction his mind began to go jittery with excitement. His wings ached—he'd been holding them to his sides so Frederic wouldn't see them shaking. He took a deep breath and stretched them out, only to find Starwind at his side—she smirked at his wing pressing into her. "Excited, are we?"

"I know you were listening."

"And what of it?" She hopped up, placing her forelegs on his back and allowing his wing to stretch out. "He talked an awful lot on boring things, and you're going to beat yourself up over not having found Autumn yet."

Even at full splay, his wings quivered. He stretched them until his muscles strained before tucking them back to his side. "We may have."

"You think so?" She leaned over to whisper in his far ear. "You think he might be a pegasus? Like you?"

"There is evidence enough to make the claim worth looking into."

"You mean Octavia?" She took a moment to nibble on his ear. "A thin thread, her just being there. Are you sure you're not just chasing after her? What does she have that I don't?"

Gale was focused—he didn't even feel her ministrations. "A violinist that nopony knows anything about, who isn't good enough to have the talent."

"Staaars, you're so boring when you're like this." She rolled off his back and fell onto the floor behind him, kicking softly at the ceiling. She stayed that way a moment, silent. "Cotton isn't even sure it was him, you know."

"Who else could it have been?" he whispered—it was his gut feeling, his conviction. The thought stoked his fires and suddenly the room was stifling. "I'm going to step out," he said, heading for the window. "I may miss supper."

"I haven't ordered anything yet," she replied, coming to her hooves. "We can eat while we're out."

He turned his head, raising his eyebrow at her knowing smirk. "You're not going to that mare's house," she told him. "It's far too late for a stranger to drop by, and you wouldn't want to spook our pony. So you—" she stepped in front of him and spread her wings "—are flying with me."

Gale let out a slow, resigned breath—sometimes, there was just no arguing with her.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

"You okay?" Balloons asked. "You seem distracted."

"Hm?" Celina looked up into his concerned face. She put on a smile. "I'm fine, Balloons, thanks. Just thinking, is all."

"About what?"

About the Shaman and his circle, she thought. About how he placed the circle runes correctly without knowing what they were. She kept smiling as she shook her head. "Nothing important," she lied. "You shouldn't worry yourself. What about you, though? You've been rather quiet."

He raised an eyebrow. "I've been talking to you for the past several minutes."

Celina blushed. "Oh... sorry."

"It's no problem," he said, "just... you're very distracted. What is it?"

Again, she shook her head. "Nothing, really. Just... a new spell I'm working on. Or trying to, anyway."

"Ah," he said. "Could I help, maybe?"

"Probably not. A lot of the theory behind it is... complex, you know?" She shook her head and placed a hoof over his shoulder. "Look, I appreciate that you wanna help, but you don't really have the talent in theory. Sorry for being distracted; I'll put it away for now."

He looked dejected. "I could at least try."

She chuckled. "Another one, perhaps—one that doesn't give me headaches just thinking about it." His expression didn't change, so she kissed him just below his horn. "Okay?" A blush came to his cheeks as he nodded. "So, what did I miss while I was out?"

"I was just..." He glanced at her. "You know Astral Chance? Grumpy old unicorn, royal blue coat with flecks of yellow? He came up to me the other day and started making small talk, and... I think he might want 'something big' to happen too, you know? And it got me thinking: there's got to be others out there beyond us, right?"

Quite a few, she thought, but she only nodded. She knew Astral had spoken with Balloons, to see if he was ready for the Cause—Astral believed he was. Today, Celina was to introduce him, but for now she stayed quiet and listened.

"Well, what if we all got together? I mean, do you think that, if enough of us shared the thought, that Princess Celestia might listen? That maybe she'd let us and the truth out of the shadows?"

Celina shook her head. "It's a long shot, I think."

"Better to try, don't you think, than to wait for 'something big' to happen?"

"Of course it is," she agreed, "but I still think it's a long shot. And what if she says 'no'? Would you give up?"

"No," he said, "but I'd feel better for asking, at least." He lifted his brow. "You sure we can't try?"

She smiled and tapped his horn. "Maybe later, if it means that much to you. But you'd need to know a few more ponies than just myself and the codger."

He chuckled, but it was a humourless laugh. "Yeah, I suppose. Guess it's just a fantasy anyway." He shook his head, looking to the side as though watching a dream die.

