Equestria's Secret Service

by EdwardJ

I - The Captive

        The ledge overlooked the underground pit that the diamond dogs were gathered in.  The pit was immense, almost unbelievably so; it must have taken days, even weeks, for them to dig it this size.  There were four elevated platforms with thrones in the pit, empty at the moment, each placed away from the others, sitting at the corners of a great square shape.  Most disturbing were the thousands of dogs gathered, raising such a cacophony it was a wonder that the whole mine did not collapse around them.  Initial reports had claimed that there were only a few hundred dogs gathered.  The others must have had arrived since first discovery; such things were known to have happened before, though never this fast, and never in this number.

        Spotter was nervous.  He was an earth pony, his tan coat and amber mane visible where it left his camouflaged uniform.  His cutie mark was printed on the uniform's flank: three spots, each of a different size.  He had several years experience in Equestria's Secret Service, and in all that time he had never seen such a force on the doorstep of Celestia's throne.  Worse, even in the short time he had been here, he had seen new dogs arriving; it was still growing.  What it was that could attract so many, he could only wonder.

        "This is bad, Sly," he whispered to his partner, a unicorn clad nose to hoof in camouflage that hid her light-blue coat, with her star-and-moon cutie mark printed on her flank.  Sly had never liked dogs, and the number below had given her considerable pause.  It was for this reason that she was maintaining an illusion spell over them, further hiding them from the eyes of watchdogs.  Spotter considered it a foolish move; though they hadn't seen any, the reports had mentioned a Shaman dog in this group, and such creatures were capable of detecting the use of magic.  Sly played it cautiously, keeping her illusion weak to avoid detection, but Spotter never saw the use.

        "Understatement of the day," Sly whispered back.  She was getting that strained look in her eyes, the look that said she was pushing her magic close to the edge.  To be fair, while the spell was simple, the delicate balancing act of keeping it both functional and undetectable was akin to walking a tightrope with a stiff breeze: possible, but only just.  "Step back a bit, I need to drop the spell a moment."

        Spotter and Sly slipped back behind the ledge, and the illusion faded.  They could no longer see the commotion the dogs were making, but they could still hear it.  A few voices began to carry louder than the others, and some of the noise quieted down.  Spotter knew a few words in their barbaric language, and every once in a while, between the shouting and guttural cries, he could pick some out.  "...day... revenge... pegasus... Celestia..."

        Wait, what was that?  "Sly, did you hear that?"

        "What?  Sorry, no, I don't speak Dog."

        "No, I swear they said 'Celestia.'  Please tell me you heard that!"

        "Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention.  I can barely understand them when they speak proper, anyway."

        "I heard it," a voice whispered by his ear.  Spotter glanced over, and noticed that they were now joined by a third pony, standing between them.  Instead of camouflage, this earth pony hid behind a dusty black cloak and a white ivory mask with red markings.  He peered out of his mask with red eyes.  "'Celestia.'  I do not know any of their language, but I heard that."  He approached the ledge and looked down.  "This does not bode well."

        "About time you turned up, Autumn; Sly is running on fumes over here.  What's happening down there?"

        Autumn took a careful look at the pit.  He was laying flat against the ground, and even to Spotter, he seemed to almost not be there.  "I count three dog Shamans."

        "Three!?"  Sly's voice almost broke whisper.  "Three blasted Shamans?  How the hell are they not at each other's throats?"

        "Would that I could tell you.  Strange; this is almost exactly the kind of cohesion that we fear the dogs ever acquiring.  Three Shamans together would create such a powerful magic force... why have they not attacked yet?  Why do they not look to be preparing for war?  What are they waiting for?"

        The questions were met with silence.  They were just a scouting party, sent to confirm initial reports of increased activity in the border mines.  A force like this had to be met, and soon, but they lacked the power themselves, and trying to rally Equestria's forces before they had good intel would be tantamount to suicide.  Who knew how much larger this gathering could grow in the next few days?  Already this was larger than any other recorded gathering, and they knew that number would only increase.  But for that same reason, did they have time to collect the necessary intel before reporting?  Canterlot had to know about this; if the invasion were to be launched tomorrow, they had to be ready for it.  Spotter looked at Sly, who seemed almost recovered.  "Sly?" he ventured.  "What do we do?"

