//------------------------------// // 606 - Every Advantage // Story: Lateral Movement // by Alzrius //------------------------------// The ransom note should be arriving right about now, decided Dark Streak, watching as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared below the horizon. Of course, that was only if the courier she’d paid to deliver her note was reliable. If they weren’t able to deliver it at sunset the way she’d specified – or worse, opened the envelope despite her instructions – then she’d have to change her plans. But that wasn’t a big deal; even if worse came to worst, Lex Legis would have a hard time tracking her down via her messenger, since as far as the courier knew they’d been hired by an earth pony with a blue mane and tail. The only other issue would be if he tried to locate his missing maid with magic. And Dark Streak intended to take care of that problem right now. Wings spreading as she vaulted over the catwalk, she glided down to the ground floor of the abandoned factory she’d used for her lair. Touching down silently, she padded over to the bound, blindfolded, and gagged pegasus mare hanging from the rope binding her forelegs. Pausing, Dark Streak looked her prisoner over, needing only a moment to confirm that she’d apparently woken up at some point. The fact that she’d done so without screaming into her gag made the assassin raise a brow, surprised; she’d have expected a homely little maid in such a pampered country to go completely to pieces upon realizing that she’d been abducted. This one’s been through some hardship, she mused. Hopefully that would make this next part easier. Hysterical people were always difficult to reason with. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” announced Dark Streak without preamble, her voice making the pony jerk and writhe in her bonds. “I’m going to cast a spell on you. It won’t cause you any pain, but if you resist and make me have to cast it again, then you will experience pain.” Unsheathing a dagger – one of the unenchanted ones she kept as a backup weapon – she traced the tip of it over the bound pony’s belly, not hard enough to cut her clothes, let alone her skin, but hard enough to make her intentions clear. “Is that understood?” The threat had the desired effect, as the mare – breathing heavily and trembling like a leaf, now – managed a nod. “Good,” replied Dark Streak, sheathing her weapon. “Now hold still.” Reaching into one of her pouches, she grabbed a talonful of diamond dust and sprinkled it over the bound mare’s head, rearing upright so that she could gesture with her other talon at the same time that she mumbled the requisite words necessary to activate her non-detection spell. It was a handy little ward, making it difficult for magic to detect someone, which meant that if Lex Legis used a crystal ball or magic mirror or some snooping spell that he knew, he’d have a hard time getting a fix on her. It wasn’t foolproof, but if Willow was right about something being wrong with his magic, it would hopefully be enough. Finishing the casting, Dark Streak brushed her talon over the captured mare’s chest, feeling the spell go off. Just like every other time, the rush of magic sent an unpleasant tingle through her scalp, as though ants were crawling around inside her skull. Of course, that wasn’t too far from the truth, as she knew the sensation was actually the sigils she’d had inscribed onto her brain activating. That hadn’t been the most pleasant way to learn magic, but then, assassination tended to be an unpleasant vocation. After all, targets who were easily disposed of didn’t require the services of a professional killer; any group of thugs or mercenaries could get the job done. A skilled eliminator was hired only when the target in question was hard to kill, and more often than not, that was because they had magical resources. Thus, any assassin worthy of the name had to have magic of their own to counter that. Learning to cast spells, however, took years of training and study, unless some god or similar entity took a fancy to you. But for Dark Streak, who had fallen into her current line of work almost by accident after her husband had died, that hadn’t been an option. Although joining Cuachan’s assassins’ guild had allowed her to avoid any sort of official reprisal after she'd killed one of their members, she’d been keenly aware that doing so had earned her no friends and more than a few enemies among her new peers. That was an untenable situation; while the guild technically forbade infighting among its members, that was – so long as it was kept sufficiently discreet – a rule that was honored more in the breach than in the observance. And since her colleagues all had various magical affinities of their own, Dark Streak had needed to catch up fast. Fortunately, there’d been a local emeritus from the Copperclaw – the alchemical academy that was the closest thing Cuachan had to a magic school – who’d earned a reputation for being more interested in transmuting flesh than metals. While the old widower had initially scoffed at her desire for him to find a way to implant magical proficiency into her, she’d managed to change his mind in short order. It was amazing how cooperative people became when you held their loved ones hostage, she’d discovered. Fortunately for the old alchemist’s son, the procedure his father had come up with – physically scarring the pathways necessary to shape and direct magical energies into spells onto her brain – had worked. Unfortunately for the boy, he’d needed to enroll in the local orphanage shortly after Dark Streak had undergone the procedure, since she’d thanked his father by slipping a dagger between the ribs. After all, she couldn’t have him telling anyone what spells he’d made her capable of casting, especially since she couldn’t learn any others; the only spells she could use were the ones he’d carved into her head. “Mff! Mrgh mrr!” Frowning as her hostage started moaning behind her gag, Dark Streak cocked her head. The spell had already gone off without issue; was she trying to ask what she’d done? No, concluded the assassin after a moment’s thought. Her tone didn’t sound inquisitive. Mildly curious, since she doubted that someone who was capable of remaining in control of themselves after waking up bound and gagged would suddenly go to pieces, Dark Streak reached toward the bound pony’s gag. “I’m going to take this out of your mouth,” she announced. “If you