Fifteen minutes prior, the Grey Estate, Canterlot
The worst part of casing a target site, Dagger decided, was not the risk of discovery. Nor was it the boredom, or the time he had to contemplate all the ways things could go wrong, or the challenge of maintaining focus, or even the fact that longer time on target meant greater exposure to any number of variables that could throw a wrench in the works.
No, the worst part of waiting on site for the target, Dagger decided, was that his nose invariably itched.
Years ago, he’d sneezed because of an itchy nose while he and his brother were casing a griffon’s estate with the intent of carrying out an independently contracted rummage (because ‘burglarizing’ sounded less professional). The sneeze had almost gotten them both killed.
Now, his nose exhibited a positively Ponlovian response whenever he was casing a place. He’d never actually sneezed on a stealth job again, but the itching remained.
Never mind that Mason Grey didn’t seem to have any security on his palatial property, or that the stallion had never come even remotely close to spotting them, or that the staff was rather minimal for such a large estate, or that Mason would die whether he spotted them or not. Dagger was casing a place, and technically there was danger of detection. Ergo, his nose itched.
Some might have called it a sobering reminder of the hazards of the job and the thin line separating life from death. Dagger called it annoying.
He called it other things too, but those words were not the sort considered appropriate for polite company.
The last few hours that Cloak and Dagger had spent tailing Grey, mapping his property, and avoiding the few staff on site only served to prolong Dagger’s suffering, as the itching did not once abate during that time.
It was enough to make him think some less-than-respectful thoughts about Kiln. Sure, the stallion could kill me with a flick of his fetlock, but for Celestia’s sake did he have to make us wait on site this long? Why? Why do we have to kill Grey at four precisely? Who gives a crap when we slit the guy?! It’s not like it’s a public execution where we need a spectacle! Dead is dead!
Dagger rather suspected his twin felt the same way, but neither said so openly. It was one thing to indulge in such thoughts when Grand Shade Kiln was nowhere to be found. Actually saying them out loud when he already jumped us once today… better not.
If nothing else, the delay had given the brothers plenty of time to scout the grounds. The Grey Estate was impressive, even by Canterlot standards. Outside were vast gardens and hedgerows, exquisite flowering plants drawn from all over the world, and a series of marble statues depicting impossibly flawless ponies in the whitewashed neo-Renaissance style so popular with the elite.
The sprawling, three-story house at the center of the property was standard Canterlot architecture insofar as it had the same white-and-gold motif, the same arches, the same elegant aesthetic. Yet it managed to be noticeably more than the standard, with intricate gold leaf, decorative etching on the windows, and the quality stonework that one would expect of a pony with the name ‘Mason.’
Its massive interior was no less opulent, with glittering chandeliers of crystal and gold, drapery of the finest weave, and enough treasures on display to suggest Grey could buy a small Equestrian county and fund its municipal services out of pocket.
Grey’s tastes were as varied as they were expensive – Zebrican, Saddle Arabian, Equestrian, Maretonian, Prench, Japonese… some Dagger didn’t even recognize. There were paintings, sculptures, and vases alongside swords, maces, and battleaxes. Armored mannequins squared off against busts and full statues. There was even a cannon in one of the hallways.
Yet, for all its ostentatiousness, the estate managed to stop just short of being gaudy. Treasures were much in evidence in every room, but never too many, and never any two that didn’t blend. Whoever handled the interior design had done an exquisite job. The opulence gave off a sense of magnificence and power rather than being the mask of arrogance that many wealthy ponies wore to hide their insecurity.
Though, frankly, he’s got nothing to be insecure about, Dagger reflected as he crept through the hallways. Nothing to be insecure about… except the lack of security, amended Dagger. The old boy must have sent the staff home today, or at least most of them, because I have seen nopony.
Dagger had entered through a window on the third floor after disarming the magical alarm and picking the lock. He confirmed there were no staff on the third floor and sketched a simple map on a notecard before heading down to the second to do the same. He was close to finishing his sweep, after which he’d rendezvous with his brother.