        Sly coughed quietly, and sat in silence for a few moments more.  "We need more information before we can set up a strike force, but Command needs to be aware of this right away.  I don't want to use my magic so close to those Shamans, but it may be the only option we have.  You two, stay here; I'll try to get to the surface and away from here, and see if I can get a message off in safety.  If it works, I'll be back; if not... well, I'll keep running.  Spotter, I'm leaving you in charge while I'm gone.  Keep an eye on-"

        "Something interesting," whispered Autumn, still watching the pit.  "Food."

        There was a pause.  "What?"

        "Food.  Not dog food, pony food.  The dogs are not eating it, they just placed it in front of a Shaman.  The Shaman is doing... something to it; casting some spell, looks like."

        "Spell?  What kind of spell?" asked Sly.

        "I am no magic pony, Sly," he answered. "I just hide."

        "Hm.  Well, keep hiding.  If it becomes something worth reporting, let me know."

        "Sly," began Spotter.

        "No, stay quiet.  Spotter, you're in charge.  Keep your eyes open for anything that might help us know 'what' and 'why,' but take no unnecessary risks, do you understand me?"  Spotter nodded.  "Good.  If I'm not back in two hours, assume I won't be back.  Protect the Dawn."

        "Protect the Dawn," the other two echoed, and Sly scampered off, keeping low to the ground and moving quietly.  Spotter sighed and crept up beside Autumn, who had not moved since arriving on the ledge.  Peering over, he saw that three of the throne platforms were now occupied by Shaman dogs.  The food was being carried from one Shaman to another, who also waved his staff over it.  The dogs were hooting and howling, drowning out any intelligible noise that he may have otherwise heard.  Suddenly, a Shaman stood upright, his paws in the air above him, and all the dogs fell silent.  The Shaman began speaking, and he was echoed by the other two.  It seemed rehearsed; the first would say something, the other two would respond, giving a whole speech one piece at a time, and Spotter found himself wishing he had paid more attention to his language courses.

        The last sentence he understood perfectly: "Take it to the alacorn!"

        His eyes went wide as his mind raced.  An alacorn?  Where in Equestria did they find one of those?  Aren't the princesses... they're back in the palace, I know they are!  This is big.  This is probably the biggest thing that...

        ...wait a minute, calm down, he told himself.  It's been awhile since your lessons.  Maybe... maybe you misheard?  He looked over to the pony beside him.  "Autumn," he whispered, "I think that Shaman told the dogs to take the food to an alacorn."  The masked pony betrayed a slight twitch, his eyes flicking over to Spotter before returning to the pit.  "I could be wrong, but I want to make sure.  I need you to follow those dogs, and see where this food is going.  Do not get caught."

        "They will never see me," said a voice; the pony was gone.  There weren't even any marks where he had just been laying down.

        Spotter peered over the edge once more, trusting his camouflage to hide him as well as the illusion had. "Well," he said to himself, "Let's hope I'm wrong about this..."

        The stone walls always felt too close to the pegasus.  She was a creature of the skies, born on a white cloud with the endless blue calling in all directions; now she was trapped in an underground cell, just six paces to a side, always the same six paces, and the oppressive walls always felt too close.  Lying on the straw-and-feather pile that served as a bed, she stared blindly at the torch on the far wall that weakly cast its gloomy light through the iron-bar door on her cage.  Her sky-blue coat looked a pale grey under the dull light, and her bright yellow mane looked like desert dust, but the ropes that bound her wings were clearly visible.  The dogs had not been gentle then, and her right wing had made a sickening snap when they tied her.  The ropes hadn't been undone since.

        It had to have been months since she had been brought here.  She didn't know how many, but she was only a few weeks pregnant when she was taken, and now her belly was heavy with foal.  So many months had passed; so many months since she had danced on the clouds, held her lifemate close, or felt the warm kiss of the sun.  She clutched the thin blanket around her, trying endlessly to stave off the cold.

        The dogs had treated her gently after she was caged; the large one who called himself 'Shaman' had seen to that.  She was given meals on a regular basis, and as plain as they were, they were filling.  Every so often a tub of water was brought in and she would be bathed.  The Shaman always accompanied the bath.  He would watch to be certain she wasn't being mistreated, and he would smile.  It was the same smile he wore when they captured her, her lifemate lying motionless beside her.  The smile would give her nightmares, but his words always sent a chill down her spine.