Celina considered a moment; he certainly looked invested in the idea—perhaps now was a good time. "You know..." She looked away from him, finding a very interesting spot on the ceiling. "...Maybe we could meet a few others."

"Maybe," he agreed, "but I don't think they'd be easy to find."

"Hm." She paused a moment—it had to be about that time. She smiled as she grabbed his leg. "Hey, come with me!"

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace new and exciting! A place to open new doors!" She let go of his leg and galloped down the hall, a wide smile plastered across her muzzle. He called after her to wait, but she slowed only slightly—all the easier to take the corners. She led him, laughing, down twisted corridors and deeper passageways of the palace, finally stopping inside the deep recesses of the mountain. Panting, he caught up to her and offered a bewildered smile.

"What was that all about?" he wheezed. She shrugged in response, leaning against the wall as she caught her breath. They stayed that way for a while, simply enjoying each other's company as they learned to breathe again. Finally, she planted a kiss on his forehead and gestured to the rocky, rough-hewn hallway around them.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked.

He looked around. "Uh..."

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," she chuckled. "These are old tunnels, long-forgotten. I think only the princesses still know about these, but they don't come down here anymore, so they're a perfect place to go for some privacy."

She could see the hint of a blush forming on Balloons's cheeks. "Ah, so..."

She smiled and began leading him down the passage, lighting her horn to combat the darkness ahead of them. "You are right," she said. "About others being hard to find, that is. I mean, how do you think a valiant patriot of the Service might react if you told them that a war—of all things—might be a good thing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know—maybe they'd laugh, or try to get me into some kind of therapy or something."

She glanced at him sidelong, smirking. "Or something," she agreed. "Many would consider you, or us, to be traitors," she continued, looking forward again, "but why? Because we see what an open war would cause? Everyone thinks they already know, but they only see part of it. Blowing open the secrets means that ponies stop walking blithely into danger; that Equestrians' memories are no longer wiped when they see too much; that the Service stops wasting lives meddling in politics that don't affect Equestria's throne."

"We do?" Balloons asked. "That... can't be right."

Celina chuckled. "You haven't noticed? Perhaps you haven't yet been sent on a mission to stop a brewing war between, say, Gryphalia and the Dragon Kings?"

Balloons's head tilted. "Those? But... isn't that—"

"So they say, sure," she interrupted, "but imagine: if those places had already seen Equestria's power, would we need to worry? They'd know better than to let their war spill over. Aren't we, then, just wasting lives stopping things that would never affect us?" She stopped walking and faced him. "And how much of that is our own fault? Some missions aren't for break-up—they're firestarting. Guiding other nation's anger and war-like nature toward our own goals, and then breaking it all up before it gets out of hand. How many lives are lost in pointless cycles like that? Wouldn't we be better off without these secrets?"

Balloons was silent. "I don't know," he finally said.

She smiled ruefully. "I know. They're not easy questions, are they? But others, those still loyal to the blindfold, all they'd hear you say is 'I want to start a war.'"

"I don't." His voice was barbed.

"I know that, yes; none of us want to start one, but tell me, Balloons: what would you do if you saw war on the horizon?"

"Well, I'd..." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he pursed his lips. "I... I'm not sure anymore," he finally said. "I suppose if it looked like it'd be a small one I might... but, no, that'd be betraying the princess and Equestria." He looked to her, his eyes almost pleading. "Wouldn't it?"

Celina gave him a sympathetic smile; she knew exactly what he was thinking. "If it's for the good of Equestria, how can it be a betrayal? If we'd rise stronger, isn't it a service?" Her eyes then fell. "But the princess?" She stared at the floor, silent. "Yes," she finally said. "It would go against everything she's taught us, everything she's ordered of us. No matter how you look at it, it's a betrayal to her." She looked at him again, and this time it was her eyes that were pleading. "But is it necessary? If she's so blinded by her ideal that she can't see all the harm it causes, then shouldn't we try to act in the best interests of Equestria, even if it goes against what she believes is right?"

"I... I don't know."

She said nothing, letting the silence stretch for a time. Finally, she nodded. "I know. " She started walking again, further down the passage. "But that's why it's important that we seek each other out—we can come to the answers together."

It took her a moment to realize he wasn't following. "Celina... where are you taking me?"