Cloak, meanwhile, had used his magic to enter through the cellar and was similarly clearing the basement and first floor. Judging by the lack of any sounds of a struggle, he was having no more difficulty staying hidden than Dagger was.
Still, it paid to be cautious, so Dagger moved stealthily from room to room, all the while absently cataloguing the values of various art pieces. He had no intention of stealing anything (their instructions had been clear on that point), but old habits were hard to break. He didn’t find any staff on the second floor, but he did mentally upgrade Grey’s wealth from ‘Could Buy a Small County’ to ‘Could Buy a Small Duchy.’
Taking a moment to study the floor, Dagger shook his head in awed disbelief as he took in the quality of the tilework. Cripes, Grey’s flooring probably cost more bits than I’ve ever held in my life. I know this guy’s some big business mogul but… hot dang he’s rich!
Dagger couldn’t help but admire the place, the fact that he was stalking the owner to kill him notwithstanding. This was the sort of wealth he desired for himself and his brother – wealth, and, with it, the power to ensure they would never again want for anything.
Not that Mason Grey’s power will save him now, came the sudden thought.
Dagger winced. Well, sure, but that’s just because he didn’t pony up for security for some reason. Kind of surprising for a stallion in his position, but, hey, I ain’t complaining.
And if he had spent money on security? A memory flitted through his head. A memory of another estate. One not as grand as Mason’s, but still grand. One which had been defended. But those defenses were not enough, sighed the intruding thought. Not enough to prevent what came next.
Dagger felt a quiver in his heart as he remembered the burning of the villa, the silhouettes of cackling figures darting about in the firelight, the cold ditch he and his brother sheltered in while they watched those murderous silhouettes emerge from the villa dragging—
No! he snarled mentally, chopping off the treacherous memory before it could coalesce. That was different! This is different! Everything will be different!We will rise through the Shades and claim our rightful power and nothing is going to stop us!
He flapped into the air and made for the third floor and his exit. It was nearly four, and Dagger had no intention of delaying Mason’s execution.
In fact, he was starting to look forward to it.
Cloak was profoundly grateful for his skill at shadowstepping. Grey didn’t seem to have many staff around today – in fact, Cloak had only seen three – but Grey himself was… energetic. The middle-aged earth pony seemed to be everywhere on the main floor at once. Avoiding him had been a chore.
The young Blade Initiate had done it, though. And, along the way, he’d learned that his and Dagger’s job was going to be easier than they’d thought.
Apparently, Mason Grey had a date. At least, that’s what Cloak managed to overhear from various concealed locations around the house. More specifics eluded him, but it was clear that Grey would be all alone in the house while he made final preparations to receive the mystery mare.
Not that I’m wild about the thought of his marefriend showing up and finding him dead in a pool of his own blood, came the grim thought. Heck of a thing to walk in on.
Cloak grimaced. Oh, shut up! he told the nagging voice. Sure, it bites for him, but if it wasn’t us today, it’d be somepony else tomorrow. Them’s the breaks. At least this way it’ll be safer for me and my brother. That’s all that matters.
The voice fell silent, and Cloak smirked in satisfaction.
He still felt hollow inside, though.
At least now we know why Kiln was so specific that we whack the guy at four, mused Cloak, as much to distract himself as anything. No witnesses.
How exactly Kiln had known Grey’s day schedule was something of a mystery, but Cloak was under no illusions about the Grand Shade’s ability to find out what he wanted.
Still… I prefer to do my own recon. That way I know there will be no surprises.
Relying on somepony else’s information wasn’t the only thing about the job that bothered him, either. He also didn’t like the fact that their orders had explicitly directed that they not steal anything. Looting the joint while the body cooled was more or less Assassin 101, at least when it was supposed to look like a burglary gone bad instead of a professional hit. A fake robbery was hardly the only way to throw the constabulary off the trail, but it was a classic for a reason.
