Daring Do and the Hand of Doom

by Unwhole Hole


Chapter 47: The Competition Arrives

Space distorted, and the portal opened under Carillon’s will. The force was immense, and the portal reacted profoundly with the heavily charged atmosphere. Magical lightning swirled and struck low, sallow plants and jagged rocks alike.
Ponies stepped through. Caballeron was made to go first, with the silver-armored pony sometimes called Absence at his side. Behind them came Argiopé, who had taken the form of what was meant to be a highly alluring yak. Zel came with her, and he came alone. Brass Knuckles was recovering, but her head injury had proven too severe for her to continue. She had forfeited her portion of the pay in exchange for a lengthy recovery surrounded by baby goats. This left Zel alone, and his gaze was hard- -even though he stood to make an immense sum should they prove successful.
The other Questlord Pegasi followed with Rogue and Withers, and Carillon and her robotic drones followed in the rear. Her horn was glowing nearly white-hot with energy to maintain the portal, and as soon as she stepped through, it snapped shut with a tremendous implosion.
Caballeron shuddered and shivered against the cold. He looked around. A seemingly misplaced forest stood before him, as well as its vines and creepers that stretched out across an ice plane. High above, he witnessed ponderous mountains, their height so tall that what little gray sky could be seen overhead almost looked as though it were viewed form the bottom of a deep hole.
Those were the mountains of Hyperborea. They bore no names and according to legend they also knew no height- -nor did the valleys and ravines that accompanied them know any finite depth. None had ever climbed them, neither pony nor goat nor any living thing. No artifacts lay buried or hidden in those mountains; there were no hermits, shrines, or residents, save for perhaps unspeakable monsters that no pony had ever before witnessed. Yet somehow Caballeron doubted that.
“Welcome to Hyperborea,” said Carillon, almost viciously. “If you had any thought of escape, abandon it now. Without my portals, you won’t make it two hundred feet into those wastes. Let alone the ten thousand miles to the nearest yak settlement.”
“That certainly assuages my fear,” said Zel, sarcastically. “Yet it seems strange that it is not so cold here.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” shrugged Carillon.
Caballeron turned and yelled over the wind. “Are you sure they are here? How can you possibly know?”
“Because I am not a fool. And because I’ve been doing YOUR job.” Caballeron could not see beneath her mask, but he could feel her smile. “Now. Lead us. Because if there are traps, I expect you to be worth the money we were at one time going to pay you.”
Caballeron muttered under his breath and started forward. Argiopé followed him closely, her elegant coat nearly dragging along the ground. Her coat, as well as the jingling jewelry she wore, were all beautiful- -and all made of modified changeling flesh. Caballeron had spent a significant effort feeding her, and he suspected that Carillon had ordered her sons and daughters to do the same. Somehow that thought made him irrationally furious.
“You,” he said, turning to the Pegasus beside him. “I expect you to defend me. Without my abilities, we’ll never make it to the Hand of Doom.”
“I am duty-bound to protect you,” said the Pegasus, nearly snapping. “But don’t misunderstand your role. If we need to, we will burn this entire area and tear the Hand from the ashes. Your purpose is less to solve traps than to trigger them.”
“Really,” sneered Caballeron. “And what’s your purpose? Oh, don’t tell me. You’re expendable.”
“I am,” admitted the Pegasus. “But I am not interchangeable. My purpose is already defined. And I will serve it. It is the reason why I was constructed in the first place.”
Caballeron shivered, and not from the cold. He recalled Carillon’s front legs gleaming in the dark, legs stripped of their marrow and flesh for some obscene and incomprehensible ritual. Limbs that had held him tight and close as he had screamed mentally. Limbs that had humiliated him, and that continued to do so. He hated her, and he hated the Pegasi she had given birth to.
“Zel?” he said, turning.
“There is nothing analyze,” he said, stoically. “But this forest is not something I recognize. For years I have dwelt in the brush/ but never have I seen a land quite so lush.”
“Keep your eyes open, then.”
Zel smiled weakly. “When do you suppose/ I would ever let them close?”
Caballeron just nodded, and he stayed close to Argiopé as they entered the forest. He lead, and the others came behind him. For a moment, he felt as though he really was in charge, in the role he was meant for. Except that he was too smart to believe that. While he had been made the vanguard, he knew better than to think he was in command. He was still a puppet, and still trapped.
Carillon followed them, taking up the rear.
As she entered the forest, the world suddenly seemed to explode. Caballeron cried out in surprise, and Argiopé lunged for his legs, assuming the form of some heavy armored thing to protect him. Despite being thrown to the ground, Caballeron could still see the ring of fire: a vast swath of trees uprooted and torn to splinters on either side of them, burned to a crisp as they were vaporized.
Carillon looked down as the ground carbonized and liquefied beneath her, revealing a ring of strange metal inlaid to the stone. The ring had been covered in roots, but now Caballeron saw it glowing with white-hot force, and he could feel its magic grinding through his skull and into the center of his brain, exactly where a horn would have been had he been unfortunate enough to have been born a unicorn.