Silence. "I think you know."

"Why all the games?"

She shook her head, chuckling. "You know the answer to that, too. I couldn't simply just invite you in without knowing if you were one of us."

"But I'm not, am I? I never thought about any of this until you brought it up! Sweet Celestia, has all this just been... some kind of sick brainwashing?"

"No!" Her expression was sincere, hurt. "Never! Honest, Balloons, I'd never do that to you, or anypony. If you were really faithful to Celestia's blindness, there's nothing I could have done to sway you; I just gave voice to doubts you already had, even if you never realized them." She took a step toward him, on the verge of tears. "Please, Balloons... I'm telling you the honest truth."

His expression spoke of conflict, of indecision and uncertainty; he said nothing. Celina watched as he looked away from her, as though he might find the answers written on the walls, and he let out an irritated whicker. She knew that if she approached him now he'd run, taking it as evidence that she had manipulated him, but she couldn't risk him coming to that decision on his own. She hung her head, and a few tears fell to the floor. "I'm sorry, Balloons," she said. "I didn't..."

"Celina," he called as she turned away—she made a point not to hear him. "Celina!" This time she stopped and looked to see him cantering up to her, his face drooping with guilt. "I... I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to accuse you of... you know." He nuzzled her cheek. "It's just a lot to think about and... I'm sorry."

She wiped her eyes. "No, it's okay—I understand. If... if you don't want to do this now we could—"

He shook his head. "It's fine—I'll do it. I mean, I came this far, right?"

"You don't need to," she assured. "I don't want you to feel forced into this."

He smiled, then kissed her. The act took Celina by surprize—he'd never been that forward before. As the initial shock wore off and she found herself enjoying it, he broke away. "I'm going of my own choice, Celina; I want to go."

Celina pulled him into a warm embrace. "I'm glad," she whispered, then broke away, wiped her eyes free of tears, and continued down the passage, smiling.

"So, um..." Balloons began, following. "How many are there?"

"You'll see."

They walked in silence after that, down the twisted passageways of the forgotten. Around them the walls began to show more signs of age and neglect—cobwebs and debris, dusty sconces and wall lamps long since dry. After several minutes, they came to a small stone door that looked almost like the wall around it. Standing beside the door was Astral Chance.

"You made it," he greeted. "Good."

"Hello to you, too," Celina responded. "We're not late, are we?"

Chance shook his head. "Early, actually. Right this way." He opened the door and vanished inside.

"'Early'?" Balloons asked. "For what?"

Celina smiled as she took the lead again. "For you—they've been expecting you." The look on his face made her chuckle. "What's wrong? You thought I'd just surprize them with you? We need to be careful with who we bring in, or everything can crumble. They've known about you for a while now."

He said nothing to that, simply bowing his head and following her through the door. The path here was steep, so much so that steps had been carved into the floor. It took them deeper into the mountain, deeper into the earth. Celina didn't know how far down it went, but she never tried to think about it too hard; the thought of the entire mountain above her usually felt crushing.

The path ended, and they stepped out into a huge cavern lit by glowing crystals. Ponies of all kinds and colours filled the space, holding quiet conversations with their neighbours. Balloons looked awestruck. "How... It looks like half the Service is here!"

"Hm... not quite so many," she said. "I don't know exact numbers, but..."

"But this is incredible! With this many ponies, surely Celestia would listen! We wouldn't need a war to start, she could just change things!"

Several ponies nearby had fallen silent, amused smirks across their muzzles, as they regarded Balloons and his excited outburst. Celina tried to ignore them as she shook her head sadly. "We've tried that, Balloons; Celestia adamantly refused us. I don't think I've ever seen her so angry."

His face fell, and the other ponies took a moment to snicker at his expense; Celina shot them a glare and they turned away—Balloons didn't notice. "So what now?" he asked.

"Well," she answered, "that's what we're all here to figure out. Later, I'll get you introduced to everypony, but first there are some rules you'll need to know if you decide to stick with us. We don't want to attract attention, so secrecy must be second nature. But don't worry—we're in good hooves."

The quiet sound of chimes resonated across the chamber, and the hushed conversations stopped. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"Shhh. Look."