It might have made sense if they’d been instructed to leave some fake calling card as a distraction – a sign from whatever other entity Grey had allegedly angered enough to warrant an early ejection from the Game of Life. After all, pinning the murder on some other party was as much a classic as a fake robbery.
But there had been no such instruction in Kiln’s letter. Only a directive that they inform Grey that he should have kept out of foreign affairs before snuffing him.
That, more than anything else, worried Cloak. Not the gloating itself – gloating was a Shades staple after all– but the fact that the gloating was so… vague. He would have expected the pre-mortem taunt to contain some explicit mention of the Shades, but it didn’t.
Which might make sense if Grey was supposed to live and act as a red herring, but he isn’t. Which suggests that Kiln thinks we might fail. Meaning… his ear twitched at the sound of Grey singing in the kitchen, that old Grey might have picked up some tricks over the years.
It wasn’t a possibility Cloak had considered when they first got the assignment. He was considering it now. He wasn’t sure what possible reason the Grand Shade might have for leaving out such a critical detail, but that didn’t mean the reason didn’t exist.
Maybe Kiln is just testing to see if we follow orders. Or Grey is dangerous and the Grand Shade is testing our prowess. Or… his eyes narrowed, maybe we’re being set up for failure.
That last thought settled in his mind like a dark cloud as he pondered Kiln’s motives. If it had been Kuro Ken, the answer would have been obvious: the First Blade despised the twins. But the Grand Shade had no reason to kill them. In fact, he’d demonstrated genuine (and disconcerting) interest in the brothers.
Cloak shook his head in irritation. Maybe I’m just reading too much into this. Maybe this’ll just be a normal job and Dagger and I will have a good laugh about this later.
The reassurance made sense, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
At a quarter to four, the last of the staff left, leaving Grey unwittingly alone with his killers. Cloak let himself into the conservatory at the back of the house and opened the window a crack for his brother.
He didn’t have long to wait. Dagger flapped in after a few minutes, looking ready to kill something. Seeing his normally laid-back twin suddenly angry didn’t do Cloak’s stress level any favors, but this wasn’t the time or place for a heart-to-heart. Instead, they compared maps and notes. Dagger grinned when Cloak told him about the place being cleared out for the date.
“So, loverboy’s gone and rolled out the red carpet for us, eh?” he chuckled. “This’ll be even easier than I thought.”
He made to start down the passage towards the kitchen where they still heard Grey singing, but Cloak put out a hoof to stop him. “Hold up,” the thin unicorn said. “There’s… something else.” Grimacing, he told his brother of his suspicion that Grey might be a tougher customer than just some pencil pusher.
Dagger nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t seem worried. “Well, if your gut says something’s up, we’ll go careful, but it’s not like we can hang around. It’s almost four. We’ve got a job to do.”
Cloak still felt uneasy, but he grunted in assent anyway.
“Great!” smirked Dagger. “Let’s get moving. I’m ready to wrap this up!” With that, he led the way out into the hall.
Cloak followed. Like his brother, he was ready to be done with this job. But he strongly suspected it was for different reasons.
Dagger fiddled with the blades concealed within his pinions as the twins crept towards the kitchen. His brother’s warning that Grey might not be a pushover had unsettled him more than he let on but, as he’d said to Cloak, it wasn’t as though they could back out now. If they had to press on, better to press on with confidence. Hesitation got ponies killed.
Besides, he thought grimly, a part of me wouldn’t mind a fight. It’d be nice to vent a little. Not a very professional attitude, but, hey, whatever gets the job done.
As they drew up on the kitchen, they could clearly hear the pony singing within. Dagger mentally commended Grey on the quality of his baritone voice. A little pitchy at times, but decent all the same. More importantly, it would make creeping up on him that much easier.
The brothers reached the door and peered inside, Cloak using his magic to bend the scant shadows around the doorframe and make them harder to spot if Grey happened to glance in their direction.
