Daring Do and the Hand of Doom

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 43: The Spy and the Agent

The rush of the wind grew and snow brushed past the opening of the shallow cave. Outside, there probably would have been an incredible view of endless, uninhabitable mountains. Something that would look good on photographs but that no pony was meant to have to wake up and see.

Sweetie Drops unsheathed her sword. With one swift motion, she turned it so that the blade pointed downward. She then stabbed the tip of the blade into a resinous, gnarled log of cedar wood. The runes on the silver blade flashed with an orange light, and the wood erupted with fire.

The light illuminated the small, blind cave, as well as its contents. There were few. The only one present was a second pony, one whose artificial irises shifted in response to the sudden surge of firelight. The light only further illuminated the injuries she had sustained: in several cases, her white coat had been marred by dark bruises, including an extensive one around her left eye.

“Wow,” said Sweetie Drops, putting her sword back in its scabbard. “They beat you really bad, didn’t they?”

White did not respond, although her eyes flitted toward Sweetie Drops and stared blankly. Otherwise, she sat perfectly still. It was an unnerving habit.

“Don’t worry,” said Sweetie Drops, leaning back against the cold stone walls of the shallow cave. “They can’t get us here.” She pointed to the entrance. “That’s a sheer drop. Five hundred feet straight down onto jagged rocks.”

One of White’s wings spread out, although she did not make any other gestures.

“No,” replied Sweetie Drops. “They won’t. Because they can’t. Iodine cretinism. They can’t fly. The goats could probably get to us I guess, but seeing as neither of us have any money, I doubt they’ll bother.”

White’s wing quickly retracted, but she said nothing else. She did not have the capacity to say anything else, and Sweetie Drops was not sure how she felt about that.

“That armor,” she said, pointing. “You don’t get cold, do you?”

White did not need to answer, even by moving her head. It was a rhetorical question. Sweetie Drops already knew the answer. Instead, White raised one of her hooves to her mouth, miming the appearance of putting on an oxygen mask- -like the one that Sweetie Drops had lost in battle.

“I don’t need it,” lied Sweetie Drops. “Believe me, I’ve been in places with less air than this. I’m trained to deal with it. That and the cold. I don’t have armor like yours, but I don’t get cold either.” That was also a lie, but neither of them were egregious; her training did make her far more durable than a normal pony, but the lack of oxygen and extreme cold were still sapping her strength. She would survive, but she could not fight in this state. Not for very long, anyway.

So she moved closer to the fire. The wood was giving off a noxious smell and a plume of thick, black smoke, but it was warm. Sweetie Drops added a few branches to it and watched the needles spark and hiss.

She stared into the flames for a long moment, and then sighed. “Of course this would be my luck.”

White did not respond. Instead, she sat perfectly still, staring unblinkingly at Sweetie Drops. Sweetie Drops tried to pretend that White was exhibiting normal behavior for a teenage pony.

“They just keep pulling me out of retirement. Whenever something goes wrong, whenever they can’t cut it. I get called back. I’m tired of it. This was supposed to be my last mission. To bring in Caballeron, make him pay for what he did to my agent…and now look at me.”

White did exactly that. She never stopped looking.

“And do you know why?”

White shook her head. It was a tiny motion, but it was reassuring to Sweetie Drops. It mean that the young Pegasus was not asleep.

“Because I’m the best there is.” Sweetie Drops sighed and leaned back. “Most ponies in the agency are ex-military. Guards, mostly. A few are zoologists. Some are even mages and wizards. But not me.” She turned to White. “That’s where we’re similar, I think. Did you know that I never knew my parents? I was raised by vedmaks. An ancient order of monster hunters that no one bothers to remember anymore. They gave me that sword, and they gave me my skills. And now I’m the best there is at hunting monsters.”

White continued to stare. Her expression had not changed, but Sweetie Drops knew that she was listening.

“…and I wish they never had,” sighed Sweetie Drops, staring into the fire. “Do you ever get that feeling? That all of this is pointless in the end? That all you want is to stop fighting, retire, go on to lie a normal life?”

White did not reply. Perhaps she did not know the answer.

“I don’t know if you’re old enough to know it yet. But I am. I’m way too old. I don’t want to hunt monsters anymore, to climb these stupid mountains. The only reason I don’t snap that sword in half and throw it in a lake is because it was given to me by a friend.” She looked up. “I just want a normal life. To go live in a small town like Ponyville. To have a house. Maybe a shop.” She sighed. “To have Lyra. To go home to her every night, to see the smile on her face. To sit with her in the park and watch the world go by.”

Sweetie Drops reached into the pocket of her coat and removed a small photograph. She passed it to White, who took it and directed two of her retinas at it.

“That’s her,” said Sweetie Drops. “My Lyra.”

