I had once described the southern hills as ‘barren’. If that was my baseline, then the only way to describe their northern cousins was ‘desolate’. In other words, it was just the right kind of low-traffic area bandits would go to avoid unwanted visitors.
Unfortunately for the bandits, Ivory knew her domain.
I lay hidden in the brush on the taller, almost mountainous, side of things. I would have preferred to be closer to the edge, such that I could keep an eye on activity below. But this resilient little patch of greenery was the only hiding place within a mile. And while their pegasus sentry looked pretty bored, I doubt she’d have appreciated it if I had just strolled up beside her.
The plan was simple, though the parts that could go wrong were in no short supply. Just over the rise was a straight drop down to the caves; ‘unstealthy’ is about the only accurate way to describe such an open air descent. But when I considered that the alternative involved crossing large portions of the open camp, the descent didn't seem so bad. Ivory would begin her assault from the short side, hopefully drawing the guards away from their posts. Or in the very least, their eyes away from me.
After that came the tricky part: infiltrating the caves and rescuing Blaze without alerting the rest of the bandits. If all went well, I would just need to signal for a pegasus zombie to help me carry her out.
I kept a close eye on the sentry, though she had hardly moved since I arrived. Either her patrol route was tiny to the point of nonexistence or, more likely, she was simply lazy. Given that she was very likely to see me entering or leaving the hideout, she needed to be removed, one way or another.
Her armour appeared to be some kind of patchwork padded barding, the kind that would maybe stop a dull blade. A wingblade similar to mine hung off her wing, though the chips in its edge told me it wasn’t particularly well-cared-for. However, the biggest hole in her defense was that she plodded along with all the attention and posture of a dead tree. The fight would be over before it even started.
The question, then, was if I needed to fight. All it took was the sentry’s youth to remind me of our prisoner. I wondered how many of them there were, how many pawns the bandits had to throw away.
The stern, instructional tone of my mother’s voice cut through my thoughts. If you find yourself in a fight—a real fight, not just some schoolyard scrap—never hold back. Your opponent will come at you full force, so you must respond in kind. Do you understand?
She was right, of course. Even though I had commandeered some extra rope from the manor, combat is a tricky thing. There was no way I could guarantee the safety of that sentry.
I hoped to Celestia that she would fall for the distraction.
The seconds grew heavier, even reluctant. This was the calm before the storm and the world, in its stillness, was savouring the unease. I stretched my legs, shooing away the tingling tension that gripped them.
Even among the quiet of the hills, the first cry was nearly inaudible. But then came the torrent of frantic shouts, intermingled with the sharp ringing of a bell.
The sentry snapped to awareness and scrambled for the edge of the cliff. She was about an inch away from tumbling over the side when she skidded to a halt and stared. A full minute passed and her eyes remained on the chaos below.
It was almost the right time to strike. She just needed to take a few steps back, out of view of the main battle. My mind urged her forward. She spread her wings.
And then nothing.
She continued to stand there. Whether she was gripped by fear or a hidden savviness, I didn’t know. What I did know was that I couldn’t wait around forever.
I started to piece together a fairly risky plan; a plan that involved wrapping the rope around her throat and dragging her back to the brush. There were many things that could go wrong, but time was not on my side. My wing reached down to my flight satchel. I could already feel the rope around my forelegs and the struggle, the pain that it would bring. But the worst was not in my legs. No, it was in my chest. I gritted my teeth.
The sentry leapt into the air, venturing over the edge and into the fray.
Letting out a heavy breath, I lowered myself to the ground, a giant wave of relief washing over my body. I allowed myself another minute or so, just in case the sentry came back. When she didn’t, I struggled to my hooves and crept over to the edge.
The battle was going about as expected, with the zombies streaming through the cracks in the shoddy log gate and the bandits rushing to plug them up. Whatever interior posts there were now lay abandoned. A major lapse in judgement, but if I was being fair, they had no reason to believe they were fighting anything but zombies.
With a glance at the sky, I hopped over the edge, hovering toward the ground.
I kept as close to the walls as I dared. The last thing I needed to do was clip a wing and make a scene of myself. Progress was slow and with each foot, I could feel my muscles tighten, waiting for an arrow or javelin to come flying out of nowhere.
But not a soul came to contest me and I was almost surprised to feel my hooves touch the ground. Whatever Ivory was doing, it was working. I could only hope she kept herself safe.
And to ease her worry, I reminded myself, I need to focus on my own task.
Before me lay the lowest tunnel on the right and a potential maze of a hideout. With nothing but a prisoner’s information and a deep breath, I ventured into the shadows.
Tiny glowing stones, like extremely weak versions of Ivory’s lanterns, dotted the walls. They led the way in an alternating pattern, the distance between them stretched as thin as possible. Not that my dark coat and I could really complain.
I weaved around the lights, creating a strange, rhythmic dance among the darkness. After a few yards, an incomprehensible murmur touched my ear. I froze, tilting my head down the tunnel. The voice persisted, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
With a frown, I pressed onward, hoping I wasn’t about to run into some kind of checkpoint. My eyes flitted over the walls, looking for good hiding spots. Unfortunately, there weren’t even any obvious branch-offs, nevermind hidden alcoves. If things went badly, bolting was about my only option.
“... you mean…?!” The voice was definitely feminine and if I wasn’t hearing things, it had a scratchy, sort of beaky quality to it.
“...gate… send help...” This one was younger and male, with a tinge of nervousness.
The third voice carried a deep bass that I easily recognized as the fake-necromancer’s. “...swear take care of her… … my word…”
The tunnel finally broke off on the left, although it was not the end-of-hall turn I was looking for. A somewhat stronger light, like that of a dirty lantern, flooded across the floor and up the wall. I wagered the voices were coming from that branch, which meant there was very little chance of me sneaking past unnoticed. I slid up against the wall, hoping they would decide they had better things to do than stand around.