He needn’t have bothered. Grey stood across the room cooking at the range, his back turned to the brothers. The earth pony was totally engrossed in his cooking, sautéing something that smelled of scallions and mushrooms. On the counter by the range were several cutting boards’ worth of chopped vegetables, and, hanging from a peg, a red bag of what Dagger guessed were powdered spices. He sniffed the air, winced at the potency of the spice, and changed his guess to a certainty. Aaaaand now my nose itches even worse. Awesome, he thought sourly.
Grey practically danced in place as he cooked, alternating now between throaty singing and sharp whistling, with only a few feet of open space and a marble-topped island separating him from his assassins.
Too easy, thought Dagger. Exchanging a wordless glance with his brother, the two of them flowed into the room, Cloak to the left of the island, Dagger to the right. The only ways in or out of the room were the door they’d just come through and a door off to the left. To get to the latter, Grey would have to somehow make it past Cloak while remaining under Dagger’s throwing arc. To get to the former, he’d have to make his way through both of them.
As they drew closer, the smell of the spices only intensified. Criminy, where’d he get that stuff? A black market in Mexicolt? It was enough to make Dagger fear he actually would sneeze and give the game away. He cocked back a wing to fling one of his blades preemptively. Kiln had ordered them to tell Grey why he was dying before actually killing him, but that didn’t mean Dagger couldn’t limb the guy first. Anything to get this over quick.
He was just about to throw when Grey abruptly moved right. The assassins froze, waiting to see what happened. But Grey wasn’t turning around, just getting his vegetables. Sitting on his haunches, he scooped up the cutting board with one hoof and the broad-bladed chef’s knife in the other. Intending to use the latter to scrape the vegetables into the skillet, he held the blade up…
… and paused. Dagger held his breath, not sure if something had tipped the stallion off to their presence or if he was just debating the virtue of adding bell peppers. The assassin scanned the range, searching for anything with a reflective surface. To his horror, he spotted a shiny metal tea kettle. A shiny reflective tea kettle, which Grey appeared to be facing.
Horse feathers, can he actually see me in that—
Before the thought could finish, Grey spun and flung the knife straight at Dagger’s head. The pegasus ducked just in time, feeling the keen blade shorten a few hairs as it passed. He aimed a blade of his own, just as Grey dove left and snatched the bag of spices, hefting it to fling at Cloak.
Both combatants threw at the same time. Dagger’s aim was fouled by Grey’s unexpected speed, but his blade still gave the stallion a glancing cut before embedding itself in the wall.
The effect of Grey’s projectile was more dramatic. Cloak managed to intercept the spices with an instinctive shield, but not far enough from his face to stop what happened next. The bag exploded in a red cloud of pulverized culinary zest and Cloak crumpled in a fit of uncontrollable coughing and sneezing.
Dagger was far enough from the main blast radius to escape most of the damage, but his eyes still blurred with tears as his throat constricted in spicy agony. He saw the vague outline of Grey bolting for the door and flung another blade. His desperate snapshot failed to disable the target, but he was still rewarded with a grunt of pain. More than that he couldn’t see.
Taking to the air, he flapped his wings to drive away the toxic cloud of seasonings, revealing a very red Cloak. The thin unicorn was gagging as he desperately tried to clear his eyes and nasal passages with his magic, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
“You good?” asked Dagger.
Cloak responded with a violent hraack! and a dismissive wave of his hoof. “Good!” he croaked. “Go!”
Dagger needed no second urging and shot down the side passage.
Tracking Grey wasn’t difficult. Dagger had only to follow the blood trail. Still, the earth pony wasn’t just running in a beeline for the exit. Instead, he took every sharp corner he could, avoiding straightaways whenever possible. Probably knows he can’t outrun a pegasus, thought Dagger with grudging admiration. Smart. Calling up the mental map of the property, he guessed that Grey would end up in the foyer within a couple turns. Speeding ahead to take another route, Dagger slipped around to intercept him. Futile, but smart.
The gamble paid off. Grey burst into the foyer, casting a glance behind him to watch for pursuit, only to come screeching to a halt when he looked forward and saw Dagger waiting for him. The older stallion blinked in surprise and Dagger smirked. “Leaving so soon?” he asked casually.