White’s two retinas stared. Then suddenly the rest of them flicked downward to the photograph. A thin, nearly silent gasp escaped her lips, and she recoiled as though the photograph had burned her. She quickly gave it back to Sweetie Drops, who observed all of White’s reaction with clinical detachment that belied great interest and curiosity.

“Interesting,” she said, but decided not to pursue it any further. “I guess unicorns aren’t for everypony. All those bright colors. But the things they can do with those horns…” She chuckled. White did not. She seemed even more pale than before. Sweetie Drops’s curiosity grew, but she knew that questioning White would be useless. The Questlords had gone through great pains- -mostly her pain- -to ensure that she would never betray even the smallest amount of information on any subject.

“So,” said Sweetie Drops. “What about you?”

White pointed to herself, confused.

“Yes you. Do you think I can’t tell? Somepony trained you. Hard. Like they did to me. You’re a solider, or a spy. Maybe even an assassin, don’t know. Do you ever think about what you would do if you didn’t have to be what they made you? If you could just live a normal life?”

White did not hesitate. She shook her head, indicating “no”.

“Huh.” Sweetie Drops stared out at the growing storm. There was not enough wood. “Well, I guess I can’t tell you what to think. But I will warn you: that path doesn’t go anywhere good.” She paused. “But I guess you can’t get any worse than where you are, can you?”

They were both silent for a long moment. Sweetie Drops considered trying to sleep, and wondered if she could avoid it in this cold- -and what would be waiting for her on the other side. She felt her eyelids growing heavy as something dark fluttered into the cave.

Before she had even opened her eyes, Sweetie Drops had drawn her sword, causing White to jump back in surprise. The creature that had approached was a solitary crow.

It was not an ordinary crow. Sweetie Drops was no Fluttershy, but she knew animals. Crows never flew this high on their own, and there was no way any bird short of a mountain roc would venture out into a frigid storm like the one raging outside. The bird was iced over, and its eyes were staring blankly. They were yellow. Sweetie Drops did not even need to wait for the taste of metal in her mouth to be able to see that it was being sustained entirely by magic.

The bird stumbled into the cave. It did not seek the warmth of the fire, nor did it likely even see it. Sweetie Drops frowned at it, and White stared, watching while sitting perfectly still.

“So it’s you,” said Sweetie Drops, recognizing the bird- -or its owner, or whatever he could be called- -immediately. “Can’t a mare go to sleep in piece? I’m tired. So very tired…”

“I don’t care.”

White was somewhat taken aback by the bird’s response. Sweetie Drops was not. Although it was a less well-known feature, crows were capable of sometimes mimicking the speech of ponies, like parrots could. The voice was high, crackling, and distorted, but Sweetie Drops instantly knew that this crow was not repeating sounds. She was speaking with purpose- -or rather, somepony was speaking through her.

“What do you want?”

“You already know that,” spoke the crow. “If you mean why am I here, it is to retrieve you. Daring Do requests your presence.” The crow’s clouded eyes flicked toward White. “Both of you.”

“‘Retrieve us’? Now? In this storm?” Sweetie Drops laughed. Doing so was painful. Like white, she had been badly beaten by the villagers. She just chose not to show it. “Is that one bird going to carry us down the mountain? Or up it? Sure, White might be able to make it flying. But I can barely stand right now. I’m not getting down this mountain.”

“Because you are a primitive genetic failure. Yes. I know.”

“Says a bird. You’re not controlling them, are you?” Sweetie Drops leaned forward and stared at the bird. “Genetic purity my tender rump, your real body has been gone for ages.”

The crow glared at her. “I don’t like you,” it said at last. “But Daring Do was very specific in this regard. We will be retrieving you. Whether you give us permission or not.”

Sweetie Drops shivered. She slowly turned her head and realized that the shadows that filled the cave were filled with crows. Silent ones that watched with vaguely luminescent eyes.

“Oh road apples,” she swore.

The crows flew forward, merging as they did. Their flesh combined into a single entity: a black unicorn.

White immediately stood up, her eyes wide with terror and her lips wrenched in a silent scream. She eyed the entrance to the cave, and moved toward it- -but stopped when she realized that Sweetie Drops could not go with her. Instead of escaping, she interposed herself between Sweetie Drops and the wizard. She leapt forward, performing a perfect kick that even Sweetie Drops found impressive. It landed, striking the black unicorn- -and passing through his body. Pieces of him flew off: pieces that sprouted wings and cawed wildly as they flew back into the high ceiling of the cave.

“Don’t touch my birds,” he said. “I love them more than anypony will ever love you.”

He raised his hoof, and Sweetie Drops saw the flash of something round and mechanical. Her eyes widened, as she knew what it was. She had not realized that there were any still in existence.

Space flashed, and she had a strange feeling of inversion as she fell. It was nauseating, but her mind for some reason focused with unusual fear on the fact that she could no longer feel the warmth of the fire. Then, in an instant, both Sweetie Drops and White had departed from Lyskymm.