I poked my head forward just enough to get half of an eye on the room. A lantern sat in the middle of a crude, round table, illuminating its occupants and the tables around them. The fake-necromancer, who was still wearing his robe, stood beside a young, muscular earth pony. The earth pony wore a set of saddlebags that shifted with his nerves. Across the table was a griffon who, best I could tell, had a cloudy blue-white coat with brownish flecks.
“You’d better,” the griffon spoke low, almost growling as she wrapped her talons around the edge of the table. “Then maybe the family can forgive your failure.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The fake-necromancer answered. But this was not the intimidator from before. No, there was a hint of desperation in his voice. He turned and strode toward the darkness at the far end of the room, the earth pony following close behind.
I furrowed my brow, but after a few moments of squinting, I thought I could make out the outline of another entrance.
“Hey!” The griffon’s voice cut through the silence. “Leave the packages here, you oaf.”
“Y-yes, ma’am! Sorry, ma’am!” The earth pony doubled back, hastily slinging the saddlebags onto the table.
The two hurried out, leaving the griffon behind.
She practically tore the flaps from the bags and rummaged through them with focused intensity. Finally, she pulled out a rolled-up scroll and unfurled it. She spent a good few minutes reading it before letting out a “Pah! Bureaucratic dickwad.”
She scowled and tossed the paper onto the table before stalking off.
With the way clear, something took hold of me. I crept into the room, ears swiveling as I made my way toward the table. I kept low, within the shadows beneath the furniture. When a minute passed without anyone’s return, I darted over to the table and snatched the page.
Glancing nervously around me, I held the scroll next to the lamp.
G,
What is taking so long? Ponies are getting restless. Finish the job soon or there will be no payment.
-P
I blinked. So the bandits are taking orders from someone. Someone important at that. Which explains their persistence, but why? Who would have such a stake in a backwater town like Pasture?
I glanced at each exit before sliding the letter into my flight satchel. Poking through the saddlebags next, I came up more or less empty-hoofed; they contained a random assortment of food stuffs, but nothing else. The only interesting part was that these weren’t rations. They were packaged goods, wrapped up marketplace style.
It was all speculation, but a couple thoughts raced through my mind. The first was that Pasture was constantly being infiltrated by bandits, which, after seeing the militia, would hardly be a surprise. The second was that whoever their contact was was likely meeting them inside the town proper.
Returning the bag to its previous position as best I could, I slipped out of the room with my prize. I had a pony to rescue, after all.
The hallway was pretty much abandoned and stayed that way. While I continued to advance with great care, that left, then third right came and went without so much as a peep. But that was the easy part.
It was very unlikely that the prison guard or guards had abandoned their posts. Barring astronomical luck, remaining hidden would be impossible. I would have to disable them. I flexed my wingblade wing.
I came to a ramp, the top of which was quite chunky and uneven, as though whoever created it couldn’t decide if they wanted to build stairs or not. It snaked a couple times before finally leveling off.
The room was almost totally bare, with nothing but open space and a few of those glowstones along the walls. A single metal door was fixed into the far wall. Even at that distance, I knew there was no way I was opening it without a key.
A muffled crunch pulled my attention to the right. A vaguely quadrupedal black blob charged toward me, the features of a pony coming into existence as it left the shadows. It held a shaft between its teeth, angled such that one end was pointed straight at me. My reflexes sent me low and to the side; the earth pony's short spear cut through dead air as he drove it into the wall. The screech of metal scraping rock, as well as a shower of stoney shards, filled the air.
Circling round, I brought my wingblade slicing toward his barrel. He hastily shifted and my blow fell short, slashing across the top of his flank. He let out a muffled grunt as he pivoted his head, bringing the butt of the spear toward me.
I stepped back and the earth pony’s weapon swished past my muzzle, finding the wall again. Seeing an opening, I darted in, pressing my blade down against his shaft, pinning it in place. He struggled to pull it away, to put it between us. But it was too late; he’d left his throat exposed. And then it was over.
He made this horrible hacking, gurgling sound as the spear clattered to the floor. His legs thrashed while he crumpled down the wall, leaving dark streaks across the uneven surface.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. He was my opponent and leaving my back open could be a fatal mistake. My wing quivered as I kept my blade leveled at him. I watched his eyes grow hazy, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more erratic and slow. Until finally, he lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.
My stomach churned, but I didn’t have time for that. I had to focus, to push the image aside.
A quick search revealed that he had been wearing a crude belt with a small pouch; within that pouch was a single iron key. Snatching it up, I dashed for the cell door and away from my terrible victory.
With a bit of coaxing, the lock clicked and the door swung open, casting a paler than pale light over a prone Blaze. One of her hind legs was chained to the wall, but there didn’t appear to be any further bindings.
She squinted as she stared up at me. “Come to make another deal? Stop wasting your breath.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not your captor.” I lobbed the key in her direction.
“You.”
“Yes, ‘me’ has come to rescue you. Now hurry up and free your leg. I’ll keep an eye on the hall.” And with that, I turned my attention outward. The wall had taken more of a beating than anypony and that much noise was unlikely to go unnoticed by any stragglers.
The shackle clattered to the ground and I threw a glance back at Blaze. She was already on her hooves, limping over to me, hind leg half-dragging behind her.
I raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Like a sleeping leg will stop me,” she boasted.
“Riiight. Now let’s get going before—” I snapped my mouth shut as the unmistakable sound of hoofsteps trickled into my ear.
The fake-necromancer disembarked from the ramp, a demonic red radiating from under his hood. I heard a half-gasp, but it quickly morphed into a low, malicious chuckle. “Hello, ‘Necromancer.’”