Grey swallowed and took a step back. Still, he put on a confident smile. “Well, I was only making enough dinner for two, so with you and your buddy here I have to make a quick run to the store. You know how it is with unexpected houseguests.”
“Sure do,” agreed Dagger. I kinda like this guy. Shame we gotta whack him. Grey seemed to be favoring his left side, and Dagger saw that one of his blades was embedded in the stallion’s shoulder. “I’ll be wanting that back,” he said, indicating the weapon with a nod. “Though I gotta say, as a matter of professional courtesy, I’m impressed you gave us a runner, especially with a bum leg.”
“Ah, it’s no great thing,” deflected Grey as he scanned the room. At first, Dagger thought the stallion was calculating if he could bolt for one of the side doors; there were several on each side of the foyer. But when Grey’s eyes lighted on a pair of wall-mounted swords, Dagger realized that the stallion wasn’t planning on running. The assassin took aim with another knife, but Grey lunged with that same unexpected agility as before and snatched up the arming sword, shifting it quickly to practiced guard position. Dagger’s tardy throw was deflected with a sharp *clang* as Grey batted it out of the air. The earth pony smirked, remarking, “Adrenalin is one heck of an anesthetic.”
Dagger cocked an eyebrow. “But it doesn’t provide martial training. Ex-military?”
Grey snorted. “Do I look like an order-taker to you? I’m an empire-builder, not a grunt. You don’t build empires without learning to defend them. Especially if your empire exceeds the princesses’ borders.”
“Well, you’d have been better off not exceeding them,” replied Dagger, drawing a pair of long-bladed dirks and taking one in each forehoof as he flapped to a low hover. “You earned an introduction to the Pale Horse with your foreign adventurism.”
Rather than cowering, Grey raised an eyebrow. Dagger’s admiration went up a notch. “I don’t suppose you could be more specific?” asked the businesspony. “‘Foreign adventurism’ doesn’t really narrow it down for a pony of my means.”
“Sorry,” shrugged Dagger, “but that’s all the time we have for questions.” He crossed the distance between himself and Grey in a single flap of his wings. Steel clashed on steel as Grey barely managed to deflect his dirks. Dagger disengaged before the wounded pony could counterattack, then flew around to strike from another angle.
The fight was short, but brutal. Dagger was younger, faster, unwounded, and he could fly; the battle was his to control. Every time the older pony was a shade slow, Dagger landed a cut. Once, twice, thrice – soon Grey was bleeding from nearly a dozen wounds.
Yet, for all that, the stolid earth pony wouldn’t go down. Every time Dagger was about to land a killing blow, Grey managed to parry it, or at least turn the blade aside enough to make it a glancing blow instead of a fatal one.
Also, Grey didn’t seem sufficiently worried about his imminent demise. Dagger wanted to put it down to his opponent’s gumption, but something about the Grey’s calm made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Oh buck this! he finally thought with a growl. Time to end it! With a mighty flap of his wings, he sent a gust of wind that propelled him into the air and staggered his opponent. Grey rose to his hindlegs and brought his sword to a high guard, expecting a strike at his head—
Which left his hindlegs exposed. Dagger speared the right leg with a precisely thrown dirk, and the stallion toppled to the ground, losing his sword as he attempted to catch himself. Before he could recover his weapon, Dagger landed and kicked it across the room, then menaced Grey’s throat with his remaining dirk.
“Hah!” smirked Dagger, trying not to show that he was breathing a little heavily. “Gotta admit, old timer, I’m impressed. You made us work for this. The spice, the tight corners, the swordplay… you’re pretty good.”
Dagger expected Grey to take that moment to plead for his life. Or, more likely, to accept his death with a dry quip and admirable dignity.
What he did not expect was Grey to start chuckling. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and it sent a chill down his spine.
