Daring Do and the Hand of Doom

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 32: Converging Forces

In the just over thirty years he had existed, few things in Zel’s life had been easy. There was a reason why he had come to be the commander of a mercenary group in Singapone- -one that had, at one point, been considered relatively elite. That single feature could be summarized in a single word: experience.

Three quarters of his life had been spent as a soldier. He had marched through some of the worst conditions possible on his home continent: in sweltering jungles, through dank swamps, and across vast and lethal deserts. He had fought zebras as well as ponies, and spent much of his life hiding in wait in the most dangerous brush in all of greater Equestria, either preparing to attack or fleeing from creatures that had no name in the pony language.

Then, though, there were mountains. Zebrababwe had some of the highest in the world: cold, icy peaks rising high above endless grasslands and humid jungles. And there were zebras that climbed them- -but precious few. That right- -and duty- -was reserved only for the shamans, the mysterious exiles placed in charge of ancient zebra lore. They were the only zebras taught the making of potions and how to use the ancient spells of their people; they were the only ones permitted to use magic.

Zel, though, was empirically no mystic. The cold on Lyskymm was deadly, but to a zebra it cut far deeper, chilling his bones themselves. He was dressed warmly in the clothing that the strange albinos had given him, but even with five layers he sat in the darkness shivering and attempting to gasp for breath through the oxygen mask they had given him. These were, in his opinion, the worse conditions he had ever faced.

“This isn’t funny,” he moaned. “The things I’ll do for money…”

He continued to shiver and slowly freeze in a set of dark and unpleasant evergreens for what felt like hours. Luna’s moon slowly passed overhead, and Zel was surprised to note that it was the same size as it had been his whole life. Even this high, he was no closer to it. The thought would have been humbling if he had not been so cold.

A set of hoofsteps sounded behind him. Zel did not even need to turn to recognize them; he was only aware of six creatures that walked bipedially, and the approaching being was not five of them.

“Boss, hey boss!” called Brass Knuckles. “You’ll never guess what I found!”

“Unless it’s thicker air, / I don’t really care.”

“Come on!”

Zel turned slowly. Brass Knuckles was indeed behind him, dressed in a sleeveless vest and not wearing her mask. It took a moment of staring into the moonlit darkness for Zel to realize that she was not alone.

“By Celestia’s tinted hair! /Brass Knuckles, what is it you have there?!”

“BABY GOATS!”

Brass Knuckles held out her arms to confirm that she indeed did have said goats. In fact, she was outright covered in them. She was hugging several, and more were climbing up her broad shoulders and head. The whole time she was giggling constantly.

“Do I need to give you a whack?! / Where did you even find those? Put them back!”

“But they’re so adorable! And they’re all over the place around here, you know, living in houses and stuff!” One of the goats climbed up onto her head and stood like a statue between her short horns. “Look! I have a goat hat!” Brass Knuckles broke out in joyous laughter as several of her goats released tiny goat sounds.

“What is this, a comedy skit? / Why in Equestria should I tolerate this- -”

A Pegasus landed beside Zel. He looked up to see the mare that he had once thought of as an adequate but largely mediocre soldier, the one with a Mohawk haircut who was in truth a dyed albino.

“Why are you here?” muttered Zel. “Please say it’s to bring more gear…”

“No, commander. Sorry. But we’ve finished the reconnaissance in the downhill sector.” She pointed at a white earth-pony emerging from the brush. Despite it being nearly two in the morning, he was wearing sunglasses. Although Zel was happy enough to work for Caballeron- -provided he eventually paid- -the earth-stallion’s choice in soldiers was borderline absurd.

The Mohawked Pegasus stared at Brass Knuckles. “Brass, where’s your mask?”

“Don’t need it!” she gasped in reply. She immediately struck a pose, causing some goats to jump off her and others to take up perches on her exceedingly well developed minotaur muscles. “Low-altitude cardio!” She flexed. “More endurance means more time at the gym! More time at the gym means more muscle! And more muscle- -” she kissed her enormous biceps. “- -means more of yours truly.”

“Well you’re not in the gym now. And put down the goats. I know you minotaurs have a weird thing for them, but there’s a time and a place. And guess what? This isn’t it. At all.”

“But…they make cute sounds!”

“BAH!” agreed one of the goats, resulting in a chorus of agreement from the rest of them.