        "Good, good."  It always started like this: his broken Equestrian speech slipping between his rotten teeth, and he would be smiling; always smiling.  "Eat, bathe, be healthy.  Grow big, have good pup, yes?  Good, strong pup, and give to us, and we set free.  Is good deal, yes?  You no give pup, we take, and you no go free, so is good deal, yes?"

        She used to cry.  In those early days, the tears would flow so easily.  Whatever the reasons: fear, hurt, or loss, the tears were the same, and the dogs would always smile.  She stopped crying after a few weeks, but the pain was still there.  Those were the early days, though.  She was cold, frightened, and alone, but these days the pain was routine, and she was growing numb.

        She heard the sounds of the dogs coming from down the passageway, and she assumed it was for her next meal.  She had once tried to judge the days by the meals they brought, but soon it proved useless; days had long since blended into one bad memory.  The dogs sounded more excited than usual, she noticed; they were laughing when they got to her cell.  The one holding the plate gently lowered it to the floor, and slid it under the door.  "Eat," it said. "Eat well, pony!"  With that, they all ran off, hooting and laughing at some joke only they knew.  They were long gone before she came out of the shadows, hunger driving her to the plate.

        "You are a pegasus," a voice said.  She jumped back in terror, looking around frantically for the source.  "Just a pegasus," the voice continued, "unless I am mistaken.  Did you have a horn?  Did they cut it off?"  A pause.  "No... that would not make any sense.  Why would they take the horn, but leave the wings?  You are just... just a pegasus."

        This was different, and she was terrified.  "W-w-who are you?" she cried.  "I-I can't..."  She stopped mid-sentence when a figure appeared on the other side of the bars.  A pony figure, wearing a dusty black cloak and a white-and-red mask.  He looked at her with red eyes, deep pools of crimson that threatened to swallow her.  Am I dreaming? she wondered.  Could this be real?  "You... you're a... pony?"  

        "I am," he said.

        Her initial terror had drained away, and now it was replaced by something almost wholly unfamiliar: hope.  "Are... are you here to rescue me?"

        "I am not, I fear."

        "B-but..."  It felt as though the world had twisted, and she fell to the ground.  The strange pony continued to watch her in silence.  She couldn't bear to look his way.  After several moments, she asked, "Why are you here?"

        "I am come to investigate... rumours of a growing number of diamond dogs in this region," he said calmly.  "These stories are, it seems, very true.  Nothing was said about a pegasus in captivity with them.  I followed these dogs down here because dogs don't eat pony food; not if they can help it, anyway.  I have now found you.  What is your name?"

        Her name.  It had been so long since anyone had cared.  She looked up, eyes slowly coming to life again.  "It... it's been so long, I..."  She looked at her cutie mark, half obstructed by her mangled wing: the sun peeking out from behind a cloud.  The memory it looking perfect against her sky-blue coat suddenly brushed her mind.  "Clear Skies... yes, that was it:  Clear Skies."  She looked over at the strange pony.  "Will you... will you help me?"

        The pony shuffled his hooves, and looked to the ground.  "I will do what I can, but that is not much, I fear.  I have no skill in picking locks, and I see no lock on this cell, so I do not think I can get you out of there.  Sly might be able to use her magic if she comes back, but with three dog Shamans about, we would be detected for a certainty."

        Clear Skies felt tears coming back.  It was almost too much for her; here was the first pony she had seen in months, and still she was trapped!  She looked at the back wall of her cell, ashamed of crying after such a long time.  "What can you do, then, if you cannot get me out of here?"  Her voice was clouded with despair, and edged with anger.

        "Currently?  Nothing.  I can, however, let others know about you, and ensure that the response is fast.  You will have help as quickly as I can make it happen."  There was a moment of silence.  "Please," the pony asked, "I need you to-"  He stopped, and looked down the passage.  "What is that noise...?" he mumbled.  After a moment, Clear Skies heard it too; a distant rumble, and what sounded like a lot of shouting.

        "This cannot be good," said the strange pony.