“You’re also ‘pretty good,’ my little assassin,” laughed the older stallion as he nursed his bloodied side, “though you made one critical error. You didn’t stop to ask yourself why I was stalling. It wasn’t just because I like the sound of my own voice.” Grey smiled, and the smile was predatory. “It’s because you’ve been dancing to my tune while I waited for my date to show up.”
Dagger was about to ask the obvious question when fate answered it for him. He felt the rush of magic behind him. Felt it even though he wasn’t a unicorn. Felt it because the vwoom of teleportation sent a swell of magic over him like a wave.
And suddenly there was another presence in the room. One whose power was so great he could taste the energy on the backs of his teeth.
Grey’s injuries did not prevent him waving cheerily to the presence and calling, “Hello, Luna!”
Swallowing, Dagger turned his head to see the Princess of the Night looming in the foyer with a bottle of wine in her magic grasp and a fell look in her eyes. He responded in the only way he possibly could.
“Well crud.”
The central purpose of martial training is to hone the individual’s instincts to the point of being able to assess the situation, prioritize objectives, and act decisively no matter the circumstances. Whether on the field of battle or being woken from a dead sleep, a trained combatant is expected to be able to react swiftly and effectively even when caught unprepared.
Yet warriors are mere flesh and blood. No amount of training nor experience can grant perfect reaction time or judgment, and even centuries cannot overcome the reality of surprise.
It took Luna a full three seconds to process what she was seeing.
Three seconds too long.
The assassin dove over Mason, grappling the earth pony mid-dive and rolling to grasp his captive as a living shield. Luna’s horn flared with power, armoring her with wards as a dozen magic spears flashed into existence and flew towards the interloper. Before they could skewer him, the pegasus wrenched Mason between himself and the spears. Luna froze the spears mere inches from her friend’s flesh. She made to reposition them for another attack, but the assassin moved faster and pressed the point of his blade to Mason’s neck.
“RELEASE HIM, SCUM!” roared Luna, her Royal Canterlot voice shaking the room and forcing both captor and captive to flatten their ears against their heads.
“Put down the pointies,” replied the assassin, his voice hardly quavering as he indicated the magic spears with the flick of an ear, “and I’ll consider it.”
Luna took a step forward, shattering tile beneath her hoof. “ARROGANT WRETCH! WE SHALL TEAR THEE LIMB FROM—”
“Whoa there, Highness,” warned the cutthroat, pressing his dirk hard enough to draw blood. “Black’s a good color on you, but let’s not rush the funeral, eh?”
Snarling, Luna halted. “What do you want, backstabber?”
“Well, your boy dead for one,” replied the assassin, “on account of his foreign adventurism. Though I’m willing to consider giving him an extension on life in exchange for getting one myself.”
Luna growled. “In exchange for his life, we shall happily grant you a cell to call your own.”
The cutthroat chuckled. “O-ho-ho- no, Princess. I’m afraid jail time isn’t in the cards for me. I’ll be leaving here a free pegasus.”
“Is that so?” hissed Luna, her lips bending in a vicious sneer. Her horn flared once more, and the room darkened. Mist gathered at the edges and crept towards the assassin and Mason. A dozen fresh spears manifested in the air, surrounding the assassin totally. “We think you overestimate your leverage, backstabber.”
“Maybe,” replied the cutthroat gamely, glancing at the surrounding spears. “Or maybe you shish-kebab your boy getting to me.”
Maybe I would, thought Luna as the magical mist she’d conjured began to pool around the stallion’s hooves, taking on greater form and substance with each passing second. If the spears were anything more than a distraction. “We are quite capable of killing you before you strike,” she assured him aloud. “And, unlike our sister, we are not inclined to grant chance after chance at life.”
Smirking, the stallion replied, “I’ve always had good luck taking chances.”
Behind him, the mist rose to grapple him. As have I.
Luna raised her head imperiously and spread her wings, her eyes flashing white with power as she kept his attention forward. “WE GIVE YOU ONE FINAL OPPORTUNITY! SURRENDER YOUR CAPTIVE, OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND!”