The Pegasus just sighed. She turned to Zel. “Our part of the operation is done,” she said. “We’re good to go.”

“Then so begins our hour,” he sighed. He then paused, leaving the Pegasus waiting for the rest of the couplet. “But interesting that you say ‘our’.”

“What, you’re going to ream me for grammar now?”

“He means you’re one of them,” said Withers. He was facing the clearing beyond the bushes, near which the unnamed mountain town was sleeping.

“Seriously?” said the Pegasus. “Yes. We covered that. I figured we moved on. I still work for Zel.”

“Actually I don’t think you are / as dishonesty and disloyalty can reach quite far.”

“When was I ever being dishonest? You never even asked.”

“Right now,” said Withers, sounding surprisingly angry. He turned and glared at her through his sunglasses. Or might have glared; it was impossible to tell due to their opacity. “That’s not your voice.”

The Pegasus, clearly annoyed, sighed. When she spoke again, the cadence and accent of her voice had changed entirely. “The reason I elect not to use this style is that I believe it makes me seem alien. It would make it difficult for me to integrate with your group.” Her eyes moved to Zel, and her voice reverted to its normal pattern. “And right now? If you haven’t noticed, you’ve lost your whole crew. It’s just me and the goat-hugger.”

“I only hugged one!” protested Brass Knuckles. The goat on her head tapped her, and her expression fell. “No. I lied. I hugged them all. Twice.” Another tap. “Three times. Whatever the word for that is.”

“Thrice,” corrected the Pegasus.

“But…we already ate…”

Withers stomped through the brush and confronted the Pegasus by placing himself facing her so close that their noses were nearly touching. The Pegasus did not back down. The two glared at each other for a long time, and an awkward silence permeated the dark night. Even the baby goats made no sounds.

“What you did isn’t cool.”

“So what?”

“I liked you.”

“You don’t now?”

“I have trust issues.”

“Well put a tap in your bung-hole before all the WHINE gets out! Do you know what happens when this is all over? I get bleached, throw out these contacts, and get back in some heavy armor. To be honest, I’m having way more fun getting to be a normal pony for once.”

“Would you cry/ for the loss of a lie?” mused Zel.

“I don’t cry. And I wouldn’t. But after I’m done? I don’t get to see any of you again. So we should make the most of this and take our respective anger out on that winged steed your boss wants so badly.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Fine.” The Pegasus leaned forward and without warning removed Withers’s mask and kissed him. Brass Knuckles blushed and cried out, trying to shield the eyes of every goat she had stolen.

The Pegasus pulled away and replaced the mask. “There. What do you think now?”

Withers paused for a moment. “My loyalty. It has improved.”

“Mine has not, I’m afraid,” noted Zel. “And try to kiss me, and you’ll be pureed.”

“Because I’m ‘one of them’.”

“No, because you’re not my type. / As you surely know, you don’t have a single stripe.”

“Ha!” laughed Brass Knuckles. “Burnt!”

“Burned,” corrected the Pegasus. “If I have to keep correcting grammar- -”

She did not finish her threat. The shrubs and darkness near her suddenly distorted and a pair of armored Pegasi appeared. As they emerged from their invisibility fields, their helmets split and retracted. As Pegasi, they did not need masks to breath on Lyskymm.

“Forward reconnaissance is complete,” said one of them. “We’ve secured the area. We’re ready to move in.”

Zel sighed, annoyed that he had to give up the pile of extra blankets he was under. He stood, shaking and muttering to himself in his own language and did his best to stretch and try to hide the fact that he could barely feel his legs.

One of the armored Pegasi stepped forward. “Mercenary Zel,” he said.

“One and the same; / that is my name.”

“We took notice of the fact that you are unarmed. We therefore took the liberty of requisitioning this for you.” He removed an object from beneath his cloak and presented it to Zel. Even in the moonlight, Zel could see the gleam of the blade. Perhaps even better in the moonlight.

He turned his eyes up toward the Pegasus stallion. “What you have here/ is a zebra spear. No doubt from your forges, a copy/ although the work is hardly sloppy. A fine piece of steal/ but not as fine as one that’s real.”

“I assure you, our forges have more than enough sophistication and artistry to craft spears far superior to what your kind can normally accomplish. However, the Highers foresaw your resistance. This spear is not a copy. It is the genuine article.”

