The path began to slope uphill. Water still trickled down it, but slowly. This was not a sewer, exactly, nor was it part of the dismal catacombs that permeated the space under the city. It was something that somepony had built many years- -or perhaps many centuries- -ago. Whatever purpose it had once served had been forgotten, only for it to be discovered and forgotten in sequence throughout the passing span of time. Few in the modern era new of it. Those that did had sold the secret to Caballeron for a considerable cost.
Few of those that had gone into Wun Perr-Synt’s home had come back. Almost all of the hired muscle had been lost. Zel, who had lost his spear and much of his personal equipment and who now helped orient the minotaur Brass Knuckles, who though able to walk was still badly concussed and wobbly. The black stallion stood beside him, staying to the shadows with his griffon brother. The griffon had rejoined Withers and his Pegasus friend on the ground and managed to escape with them to a predefined rendezvous point. Their tree-hugging friend had been left behind, as she had claimed that the smashing yew tree was her soulmate and that the pair of them were going to raise an entire forest of half-pony shrub hybrids. Or at least so Withers had claimed.
Rogue and Argiopé had also pulled through, although the latter only barely. Argiopé was weak and still afflicted by the strange zebra mud that Daring Do had attacked her with; she was unable to format her body back to anything that Caballeron might find attractive. The best she could do was attempt to shift most of her dark-colored body to a dull orange shade, complete with a partial coat. From the way he looked at her, though, she knew that she was still disgusting to him; she had attempted to hide her shame in wet rags that she had managed to scavenge from the catacombs.
“Herr doktor,” she wheezed, trying to approach Caballeron and rub his side. “Please…I need food…”
Caballeron did not look at her. He instead recoiled, not letting her touch him.
“Argiopé,” said Rogue, as kindly as he was able to, “this isn’t a good time for him. Come on.”
“But we won!” snapped Argiopé. “We acquired the Spear!” She brandished it, and Zel stared at it darkly.
“Yes, but at what price?” he asked grimly. “So that we can wander the sewer like mice? I had a group with many I could call a friend/and now all of that had come to an end!”
“You knew the risk, zebra! And if you hadn’t been carrying that idiotic cursed mud- -”
Caballeron suddenly snatched the Spear from her. Argiopé squeaked as he glared at her. “And you have no idea the cost you almost paid,” he snapped.
“Doktor- -”
“Twice. TWICE! That is how many times you disobeyed my orders tonight!” he planted the butt of the spear against the wet stones below. “What had possessed you? I do not know. But if you were anypony else?” He leaned forward and yelled in her face. “I would have sent you away! You would be FIRED!”
Argiopé winced, but stood firm. She was done recoiling in terror, emboldened by her hunger and shame. “Then why don’t you?” she hissed.
“Because you are valuable. Supposedly! Although with this behavior? I don’t know if this is worth the trouble!”
“Boss,” said Rogue. “We couldn’t have done it without her.”
“You. Shut. UP.” Caballeron pointed the spear at Rogue’s nose, causing the latter to stiffen. “This is between myself and one of my employees.”
Argiopé inhaled sharply. “And?” she asked, shakily.
“And?” Caballeron leaned forward so their faces were nearly touching. “You tried to use this spear on Daring Do. Had you succeeded…”
“Then you would finally be free of her. That’s what you want, herr doktor, isn’t it?”
“That is NOT how we do things!”
“But she deserved it.”
“That may be true! But think for a moment about this weapon.” Caballeron held the end of the spear out to her, but horizontally. It was not meant as an aggressive gesture in the same way he had threatened Rogue. “This blade. You know why we have it?”
“For the blood contained within it.”
“Yes. The blood of a child of Exmoor. And if you were to mix it with that of an ill-born Pegasus?”
Argiopé stiffened. She understood. “It would be contaminated.”
“Yes, Argiopé! Use your mind for once! What did I hire you for? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one of my henchponies with an IQ greater than this spear!” Argiopé flushed green. It was her equivalent of blushing. “Honestly,” sighed Caballeron, angrily turning back to the path. “I don’t know what motivates you to be so rash! You have so much potential. But your performance reviews for this quarter? They will be dismal! DISMAL!””
“We can at least be glad that the Spear is much more blunt than the legends state,” said Argiopé, managing to smile. She was not sure why, but she felt somewhat better. “Of course, ponies always tend to overestimate the size and power of their spears, don’t they?”
“Ha,” moaned Brass Knuckles. “Spears…”
“I also have questions concerning our take,” said Zel. “Forgive me, Doctor, but I worry that this spear is a fake.”
“Nonsense!” cried Caballeron, almost shrilly. “I am an expert in archeology and artifacts identification! I can assure you, this is indeed genuine!”
“Forgive me if that does not assuage my fears/but I am a zebra, and I know a great deal about spears.”
“Boss, he has a point,” said Rogue.
“Much unlike the spear,” added Withers.
Rogue glared at his coworker, even though he found the response mildly witty. “What I mean is, the Spear’s supposed to be sharp, in’it? And this one clearly isn’t.”