The explosive force concentrated on Carillon and detonated with the force of a bomb. Caballeron was momentarily blinded and covered himself as dirt and fragments of wood were thrown over him. The light was simply too dazzling, and he was sure from the deafening sound that nothing could have survived the blast.
The explosion dazed him, and the world momentarily seemed to grow quiet. It sounded like he was deep under water, with the only treble noise being a high ringing. He heard voices and shouting, and he tried to pull himself back together.
“Doctor! DOCTOR!”
Caballeron sat up and grasped something that looked like an enormous beetle but that had gravely concerned blue-green eyes. In a flash, the beetle became a unicorn. “Please! Are you injured?”
“Get off me,” he groaned, shoving her.
“Well ‘thank you Argiopé too,’” she said, pushing him back angrily. “Don’t stand. The blast may have injured you. Wait until one of the Pegasi- -”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Caballeron stood. He looked out across the now fully visible ring, seeing the dull reflections of complex text carved into it and strange inlays of bizarre alloys. For just a moment, he believed that one of the main features of his current problems had been eliminated.
Except that Carillon was still standing. She had been knocked back several meters, but she was still alive. Caballeron stared almost in horror, wondering what kind of a monstrosity could have survived a magical blast that strong.
Carillon’s horn was still lit with orange light, and her body was covered in a translucent orange shield. It had been shattered in places, and the runes carved into her armor were still glowing red-hot and smoking.
“Mother!” cried the lead Pegasus.
“I am fine,” snapped Carillon in return. She dropped the magical armor and flexed. Her armor had been torn away in parts, but as Caballeron watched it was already starting to regenerate. “Any other pony except a Questlord would not be. Perhaps any other pony apart from me. That defensive spell was meant to destroy whole armies. I see the Exmoori were well-prepared for thieves.” Caballeron felt her eye turn to him. “And some of our help is somewhat bad at translating.”
“Believe me, I was not aware,” said Caballeron.
“So you are incompetent rather than a traitor. How reassuring.”
“Mother, the spell- -”
“Defends against magical incursion. Consider yourself lucky I did not try to open the portal any closer. Although I’m sure the result would have been…impressive.”
“I got through just fine,” said Argiopé.
“Because you are not a unicorn. The defensive perimeter was most likely not created with changelings in mind, or any sort of weak magic.” Carillon retracted her helmet and stared at her eldest daughter. “I cannot pass through. Not now. It will take me time to cut my way through. Time you do not have to wait.”
The Pegasus bowed. “Your orders, beloved mother?”
“Reach the Hand of Doom. Secure it. I will be there as soon as I can. Use any means necessary.” Her one orange eye turned slowly to Caballeron. “As for you. Perhaps this will not matter. Perhaps there is no nobility left in your greed-saturated heart. But you will be acting on more than orders, and for more than pay.”
“Really,” said Caballeron, sarcastically. “And what other motivations are there?”
“Heroism, I suppose.” Her expression remained stony. “Your friend has allied herself with an incredibly evil being. If he reaches the Hand of Doom, he will claim it for the one he serves, and the results to Equestria will be devastating. Remember that the Questlords exist to secure the safety and good of Equestria. I cannot protect the Hand myself. So you must.”
“Platitudes. I cannot buy things with platitudes.”
“But you may be able to take comfort that you are for once in your life on the side of good.”
“Good and evil don’t concern me. Only pay.”
“And you will be paid. Once I have the Hand of Doom, I will be sure not to abandon you in Hyperborea.”
Caballeron felt a hoof on his shoulder. It was armored in silver.
“It’s time to go.”
“Of course.” Caballeron bowed before Carillon mockingly. “And I bid you adios, Dona Questlord.”
“Don’t fail. Or you will regret it.”
Caballeron smiled, turning away. He was already attempting to formulate a plan. He did not know that Carillon already knew, and the she was planning as well.
As the two groups departed, Rogue approached Argiopé.
“Arg,” he said, nearly whispering as he pushed away some brush from in front of her.
“Rogue,” she replied, reasonably coolly.
“Thoughts?”
“On what?”
“Her.” Rogue pointed back at where Carillon was no longer visible through the undergrowth. “Or is her brain sealed up like the others?”
“No,” said Argiopé, darkly. “She’s quite easy to read.”
“So? Come on, Arg. What’s in there?”
Argiopé grimaced. “I can sense a pony’s love. Replicate their lover. Their friend. Their mother, father, whatever I need to. Just from what’s in their mind.”
“So?” asked Rogue, impatiently. “What’s in hers?”
Argiopé looked up at him. “Nothing,” she said. “Her mind does not have a drop of love. Not for anything at all in the whole world.” She paused. “I don’t know what she is. But I’m afraid of her.”
“Yeah,” said Rogue. “I got the same feeling, even if I’m just a dirt-horse.” He put his hoof on her shoulder. “Stay close. It’s going to be okay. If we lose you, the boss’ll never let me live it down.”
Argiopé smiled, but only weakly. “Of course. And when we have the Hand, maybe we can finally go home. Perhaps we can even retire.”
“Yeah.” Rogue did not smile, and his eyes did not gleam at the thought. “When we get home…sure…”