Zell suppressed a gasp. He suddenly felt far less cold. “A spear of this style has quite a history. /how you came to hold it is a great mystery.”

“There is no mystery. Our ancestors conquered yours. Repeatedly. They took a number of artifacts.”

Zel stared at the Pegasus. He of course fully understood, but not the point where he could identify the exact clan of ponies who these particular Pegasi belonged to. As a mercenary, he did not recognize their insignia, and as a zebra there were far too many orders of knights who had raided his country to distinguish them. The herd who had made this particular spear, though, were long extinct. Their stories lived on, though; there were whispered, hushed tales about hordes of monstrous, unbreakable unicorns.

Despite this dark history, Zel took the spear and maneuvered it in a flash so that its butt was against the frosty ground. He gently tapped the tip of the blade, and the detailed inscriptions of zebric runes illuminated briefly. Zel nodded. The spear was indeed real, and it was of excellent heritage. It had clearly once belonged to a powerful shaman.

“What about the rest of us?” asked the dyed Pegasus.

“You were the one who elected to enter battle without your armor.”

“It is nice armor,” noted Withers, who was nearly plastered to one of the Pegasi’s rump, inspecting the detail of the robotics. “Fancy.”

“Please do not touch it,” sighed the Pegasus. Withers looked up, nodded, and moved to the other Pegasus.

“Not him either.”

“Oh. Can I have some?”

“Some armor? No. Because we do not have a month to train you how to talk in it, let alone fight. And if what Lord Caballeron says is true, there will be fighting.”

“Lord,” snorted Withers, perceiving the title as a joke. No one bothered to correct him.

“So,” said Zel, moving out of the bushes and toward the town. “Let us go collect this mare/ before my body is as thin and cold as this horrid air.”

The others nodded, and one by one they joined him. The white Pegasi allowed him to lead, as it had been Caballeron’s suggestion- -and because they needed have a vanguard to confirm if Daring Do was as strong as was claimed. He would take point until they met their last member, who was waiting for them ahead.

As they left, though, one of the baby goats mewed strangely. The Pegsus with the Mohawk paused and stared into the woods. She quickly turned back and took her attack position; without enhanced eyes, there was no way she could have seen the gleam of a pair of blue eyes staring back at her, or heard the soft jingle of silver as the owner of the eyes started moving swiftly out of the woods and toward a very specific house.

Rainbow Dash sat in the small living room of the dark, cold shack, absently poking the dying fire with a metal rod. It sparked and hissed as the coals were exposed, and after a few moments Rainbow Dash sighed and threw on another wet, malformed log. It sat still for a moment, and then burst into acrid flames. Rainbow Dash moved backward and sat against a tilted, broken chair.

Daring Do was beside her, staring at the fire. Pushed against her was a lump of blankets that contained White, who was sleeping. She was the only one; Daring Do did not want to, and for the first time in a long time Rainbow Dash found that she could not.

They were silent for a long time. Then Daring Do finally spoke.

“How was it?”

Rainbow Dash did not even wait to reply. “Awesome.”

“Agreed.”

“On the way down, though, I did think of something.”

“It’s too late for philosophy, Dash. And trust me. Any philosophy you get at your age will look ridiculous by the time you get to mine.”

“I might be an egghead, but I’m not THAT eggy. No. It was about the Exmoori.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking…the timeline doesn’t match up.”

Daring Do raised an eyebrow. “Timeline?”

Rainobow Dash nodded. “See, that thing you have? All those pictures? Those were taken from something carved by the Mighty Helm, right?”

“Yes. A marker in one of their outposts. An outpost that has since been lost.”

“Then that means that whatever it was based on- -the Exmoori one- -was probably already really old when they found it, right?”

Daring Do thought for a moment. “Not necessarily. But it’s likely. I don’t think they would have found it if the pony that carved it still owned it.”

“So it was probably already ancient, right?”

“Possibly. But not necessarily.”

“But according to the legend, Commander Hurricane did in the last Exmoor pony up on this mountain.” Rainbow Dash pointed toward the summit.

“So?”