“Maybe it got cleaned or something,” suggested the Pegasus mare.
“Certainly not!” Caballeron was becoming several shades darker at the thought of being doubted. “I can assure you, this spear is most certainly genuine! I should know! I was the one who sold it to her!”
The rest stopped, and Caballeron turned away from them swiftly. They said nothing, because on some level they all understood. When he had sold it, he had been young, barely year into is postoc position at the University of Cloudsdale. He had not- -and could not have- -known that he would once again need it someday.
Yet he understood the cost it had taken to bring it back. That was why he had hired external workers: because they were expendable. He supposed Zel knew this as well, despite his anger at having lost most of his team. His greatest fear, though, was for Argiopé, and the price she had nearly paid. There was indeed a way things were meant to work, and Caballeron found himself thanking Celestia that the Hurricane Spear was dull for more than one reason.
As they proceeded, though, his mind began to wander, and he began to organize his thoughts. They had been successful, after all. Despite the minor losses, they had recovered the Spear of Extinction. Whether it was dull or not did not matter; Caballeron intended to use it as a key rather than a weapon. A key that would open the way to the Hand of Doom.
And, further, the events had shown him what he had feared constantly: that as close as he was, Daring Do was hot on his trail.
The path ascended and widened, turning from a decaying tunnel into a vast room, a part of a larger complex that perhaps might have been the dungeons of a castle. It was cold, damp, and drafty, but it was apparent from the decayed barrels and rotting crates that lined its walls that whoever had last used it had vacated at least half a century prior.
“Now that we’re there, I have to say/ this is a nice lair.”
“It’s not a lair,” corrected Caballeron, setting the Spear of Extinction on a sturdy but rough-hewn and ancient-looking table. “It’s a hideout. And I assure you, I paid a premium for the map to it. No one even knows it exists. We will be safe here for a time.”
“Are you sure about that?” said Withers. He pointed into the darkness with a shaking hoof. Despite wearing thick sunglasses in a largely unlit tunnel, he clearly saw something that the others did not.
“Argiopé!”
Argiopé obliged. Her small chitinous horn ignited with green light, and although her changeling magic was weak, she was still able to perform a simple spell. The candles placed throughout the room on various jutting stones and in small alcoves designed for the purpose suddenly ignited with green flames.
Caballeron took a step back. As weak as the candlelight was, it was adequate for him to see that they were indeed not alone. A pony was sitting in a large chair across from them. Although her form was partially obscured by the shadows and by a large cape she wore, Caballeron could tell even in the green light that neither her coat nor mane had even the slightest hint of color- -and that her eyes were brilliant red.
“YOU!” he cried.
“Doctor Caballeron,” she said in greeting. “You’re late. Perhaps you should start wearing a real watch instead of that one.”
Caballeron covered his watch with his free hoof in a minor act of rebellion. His day was already going poorly, and just as he had begun to justify his losses it had suddenly dropped to rock bottom. Angrily, he took a step forward.
“So what is this?” he spat. “Oversight? Do you not trust me to do the job you paid me to do? To acquire this ‘Hand of Doom’ for your ever-so wealthy employer? I would think I’m being quite gracious! I didn’t ask questions, because I don’t need to know- -but what I NEED is the freedom to do my work as I see fit!”
“There’s no need to pout,” growled Zel. He nodded to Brass Knuckles, who nodded back before standing and cracking her neck and back. “We’ll just throw them out.”
“Of course you will,” sighed the white mare. She raised a hoof. Behind her chair, two invisibility spells deactivated and two enormous ponies in heavy silver armor stepped out of the shadows to her side. As the mare raised her hoof, it was also apparent from the silver glint below her cape that she was wearing a thinner version of the same heavy armor beneath it.
“Don’t interfere,” hissed Caballeron. “Or do you think I can’t do my job myself either?”
Zel stared at Caballeron for a long moment, and then bowed almost hyperbolically deep and gestured for him to proceed. Caballeron took a breath, regaining his composure as he straightened his ascot.
“Please forgive me for my rudeness,” he said. “It’s been…an eventful day.”
“An eventful day of robbing a private collection, you mean.”
Caballeron’s eyes flashed. “I did what I had to do.”
“Indeed you did.” The mare stood and approached the table. She looked closely at the Spear of Extinction, and without warning she picked it up. Argiopé and Rogue stepped forward to stop her, but Caballeron stopped them.
The mare swung the Spear with surprising grace that indicated extensive training. Then, seeming satisfied, she set it back on the table.
“Clearly a relic of great value,” she admitted. “But not what we asked for.”
“Of course not. I’m not an idiot. The Spear is a means, not an end. And I fully intend to return it.”
The albino Pegasus raised an eyebrow. “Trying to reassure me that you won’t raid my employer’s collection when you need to use one of his or her artifacts?”
“Only if somepony can pay me more than he can.”
The mare did not smile. “Doubtful. You will not find better pay than what my employer is offering. That said, we had higher hopes for you.”
“Oh?”
“Meaning we had hoped you were not an abject moron.”