        The dogs were fighting again.  Spotter knew better than to think that this would be the start of a great uprising that would be the death of this gathering.  After all, part of dog culture hinged on social fights.  Personal strength, respect commanded, mating rights; all were things that a good fight could make clear.  Friendship, too, seemed to have a staple in these fights.  While ponies might go have lunch or spend a day at a spa, dogs would get together and have a brawl, or go and cheer one on.  This had to be the eighteenth fight since he had ordered his companion to investigate the food, and besides, there were only three participants this time.  Hells, even the other dogs seemed bored with this one.

        Spotter usually found the dogs' fascination with violence academically intriguing, but right now he had other things on his mind.  For starters, what the hay just happened?  After the fervour that surrounded the Shamans and the food, he wouldn't have been surprized if the invasion had started right then.  Instead, as soon as the food had left, the entire gathering had calmed down and started socializing.  The three Shamans had remained on their thrones, addressing the questions or concerns of those that approached them, but most of the creatures had just turned to each other and started talking.  It was as though they had all come to witness some pivotal event, and then decided to sit down and discuss it.

        It had been nearly an hour, Spotter reckoned, since the strange ceremony had ended.  In that time he had gained valuable insight to the horde below him: the fights that he had witnessed were sloppy, clumsy, even uncoordinated, and there was no organization in the mass of bodies below; these were civilians.  There were only a few of them that bore the traits of warriors, and they looked to be busy enough keeping order.  The good news this presented was that this wasn't an invasion force; not even the dogs threw their civilians into combat unless the situation was truly dire.  So, then, the question remained: why were they all here?  The beasts usually operated in small tribes, with the occasional Shaman gathering up to a couple hundred followers; this was an underground city.

        The Shamans were the key to it, he knew, as well as whatever purpose the strange ceremony was for.  Shamans were religious leaders, mostly, and they commanded powerful magic, the kind that usually took a team of highly trained unicorns to counter.  Worse, pooled magic had power greater than the sum of its parts, and three Shamans?  Spotter had little doubt that the princesses would have to get involved in that fight, and that was something that had to be avoided.

        It was fortunate that Shamans were very rare amongst the dog clans; latest estimate he could remember had placed the total number of Shamans in the whole of the dog clans to be five.  With intel the way it was, he doubted that figure was accurate, but it did show how rare they were.  To have three of them in one place... well, such a thing was thought to be an impossibility.  There was no formal religion across the clans, so each Shaman had his own beliefs, and they would generally fight each other until death.  'Spiritually territorial,' the scholars called it.  Whatever the fancy term for it was, here were three of the rarest breed of dog gathered and working together; it was unheard of.

        Even so, there was still a divide amongst them.  Spotter watched as two of them, while addressing the dogs before them, would glance up to the third before answering.  Small movements: the shifting of the eyes, the twitch of the tail, even the slight pause before their mouths would start moving; these Shamans were unsure.  They were balancing their words with what they thought the third Shaman, obviously the leader, would want.  They looked... intimidated.  Shamans were known to attack anything they found threatening, so what could possibly cause them to work with one that they feared?  How fragile is this gathering?

        All these questions, and too few answers.  Spotter shifted nervously, looking behind him and hoping to see his companion return.  Whatever was at the end of that trail, he hoped it would give him the answers he needed.  It isn't an alacorn; it can't be, but please, by Celestia, let the answer be there.

        A sudden howling snapped his attention back to the pit.  The Shamans were all standing, howling into the air, while the entirety of the gathered dogs were deathly quiet.  The howl stopped, and the two minor Shamans slammed their staff butts on the ground, chanting, while a blue and green magical swirl began building at the staff heads, growing and intertwining.  The third Shaman, the Grand Shaman, pointed to one of the pit exits, and shouted.  Spotter only understood two words, but it was enough.

        "Pony Magicks."

        For a moment, nothing happened; the only noise came from the chanting of the two Shamans and the fading echo of the Grand Shaman's shout.  Then every single dog in the pit turned and ran for the exit, shouting loudly.  Oh, no... thought Spotter, retreating behind the ledge.