“It’s like in the play. Commander Hurricane was around at the same time as Clover the Clever, and Clover the Clever was one of Starswirl the Bearded’s students. And Starswirl was only around at the very end of the Mighty Helm…”

Daring Do looked up sharply. “You’re right.” She wracked her brain for a moment. “Clover the Clever was around one hundred and fifty at the time of the Unification. That isn’t old for a unicorn, but- -”

“But it means that the last Exmoor pony must have been really old if he carved that warning thing and THEN got offed by Commander Hurricane.”

“She. Exmoori language is not ambiguous on gender; it was a matriarchal culture.”

Rainbow Dash frowned. She did not say it, but she had taken note of what Absence had told her- -and the fact that she had referred to the last Exmoor pony as a “he”.

Daring Do thought for a moment. “Based on the carving techniques, this wasn’t late in the Might Helm’s reign. Probably.” She sighed. “It depends on tools, techniques, the artist- -and traditions we don’t know anything about.”

“But then the last Exmoori would have to be really, REALLY old.”

“Which isn’t inconceivable. Powerful or pureblooded unicorns can live for up to five centuries. The Exmoori might have been similarly long lived. Or the last Exmoor pony might have given the original text to the Mighty Helm as a warning, if they were the closest pony nation to her.”

“But what if there were two?”

Daring Do shook her head. “There can’t be.”

“Of course there can. Who says the pony that wrote all that stuff didn’t lie?”

“Because- -” Daring Do cut off, realizing that Rainbow Dash was right. In her own long experience, ancients texts NEVER lied; they always told the exact locations of ancient, loot-filled temples and described the riddles appropriate for entry exactly. Daring Do had never considered that an ancient text could outright lie, and the implications were horrifying. The last Exmoor pony had quite clearly wanted to keep ponies away from the Hand of Doom- -but if she had falsified her warnings and plans for any traps she set, then it would be impossible to predict what one would find upon entry to her ancient lair.

Daring Do was about to comment on this when she was nearly knocked over. The pile of blankets next to her had suddenly moved with such force and speed that even Rainbow Dash was surprised, and a winged white streak had shot silently from beneath it. Before either of them could turn their heads, they heard the sound of a hoof slamming against something hard.

“For Celestia’s sake!” snapped Sweetie Drops, nearly at a whisper. “It’s ME you albino freak!”

White continued to glare at her, and did not lower her defensive stance. Sweetie Drops held her sword in one hoof; she had not drawn it, but had rather used it to block White’s blow with the blade still sheathed in the thick scabbard.

“Wait,” said Rainbow Dash. “Bon Bon, where did you come from? And since when do you know how to use a sword?”

“I don’t have time for twenty questions.” Her wide blue eyes turned to Daring Do, and immediately both Daring Do and Rainbow Dash knew that something was wrong.

“How many?”

“Six, possibly seven. More than half are like her.” She gestured toward White. “They’re coming for you.”

“Then we have to get out of here.”

“No way!” cried Rainbow Dash. “We need to stay and fight! Come on, you’re Daring Do! You could take on twice that number all alone!”

“If they were just thugs, sure.” Daring Do was already grabbing her coat. “But it took everything I had to take down just ONE of them in Southern Equestria.”

“But there’s four of us! She has a sword! And you have ME!”

“Yes. And I’m not about to put you or White in danger. What Sweetie Drops does is her own problem. Now we need to go. NOW.”

“No chance,” said Sweetie Drops. “I had to backtrack to not get spotted. They’ve already got the place surrounded.”

“Oh, really?” snapped Daring Do, suddenly whispering. “And it would be nice if you, oh, I don’t know, LED WITH THAT!”

“It would be nice if you hadn’t gotten the ONE house on the outskirts of town!”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get this house?!”

“Well then you should just dig a hole and sleep outside!”

“I think after forty years of adventuring I’ve earned the right not to sleep in a hole!”

White stamped her hoof. Rainbow Dash nodded in agreement. “She’s right! Stop arguing! If we can’t run?” She giggled slightly at the thought of it. “Then it looks like we get to fight!”

Daring Do sighed, and grabbed her whip off the table.

“A whip?” snapped Sweetie Drops. “Seriously? The only weapon we have is a whip?!”

“You have a sword.”

“Yes, a vedmak sword! It’s meant for fighting monsters! I’d really, REALLY rather not draw it against ponies. Not now and not ever.”

White suddenly turned toward the door. She saw something through it. Something was coming.

Daring Do stiffened. “Well, I guess sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”