Argiopé snarled and leapt forward. One of the armored knights moved to intercept her. Although he was at least five paces away, he crossed the floor in an instant, blocking Argiopé’s path.
“How dare you! You come to interfere with our business, and accuse the doktor of stupidity? Or did you just come to grasp his spear and take credit for his work?”
“As I have stated,” said the mare, calmly, “the Spear does not concern me. Except, as you stated, as a means. A means which we still intend to let you elucidate. However, we are greatly disappointed that you allowed your ranks to be infiltrated so easily.”
“Infiltrated?” Caballeron shot Zel a glance, and Zel returned it twice as harshly.
“Let her pretty armor rust!” he cried. “There is not one of my troop that I could not trust!”
“Indeed.” The mare raised her hoof, and the female Pegasus standing beside Withers bowed. She lifted her hoof and removed a large colored contact lens, revealing that the eye beneath it had a deep red iris. Her coat color, likewise, suddenly seemed off; in hindsight, it could not have been more apparent that hit was dyed.
Withers gaped, nearly dropping his glasses. “But…you were hot!”
“I still am,” said the mare, her accent now identical to that of the other white mare. “And if it’s any consolation, I do not find you to be especially boring.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Of course,” continued the armored mare, walking amongst the group. “Our agents are expected to be undetectable. To be perfect in all ways. Short of employing a vedmak or a CRUT agent, I doubt you would have discovered her. My disappointment is not that she managed to infiltrate you. It’s that you were infiltrated TWICE.”
With a sudden motion, she extended her hoof. A narrow silver blade shot from it, and with a flash she turned sideways and stabbed it through the torso of the pure-black griffon. The force not only pierced his entire body but transfixed him to the stone wall behind him.
The other ponies screamed. Rogue fainted. Caballeron stared wide-eyed at the horror before him- -but then felt a silent scream rise to his throat as he saw what happened next. The griffon convulsed as though badly injured- -as in truth, the wound would surely have been mortal- -but his motions were not that of any living thing. For a moment, it appeared as though his skin was empty and loose over a writhing mass of unseen, horribly monstrous creatures. Then in a flash the griffon exploded in a plume of feathers. Argiopé cried out as a swarm of crows rushed from where his body had been, leaving behind no trace that a being had been sitting there before, save for the armored mare’s blade, still stuck deeply in the wall.
With another swift motion, the mare removed the blade and pointed it at the black stallion.
“Who are you?” she demanded harshly.
The stallion’s face split as he smiled. It was a ghastly sight that made Caballeron shiver: a gray, toothless slit in a black shadow whose only color was from a pair of jaundiced yellow eyes.
“Do we frighten you, Questlord?” His voice was unpleasant, and had a strange accent that even Caballeron could not place.
“I am no Questlord,” replied the mare, not lowering her blade.
“Yes, yes. I can see that. Or did you think that armor can hide what you are? The fact that your flank is completely and utterly blank?”
“My flank does not concern you.”
“No.” The yellow eyes flashed toward her, focusing only on the white Pegasus. “But what you are does. So very unusual. Such good worksmanship….”
“I will not repeat myself. Who are you? Who do you work for?”
The stallion- -if he had ever even been a stallion- -glowered, suddenly angry. “There is no one left worthy to give us orders. To who we are, though, we grant you an answer, primitive. We are Flock.”
“Why- -why are you here?” demanded Caballeron.
The stallion turned his eyes upward. Numerous crows cawed from the darkness, forming a deafening cacophony. Then they suddenly went silent. “Because the Spear is required to open the Gate,” he said, as though it were obvious. “And because Daring Do would not have been able to steal it on her own. She is afflicted badly by your ill-conceived false morality.” He grinned. “But taking it from you? She will have no qualms doing that.”
“She will not win,” growled Caballeron.
The smile on the stallion’s toothless face expanded. “Farmer-hose. Your kind is born with limited mental capacity. You cannot help that you are invariably simple. The codex you bear. The one that you lack the tact to understand. Did it ever occur to you who may bear the second half?”
Caballeron’s eyes went wide, and it was clear he understood. The stallion cackled with cruel laughter as his body burst from within, erupting into a plume of ravens and crows. The cacophony resumed as his crows joined those of his brother, and as the whole mass swirled upward. After a few minutes, the sound of their laughter began to fade away as they moved through halls and channels back to the surface.
The group stood in silence, horrified and confused. Withers had begun to try to wake Rogue, and Argiopé was shivering, holding Caballeron’s front legs. He did not even care. The creature he had seen had been grotesque and ominous, but the news it bore, if true, was even more threatening.
Only the armored mare moved. She stepped past the others, inserting an earpiece with a large orange crystal mounted in the center into her ear.
“Mother,” she said in her people’s ancient tongue, one that not even Caballeron would understand. “There’s been an incursion. We’ve lost half the equation. The operator is unknown.” She paused, listening to the response. It took a long time to come. “Acknowledged, beloved mother,” she replied. “The alternate plan shall be enacted, as per your will.”