        Sly had managed to dodge a lot of dogs on her way up, but that was no easy feat.  She predicted they were at least half a mile below the surface, and the way was a twisted tangle of passages and mineshafts.  She had been able to use minor magics to help guide her out without being detected, but with three Shamans spotted and four stone thrones, she wasn't putting it past this pack to have that fourth Shaman, and she used her magic only when needed.

        She climbed for what felt like hours before making it to the surface.  The openings of mines dotted the mountainside, several of them guarded, and the rest caved-in.  Sly's team had gotten lucky and found a shaft that was both open and unguarded.  Getting in was easy: slide down.  Getting out, well...

        Sly drew the rope from her saddlebags.  It was of simple, sturdy construction and boasted a padded grappling hook on one end.  This was where her being a unicorn became a hindrance.  Under normal circumstances, she would be able to levitate the hook to the top of the shaft, secure it on a good rock, and then make her way up, no problem.  If she didn't feel like wasting time with that, she could just teleport out.  However, with the Shamans below, she couldn't use her magic, and she had never really practiced for this situation.

        She tried her first throw.  It didn't make it halfway.

        Cursing, she tried again, with similar results.  How do those earth ponies do it, she wondered.  She pictured one she had seen once playing with ropes, twirling it around, launching it far... that's it!  She picked up the rope again, this time holding it a bit farther away from the hook, and began to spin it.  The first few tries got the rope tangled on her horn, but she kept trying.  Eventually she could get a good spin going, and then learned that getting the rope to throw the direction you wanted was another sort of challenge altogether.

        After a few unsuccessful minutes, she sat, slightly upset with herself.  She could not manage to get the rope up the shaft straight!  It kept hitting the walls and rolling back down, causing no small amount of noise, or so it seemed to her.  She had to take a breath before she really got angry.  Focus, she thought.  Focus on your task.  You need to get the message out before anything bad starts happening.  You need to get the rope up the shaft.  Calm down, try again.  Easy throw, easy does it.  She picked up the rope and tried again, and again it came tumbling down the shaft.  She was getting worried now; the dogs were sure to have heard something, and if they had, they were certainly coming to investigate.  She saw only one choice left.

        Light and gentle, she thought, light and gentle.  Throw the rope, let the magic guide it, nothing more.  Keep it light, keep it easy; keep it quiet.  Nervously, she again threw the rope, but this time she nudged it, ever so slightly, with a whisper of magic.  The rope made it to the top of the shaft, but didn't catch.  When she saw it start to slip, she pulled her magic and let the hook tumble back down, wincing each time it hit the sides of the shaft.  This couldn't go on, she knew; even with the grapple padded as it was, the noise it made... she was getting desperate.  Once again, she picked up the rope.  Once again, she threw it up the shaft, and once again, nudged it with magic.  When she saw the hook make it to the top, she held her breath, waiting to see it fall; it didn't.

        Relief flooded through her as she let herself breathe again.  She looked around one last time, straining her ears for any sign of dogs following her, and began to climb.  It was slow going; she wasn't used to this kind of physical stress.  Sure, she had built up her body strength like all unicorns in the Service, but like most of them, she also didn't keep up with it as much as she should.  After all, they were unicorns, and magic was their power.  Leave the earth ponies to their brute strength, they had something better.  Now, though, her neck hurt from the strain, her jaw hurt from clenching the rope, and she found herself wishing she'd never neglected the exercises.

        Slowly, she crawled out of the shaft, lying at the mouth while she caught her breath.  She only gave herself a few seconds before getting her hooves back underneath herself.  The sun was still in the sky, and she couldn't afford to be seen, so she hugged the ground beneath her.  Picking her way carefully down to the plain below was trying work; avoiding all the stationed watchdogs just made her task even more difficult.  She might have used an illusion to help, but the required spell was difficult enough when she wasn't moving.  Instead, she placed her trust in her camouflage.

        Sly was struck on the side of her head by a large rock.  When she cried out in pain, there followed a cry of discovery from nearby.  She quickly turned to the noise and found two sentries, one levelling a crude spear at her while motioning the other to go, likely to sound an alarm.  That couldn't be allowed to happen.  Before she had time to think, she charged the two sentries, horn low and positioned to gore.  The first stood his ground, but the second turned to run.

        NO!  The thought ran through her head, loudly demanding attention.  Before she realized what she was doing, she unleashed a magical blast that knocked both sentries to the ground, unconscious.