At the far end of the room there stood an elevated dais. On either side of it burned open fires, held high by emerald columns carrying steel basins. Stepping up to the centre was a unicorn, all-white, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight's glow. Balloons's eyes widened as the pony began to address the crowd. "Is that...?"

Celina smiled at him. "I told you," she whispered, "we're in good hooves." She nuzzled him behind his ear. "Welcome to the Cause."

* * *

"Be right back," Celina told him. "Stick with Astral—he'll help you around while I'm gone."

Balloons nodded as Astral dropped a hoof over his shoulder. "Welcome, kid. Betcha got lots of questions right now, but I'll do my best to get 'em answered. C'mon!" Celina watched them go, then headed up to the dais.

"Celina," the white unicorn said as she approached. "Good to see he worked out. He's being taken care of, I trust?"

She nodded. "Astral Chance is showing him around right now, but that isn't what I came to talk about. It's the Shaman, he's... I'm worried."

Golden Lock's ears drooped—the action stank of impatience. "The circle, you mean?" Again, she nodded. "Let it rest. He says it's just for decoration and, while the choice of a circle is peculiar, I see no reason to disbelieve him. I've seen his circle; it's meaningless. You, yourself, said that the 'spell' he drew makes no sense. What were your words, again?"

She sighed. "'Counter-intuitive rune placement and meaningless glyphs,' yes, I know. I know the 'spell' can't work, but I can't just leave it—all the circle runes were placed correctly even though he shouldn't know what they were, and I can't believe that's coincidence! I think he's hiding something from us, or carved that one to make us think he doesn't know what he's doing. The walls down there are covered with blasted-away circles; who knows what else he may have drawn? If he's down there making good circles he could easily get out of control, and then—"

"Fine," he interrupted. "I'll send some extra guards to watch him, and if he draws anything that makes sense I'll let you know."

"If he's trying to hide things from us, I doubt he'll draw them with us watching," she argued.

His eyes narrowed. "They'll be discreet. Has the Shaman learned the spell?"

"Ah..." she flailed; the change in subject threw her for a bit. "Yes, yes he has."

"And you're sure it'll work?"

Her hoof clicked on the marble floor. "As sure as I can be. I don't know how close the spell will push the foal to the realm of godhood, but it should get it close. I doubt that she'd gain power enough to bother the princesses, though." He nodded, and began walking off. "Sir," she called, and he looked back over his shoulder. "Where are we going to get the foal?"

"Leave that to me," he said, walking off again. "The unborn foal of unicorn and pegasus parentage, the fresher the better. He'll have it, don't worry."

He disappeared into the darkness that shrouded the exit, and Celina paused only a moment before turning back to find Balloons.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

What have I agreed to?

Golden Lock stood by his enchanted windowpane, the question tumbling in his head, causing him no small amount of unease. He knew the words, of course—they were the easy part. Eight simple, innocent words to seal a pact; eight simple, necessary words to ensure the future; eight simple, sinister words that stole his peace.

I will give you the foal you need.

His horn glowed and a wine bottle and glass began a delicate dance behind him. Their movements were careful, slow, and precise. Once full, the glass floated up beside him, as though likewise watching the sky, while the bottle came to a rest on his desk. He stood there, gazing upon Canterlot laid out before him. The leaves were turning, contrasting the usual stark whites of the city with red and golden hues. Young fillies were playing in the streets and parks while their mothers relaxed, enjoying cups of their favourite beverage. It was an idyllic scene, but it failed to distract him.

I will give you the foal you need.

He sighed and sipped his wine; it was dark red, robust and flavourful—a good year. He held the sip, letting the flavours dance on his tongue as he let his mind drift back. He'd given his promise to the Shaman when he'd gone to see his circle. The Shaman had been as ignorant as stupid as ever, but he had impressed upon Lock the importance of the foal he needed. It made sense—if you needed to change the essence of something, you wanted to start early. So he'd promised, and now all that was left was to find one—or, better yet, to make one.

I will give you the foal you need.

It was strange, how he'd come to this point. All the work he'd done to see his cause become truth rested on his next act, and yet he found himself hesitating. Why? he asked himself. Did I expect to walk away from this with my hooves clean? Did I expect to do none of the dirty work? None of the barbarities? The path before him was clear, but...