The cutthroat pondered her offer for a moment. “Interesting proposal,” he said after a short pause. “Counter-proposal…” with a bellow he charged forward, heaving Mason’s body at the spears.
Luna dispelled the weapons immediately, saving Mason from a gruesome death, but the assassin wasn’t done. He sprang though the air, dirk aimed for Luna’s throat. He came within an inch of striking her—
Then she seized him in her magic and smashed him into the ground, cracking the tile.
“Insolent little pony,” she spat. He stared up at her in a daze, the wind fully knocked out of him. A groan from Mason drew her attention. Making sure the assassin was pinned by her magic, she turned her head to address her friend. “Mason, are you all right?”
The earth pony rolled painfully over onto his back and glared up at her. “First you show up late,” he moaned, “then you catch that young buck instead of me? I’m starting to think you don’t love me anymore.”
Despite the situation, Luna couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You’re irrepressible, Mason,” she replied with a relieved laugh. Setting the wine bottle down, she added, “Though I at least brought the ’76.”
“All is forgiven!” laughed Mason, wincing as his chuckles put pressure on his wounds.
She was about to give his injuries a closer examination when the mystery assassin emitted the painful sounds of a pony who’d had the air driven from his lungs remembering how to breath. Since Mason appeared to be in no mortal danger, Luna turned her attention to the assassin. “Your attack was either bold or desperate, backstabber,” she snapped, glaring down at him. “Were you honestly foolish enough to believe you could defeat the Mistress of the Night?”
He had to gasp for air for several moments before replying. “No,” he rasped. “Not… defeat… *cough* … only… what… *wheeze* Grey… did.”
Luna arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what, pray tell, did Grey do that you were emulating.”
The assassin winked. “Stall.”
Raw magic blasted Luna from the right, striking her barrel side-on and sending her skidding across the room. A lesser pony would have died. As it was, between her magic armor and alicorn resilience, she kept her footing, and her metal shoes gouged lines in the tilework.
“Luna!” shouted Mason in alarm, trying and failing to scramble to his hooves.
The princess wasn’t injured, but the blast had still hurt through the shield. Whoever she was facing had powerful magic. Dark magic. She gritted her teeth and swung her head to face the second attacker.
She spied him lurking in the doorway to one of the side passages – a unicorn pony garbed in a cloak. It was difficult to guess what his natural coloration was, as he was coated in some sort of red powder which, now that she was paying attention, was enough to make her nostrils burn.
Luna charged her horn to fire, but the stallion stepped into the shadows of the hall and vanished. Instinctively, the princess dumped more power into her shield, just in time to absorb a second beam of magic striking from the left.
The blast staggered her, but not so badly that she couldn’t swing her head around and fire a volley of bolts in return. One singed the stallion’s cloak before he once again evaporated into the shadows, this time emerging behind her.
He fired again, but Luna was ready, throwing a bubble shield around herself and Mason, warding both from further attacks.
It also gave her enough protection to observe the unicorn’s vanishing act. Before her eyes, the unicorn dissolved into one patch of shadows, to emerge from another patch across the room. “Shadowmancy!” Luna hissed. The unicorn fired a blast at her, which she deflected easily on her shield. “You dare to turn the shadows against ME?!”
She let loose a beam of power at his head. The unicorn shadowstepped to avoid it, but the beam was just a diversion. As he dissolved into the shadows, Luna’s eyes flashed white and reached out with her power. She felt his passage through the half-light, felt the shadows to which he was travelling.
When he emerged, she was waiting for him. Her horn flashed and a blinding light filled the room, filling every corner and evaporating the shadows. Unprepared for the counterattack, the unicorn was flung from the shadows to smash against the wall. He bounced hard, but before he could hit the ground, she caught him in her magic and pulled him through the air to dangle eye-to-eye with her, immobilized and helpless. “YOUR PERVERSION OF SHADOWMANCY WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED, YOU CLOAKED SNEAK!” bellowed the alicorn. “YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE YOU LEARNED YOUR DEVILISH CRAFT, OR I WILL—”
“Luna! The wine!”