        She stopped her charge, staring at the two prone dogs before her.  Tartarus; THAT did it.  Quickly, she cast a minor teleport spell.  It wouldn't get her far, but it was fast and would get her far enough that she could get the message sent before any dogs interrupted her.  Once she emerged from the spell, she immediately pulled out the imprint parchment from her bags.  She felt the ground begin to rumble as she organized her thoughts for the message back to Canterlot.

        The specially-made parchment copied her thoughts, displaying the message in a ink that shimmered in gold before fading to black.  She rolled up the message, sealed it with the ribbon of the Service, and cast the spell to send it to Canterlot.  In a flash, the scroll vanished from sight.  Now, to get away.

        She gathered power and prepared for a major teleport spell.  Alone, she couldn't jump very far, but it would be far enough that the dogs would lose her scent; or so she hoped.  She closed her eyes and cast the spell.  When she opened them again... she hadn't moved.  What?  Quickly, she tried again, and again she went nowhere.  It was then that she felt it: a strange, pulsating magical energy all around her.  Curious, she cast a small scrying spell... and nothing happened.  There was no return, no sudden rush of knowledge or visions, just... nothing.  She knew she had cast the spell, she'd felt it, but nothing had happened.  She looked behind her, and saw the message she had sent, lying quietly on the ground.  By the Sun and Moon,

        She took a step back, her mind racing in a blind panic.  Feelings, emotions, and impressions flitted through her head, never taking the time to transition into words.  In less than a second, she felt that there had to be some kind of magical barrier surrounding the area, preventing her spells from working.  She knew that the idea of the thing, the very concept of it, was unheard of; that it couldn't exist, yet here it was.  She was certain that the Shamans, somewhere deep inside that mountain, were the only things that could possibly be responsible for this.  She felt that there was no way this barrier could cover the whole of the land, and that it must end somewhere.

        With that last fleeting impression, her panicked mind latched onto something solid: escape.

        She turned and ran.  Behind her, the dogs howled.

        Down by the cell, the noise was barely audible, but the shaking of the ground was crystal clear.  A quiet rumbling; not a quake, but the feel of a stampede.  Something big had happened up there.  Clear Skies looked at the strange pony.  "What is that?"

        He paused a moment.  "I do not know, but it does not seem to be coming for us."  He brought his attention back to her.  "Clear Skies, I need your help.  Can you answer some questions?"

        Clear Skies looked at the pony, really looked at him for the first time.  Standing in the torchlight, what little of the earth pony's coat peeked out from his cloak was coloured a dark rust-brown.  His white mask was covered in simple patterns, curves and spirals, all dyed red.  Behind his mask were those deep red eyes she had almost fallen into, and they seemed to flicker with the torchfire.  After these months, his was the kindest face she had seen in her life.  "What... what do you want to know?"

        "Everything you can tell me.  Do you know why the dogs are here?"

        "I don't even know where 'here' is," she answered.  "They took me while I was exploring an old quarry outside of Ponyville.  They tied me up and carted me away for what felt like days.  Once they got here, they threw me inside and never let me out."  She paused, remembering her lifemate lying motionless on the ground.  She had spent her entire imprisonment afraid of the truth, but now she summoned her courage to ask.  "Do... do you know my lifemate?  A unicorn named Silver Dawn?"

        "I cannot say that I have met him.  I will be sure to seek him out when I get the chance.  Have you... a unicorn, did you say?"

        "Yes," said Clear Skies, standing up.  "Do you know him?"  Is he alive?

        The pony was looking at her curiously, then his eyes widened slightly.  "I... are you with foal?"

        She looked down at her swollen belly; Did he not notice before?  "Yes... yes, I am.  She... will be born soon.  Please, I don't want to have my foal here, in this cell!  I don't know why, but the Shaman wants her.  He keeps coming down and telling me he'll let me go when I give him my foal.  I don't want that to happen!  Please!  Get me out of here!"  Tears began to run down her cheeks.