He shook his head and took another sip of wine, letting his mind drift to when things, when life, was so much simpler. Back before all the politics and wargames, back when the world was no bigger than his father's pride and safety meant his mother's kiss. When he was a foal, struggling to lift a stone.

His feet were planted firmly in the grass, his horn glowing as strongly as he could muster. The stone before him wriggled in its earthen bed, struggling. His father smiled. "That's it, boy; nice and easy. Don't push too hard, or else..." His father trailed off, his eyes widening. The stone rose from the ground—the part that had been buried was as big as the foal lifting it. He closed his eyes and pushed with all his might; the stone flew across the garden, crashing into the distant fence. He looked up to his father, wide-eyed and happy.

"Dad! I did it! I did it!"

His father's mouth hung open, his eyes were wide with shock. Then a smile formed and he began to laugh. "Ha! That's amazing, Lock! Absolutely amazing!"

That night, his father glowed with pride as he regaled the dinner guests with the story. His mother gave him an extra helping of dessert with a smile. In that moment, as Lock looked up to his father's face, he knew that he all he wanted in this world was to make his father proud.

His father died the next day.

Lock narrowed his eyes; the wine glass had cracked. Carefully, he lessened the magical field around it, tilting it to drink the last of the wine it carried. He set the glass down and let his emotions drain away, quietly scolding himself for letting them get out of hoof. Of all the curses to have, he reflected, shaking his head. Perhaps it was a blessing that his father never saw that he was as talentless in magic as he was powerful. His clumsiness had been hard in the early years, trying to avoid using his magic whilst not appearing incapable. The act had taught him his talent of keeping secrets, at least, but it took him many hours of diligent study to be able to drink water without breaking the glass, to keep up with his peers in school.

"Hey, dweeb." Lock looked up from his desk, his face locked in an emotionless mask. He could never remember the bullies' names, but the three of them always picked him for their torments.

Lock failed to prevent his book from floating away from him, glowing the colour of the bully's magic. "Aw, look, da widdle teacher's pet is twyin' ta get extwa cwedit!" one of them taunted.

"Give it back," Lock demanded. He was growing tired of the constant abuse, and it was increasingly difficult to keep his anger in check. "Now."

The bullies grinned. "Or what, teacher's pet? Gonna run home and cry to your mommy? What's she gonna do, keter off and die like your da—"

By the time the teacher returned and was able to overpower Lock's magic, two of the bullies were unconscious and the third was barely holding on. The sheer force he had used to push them against the wall left an impression of three bodies, and the wall had to be replaced. His punishment was harsh.

The next day, however, another foal came up to him, asking for help with his own bullies. "Please," he'd said, "I can't make them stop." Soon after, he was bodyguard to half the foals in school, and bogeyman to others. It felt good, he realized—his strength keeping the school's peace.

The wine glass rested on his desk, the crack running from top to bottom—only a small portion of the cup was still whole, and that alone kept the glass from falling in two. He closed his eyes, picturing the unbroken glass in his mind, carefully working the magic for a repair spell. He cast it, opened his eyes, and frowned. The crack was gone, but the glass was cloudy in its place. He closed his eyes and tried again, taking a deep breath to relax as his magic left him. This time, he opened his eyes to much more satisfactory results.

He filled his glass again, his thoughts returning to an unborn foal and the task needed to get her. He knew, of course, that there were likely many mares in the Cause who'd willingly lay with him, but he needed them active—the pregnant mare would be bound to the Shaman, taken back to the mines where he could grow his pack again around her. No, he couldn't spare them. He needed a mare who wasn't vital to the Cause or the Service, who he could afford to have taken away from Canterlot. The fact that Dew might also help drag Autumn out of hiding only solidified her candidacy. She was a perfect match, but he knew that she wouldn't do it willingly.

The thought disturbed him, yet he didn't know why. Here we was, brewing a war for his people—ready and committed to unleash hell upon the innocent—and still he hesitated at this. The difference of distance, he thought bitterly, sipping his wine, but why should I remain clean while everypony else is bloodied? Why can't I commit the same savageries I'll command others to do? If I intend to lead this, then how can I justify doing it only from a distance? His logic was sound, his reasoning was superb, and yet it did nothing to ease his mind, did nothing to stop the taste of wine souring on his tongue. He swallowed hard and set his glass aside.