Mason’s warning came too late. The bottle smashed over her horn and showered her face in glass fragments and burgundy wine. Her wards kept the shards from damaging her eyes, but the wine still blinded her, and the impact broke her concentration. Not enough to collapse her wards, but enough to break her grip.
The unicorn struck. Through the haze of burgundy, Luna saw him swing a blade as he fell, and she cried out in pain and shock as steel cut through her magic and bit into her flesh, gashing her cheek open and spilling blood and wine onto the floor. She swung instinctively with her hoof, a blow that would have taken the unicorn’s head off had it connected, but he disappeared in a flash of teleportation.
Ignoring the pain, Luna cleared her vision with a burst of magic and cast her gaze about for the unicorn. She found him crouched by the first assassin, standing over him protectively.
The pegasus smirked at the princess. “Enjoy the wine, Your Highness!” he taunted. “It had a nice heft to it!”
Before she could retaliate, the unicorn flared his horn and grabbed his compatriot. “We’re out!” he shouted. There was a loud *bang* of a desperate teleport, and then they were gone.
Luna reached out with her magic, searching for the endpoint of the teleport in case their withdrawal was merely a ploy. She sensed nothing within her range, which implied worrying things about the unicorn’s capabilities, but that was a worry for another time.
Satisfied that they were gone, she rushed to Mason’s side and gathered him in her forelimbs, charging a teleport of her own. “Mason? Are you all right?” she cried.
“No!” groaned the stallion as his head lolled in her grasp. Anxiously, she poured more power into the teleport spell – one powerful enough to take her through the castle wards.
“What hurts most?” she demanded.
Just as the teleport spell reached its apex, he raised his head to glare at her. “The fact that you lost the ’76!”
Dagger burst out of the teleportation spell and landed heavily on the pavement, yelping in pain from both the impact and the less-than-gentle energy of the spell. His extremities had been singed by the abrupt teleport, his injuries screamed for attention, he probably had a concussion, and his stomach felt like it was being pulled in six directions at once.
Still, he couldn’t help but give a genuine, if painful, whoop of triumph. “Heck yeah!” he cheered. “Squared off with a bucking alicorn and lived to tell about it! Ah, man, landing a thrown wine bottle with a sprained foreleg and a concussion? Darn proud o’ that shot! And you brother, actually drawing blood on a princess and warping us outta there—”
A ragged cough cut him off, and he turned to see his brother lying on his side, twitching in pain.
Instantly, Dagger’s jubilation died, and he was on his hooves tending to Cloak. “Ah, crap! You overdid it on the teleport, didn’t you?”
Cloak coughed again and sprayed a fine mist of blood in Dagger’s face. “… had to… get you out…” groaned the unicorn.
“Well, that’s right neighborly of you, but let’s not kill ourselves saving each other, yeah?” replied Dagger, trying to keep the worry out of his voice as he hoisted Cloak onto his back. The thin unicorn didn’t weigh much, but Dagger wasn’t confident he could carry him far, not when he had his own injuries to contend with. That and the Guard will be on our tails as soon as Moony gets back to the castle.
“We’ll have to go to ground before the shiny boys can figure out where we ’ported to,” Dagger declared as he took stock of their surroundings. They appeared to be in the back room of a warehouse. “Where the hay did you drop us, anyway? This doesn’t look like our bug-out room.” The ‘bug-out’ room was a back house belonging to a rich noble a few mansions away from the Grey Estate, a place chosen because the owner chanced to be out of town. This was definitely not that place.
“Bug-out was… too close… *cough* with alicorn on our tails,” rasped Cloak. “We’re two blocks north of… Industrial District.”
Dagger winced. Cloak had teleported them halfway across the city. Crazy foal’s lucky he didn’t kill himself. That had like a five percent chance of working. “Well, at least we’re close to home.” Gritting his teeth against the strain, he made for the alley exit. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ve got you. Home soon. I got you.”