scream, or try to call for help, it goes right back in. Not that anyone would hear you anyway.” She’d made sure of that, having spent an entire day confirming that no one in Las Pegasus’s ground-based undercity was using this particular locale. Slipping the pony’s gag off, Dark Streak couldn’t help but tense slightly, reaching down to grasp the hilt of another one of her daggers. Spellcasting in this world seemed to be limited to unicorns, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Lex Legis had taught his maid any incantation-based magic. If she started muttering the worlds to a spell… But her caution was proven unnecessary a moment later. “D-don’t…don’t do this…” stuttered the pegasus, her voice quavering. “Whatever y-you’re trying to do…M-Master Legis…the prince…will be l-lenient if you let m-me go right now…” Dark Streak couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Oh he will, will he?” The pegasus swallowed, but managed a nod. “I’ve s-seen him do it,” she stammered. “H-he’ll ask me for m-my rec-recommendation. I’ll s-say that you w-weren’t cruel, that th-this was all just s-some sort of m-m-misunderstanding…h-he might n-not even put a c-c-curse on you…” “Really?” Narrowing her eyes, Dark Streak immediately seized on pegasus’s inadvertent admission. “And what curses have you seen your master use?” The maid hesitated for a fraction of a second too long. “I…I s-saw him curse Princess L-Luna…that’s all.” Despite herself, Dark Streak couldn’t help but feel slightly impressed. It was one thing to choke down panic; it was quite another to actually find the courage to tell a lie when someone had you at their mercy. But that doesn’t mean I can let that go. After all, while she'd forfeit the second half of her fee if anyone besides Lex was killed, there were no stipulations about no one else being hurt. In a single motion, her dagger cleared its sheath, whipping out in a quick motion that cut the feathers from the tip of her left wing, missing the underlying flesh by a hair’s breadth. From the terrified whimper the maid let out, she was aware of it too, and Dark Streak didn’t put the blade away as she spoke. “For every lie you tell, I’ll cut a piece of you off. That time was just a few feathers. Do you want to find out what you’ll lose next time?” The pegasus was shaking worse now, clearly losing the battle to retain what was left of her composure, but she managed to shake her head. “Good,” replied the griffon assassin evenly. “Now, what curses have you personally seen Lex Legis use?” There were, Dark Streak had learned, particular preparations that needed to be made when your target was a wizard. Obviously, the first one was to learn what magic they had at their disposal in terms of spells and magic items. Oftentimes that was difficult, since accomplished wizards would have a repertoire of scores – perhaps even hundreds – of different spells, as well as a large collection of enchanted paraphernalia. Even so, every little bit of information helped. But that was far from the only precaution that needed to be taken. Another one was to never fight a spellcaster on their own turf. Any magic-user worth their salt would always make sure they had a home-field advantage, whether it involved covering entrances with magical alarms that only they could hear, having hidden refuges behind illusory walls, doorways that had glyphs inscribed on them that would stun any unauthorized person who passed through them, or myriad other possible defenses. To say nothing of whatever automatons or summoned monsters or other creatures they’d have right there to defend them. That was why Dark Streak hadn’t simply used her hat of disguise to take the appearance of Lex Legis’s pegasus maid and slip into his penthouse suite. Even if he didn’t break through her deception – something which was all too easy to do, since the hat only covered her in a visual illusion; not only could it not alter her voice, but if he so much as patted her on the ass it would immediately be obvious that how she felt didn’t match her appearance – she’d only get one shot to kill him, and in the not-inconceivable scenario that one strike proved insufficient to get the job done, she’d likely have to fight her way out of there before being able to finish him off. Far better, instead, to make Lex Legis come to a place where the advantage was hers. Hence why Dark Streak had chosen this particular location. The hollowed-out shell of the old factory was as spacious as it was isolated, and in gloom of the encroaching night, it offered numerous hiding places, all of which she was familiar with after spending several days thoroughly canvassing the place’s interior. That, and setting up several traps for when Lex Legis arrived, along with a few other surprises… Of course, luring him out here meant tipping him off ahead of time that something was wrong, but that couldn’t be helped. As it was, the note she’d sent him had demanded ten thousand Equestrian bits for the safe return of his maid; while she doubted his guard would be lowered if he thought this was “just” a ransom rather than an attempt on his life, at least this way he’d bring a few extra bits that she’d be able to confiscate after she killed him. What was more important was that she’d demanded he make the payment at midnight tonight. That was another rule when fighting spellcasters: give them as little as possible in the way of preparation time. Most wizards could only change the spells they’d prepared after a full night’s sleep. By denying Lex Legis that opportunity, he’d be limited to whatever spells he’d readied that morning, before he’d known anything was wrong. If he was as cautious as Willow said, that might not make much of a difference, but it was still an advantage worth pursuing. Likewise, Dark Streak had made sure to tell him to bring the money alone and in person. Not that she’d given him her current location; that would have been inexcusably stupid, since there were still several hours before midnight and he’d have had time to begin clandestinely observing the area and making plans of his own. Instead, she’d sent him the address of a dilapidated apartment building down the street, one where she’d have a good view of him from one of the upper windows with her spyglass. That way, she’d be able to see when the other courier she’d hired met him there at midnight and told him to go to the abandoned factory instead. And once he got here, that was when the real work would begin.