He fought the urge to heave as he looked at the broken corpse. Beside it, Brimstone pat the dirt, turning the blood on his hooves to mud before washing it all away in the stream. "Well," Brimstone said, drying his hooves, "that clears that up."

Lock found it impossible to turn away from the corpse's dead eyes. Its gaze bore into him, accusing, angry; he took a step back. "What's wrong, Lock?" Brimstone asked. "Never seen a dead thing before?"

"How—" Lock swallowed the bile that threatened to escape. "How could you do such a thing to him?"

Brimstone rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you're one of those bleeding-heart types. This creature was going to try and destroy Equestria, our home! What's it matter that it got on the wrong side of a knife or two? It's no better than what it'd have done to us."

"He was a living creature, with hopes and dreams and—"

"And now, thankfully, it won't realize them. Honestly, did you want it to? You'd rather Equestria fall?"

"No, but..." He took a step back, but the corpse's gaze followed him. "Is this what the Service really is? Torture? Death? And what of the others? Are you going to do this to the rest of them?"

"Don't have to," Brimstone replied, chuckling. "You heard it—with what it told us, we can dismantle this thing quick as lightning." He was smiling, but it died when he saw Lock's continued horror. "All right, look," he said, coming up beside him. "I know this isn't the nice, carefree life you're used to back home, and it sure as Tartarus isn't easy to face the first time, but it is necessary. We keep Equestria's peace like this."

"Peace is kept by torturing living things? By causing pain and death?"

"At times, yes, but you shouldn't focus on that. This one may have suffered, yes, but because of that its fellows won't and neither will they harm anypony. Its sacrifice, its pain, brings an end to suffering on both sides, all right? Just remember that, and focus on it. One creature's bloodshed saves that of thousands."

Brimstone didn't wait for a response; he shouldered his bags and trotted off, deeper into the cavern. The corpse sat still, eyes wide open, watching Lock stumble after him.

The afternoon had given way to evening, and the sky was turning red as Celestia lowered the sun. He stood by his windowpane, watching the mothers collect their children for bed. The lamp-ponies were wandering the streets, lighting the streetcandles or waking the fireflies. The moon would rise soon, still guided by Celestia even though her sister had returned. He sighed; it was an idyllic scene, and he wondered for how much longer he could savour it—how long after the war it would be before he saw it again.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts; he turned to see Quillstroke step inside. "Sir," she said, "Dew is outside, reporting as ordered."

Lock paused. I could send her away right now, he thought, find somepony else. Nopony would question me; nopony would ever know. The silence stretched, and the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Slowly, Golden Lock nodded. "Send her in." Quillstroke bowed and exited, and Lock stepped out from behind his desk to better greet his guest. With steely resolve he quieted his churning emotions, and a single thought crossed his mind.

For the Good of Equestria.

つづく
To Be Continued...

Comments

[defunct321]

The problem with The Cause is that they think all the other nations are going to be logical when faced with Equestria's might and just surrender, and that marching a massive army into a nation is simple. They essentially want to turn Equestria into America. But the problem with that is that you'll have scenarios where the enemy is hard tell apart from the innocents, like Al-Qaeda, or where they have every other factor besides power in their favor like Vietnam. And even if you can face the opposing army in a straight face off, you will have casualties, even if you win by far. Casualties that are, at the best of times, roughly equal to what I suspect the Service already has. And then they're only thinking about Equestria, and not caring if other countries are murdering each other in wars, which due to empathy not all that many ponies will be fine with. And what if two of Equestria's major trade partners go to war? They'll both ask for military assistance and to not trade with the other guy, or else trade agreements will be burnt. Equestria's current system is amazing, but isn't something that can be implemented on Earth because no country is strong enough to secretly influence every single government, resistance, and terrorist on Earth.

[EdwardJ]

5061660
Aa, and you come across the crux of the whole thing.

Of course, you have the experience of such a system to know how it wouldn't work, something that they, unfortunately, lack.

[defunct321]

5130275 Unfortunately. I also think that the diamond dog is a significantly bigger threat, cause it's shown that diamond dog shamans, even without formal training, are equal in power to several unicorns. Know that he has training in the form of understanding runes, it'll take an alicorn to stop him. And if he has his own alicorn to counter, then it adds a whole new level of difficulty to defeat him. And after living with The Cause for a while, he might lose some of his morals.