        "They are after your foal...?" the pony said quietly.  Suddenly, he looked at her and his eyes locked with hers.  "Clear Skies, I need you to listen to me.  I will get you out of here.  You will be free before you have your foal, this I promise you."  He looked around.  "You need to be strong.  I must go; I must deliver this message."  His eyes landed on the food plate, still sitting in the cell.  "One other thing," he said as he lifted his cloak.  Underneath was a set of saddlebags, which he removed and slipped between the iron bars of her cell.  Clear Skies was able to see that he wore a many-pocketed vest as well, and even glimpsed his cutie mark: a white mask, identical to the one he was wearing.  "Hide these bags; in them you will find rations and trail meals.  It is... not a lot, I fear, but this is necessary.  Eat the rations; do not, if you can help it, eat what they bring you.  I do not know what they are doing, but they have done something to it; some strange spell.  You say they want your foal, so I suspect that whatever they have done, is done for her.  I doubt it to be dangerous, but I do not know what it is.  If you feel you need, there are pills in the saddlebags to treat a variety of ailments; each comes with instructions."  He looked at her one last time.  "I will return quickly.  Eat carefully, and eat little."

        "Wait!" cried Clear Skies, "Don't leave me!"  She found herself shouting at the wall; the strange pony was gone.  Not even a sound remained.  She sat down and sobbed into the floor.  "I... I don't even know your name."

        "Autumn," a voice said.  "My name is Autumn."

        Clear Skies woke up again.  She was in the same cell, lying in the same straw bed, watching the same torch cast its gloomy light all around.  There was a plate of food waiting for her, and the mine was quiet.  Had it all been a dream?  The strange pony with the mask, the promise of freedom?  Had she dreamt of the Shaman dog coming down and yelling at her, asking his angry questions?  It had felt so real, and yet here she was, watching the torchfire burn away the memories like the morning dew.  She collapsed back onto the bed, feeling defeated.  

        She landed on something hard; something buried in the straw. Bolting upright, she dug into the straw bed, and there she found the saddlebags.  Old, worn things they were, emblazoned with the cutie mark of its owner: a white mask.  For a long time, she didn't move; she just held the bags, letting the happy fact that it wasn't a dream, that there was somepony out there who knew who and where she was, wash over her.  After a while, she held the bags close, as though embracing a lover, as his words went through her head: I will get you out of here.  You will be free to have your foal, this I promise you.  She caught the scent on the bags; it smelled like sweat and stallion; like warm earth, open sky, and bright sun.  For a moment her world was outside again, running through the open fields, chasing her love and laughing with joy.

        A sudden noise snapped her back to reality, and she quickly buried the bags again.  She lay atop the straw, nervous that some dog might see.  Seconds passed.  Then minutes.  Nothing came by the cell.  Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed.

        She dug out the saddlebags again and looked through them.  The meals were there and, as promised, they weren't much; looked enough for three days, taken sparingly.  There was also a small canteen of water, only about half-full.  The medicinal pills did cover a wide variety of ailments, from poisons to the simple cough, and even some to help against magical hexes.  She looked at the food the dogs brought her, and considered taking those ones.  What was it that he had said?  Some spell cast on the food?

        She looked over the descriptions again.  Each gave an overview of the magical ailments that they could help stall or reverse.  Nothing major, of course; only a fully magical counter could truly repel a curse, but these were designed to give the afflicted pony enough time to get that magical treatment.  But, she thought, looking back over at the food, they did nothing dangerous, did they?  Would these even do anything?

        She was hungry.  Sighing, she put the pills down, picked up the plate of food, and dumped it down the waste chute in the corner.  Then she organized the pack rations to last as long as possible, and ate her first clean meal in months.

        For the rest of the day, routine took over.  The dogs would bring food, she would dump it, and have a pack ration meal.  The rations were good, and whatever they were made of filled her better than she would have imagined something that size to do.  They also gave her some of her strength back, but that might have just been from not eating the dog-enchanted food.  If that was so, she decided, maybe taking one of the magical ailment pills would be a good idea.

        She took one as the torchlight began to fade.  In a few minutes, she knew, it would go out, leaving her alone in the darkness before a dog would come by to replace it.  Sometimes that took hours, sometimes just a few minutes.  Now, though, she decided to call it nightfall.  Pretending it was the setting sun, she looked at the faint glow of the dying torch on the wall, smiling as she lay down to sleep.  For the first time in a long while, she was looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.