Archives of the Friendquisition

by Inquisipony Stallius

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Caballus impatiently paced the passenger compartment of his prop-balloon, Her Solar Majesty. Flying had never felt quite right to him, no matter how many times he did it. If Celestia had wanted Caballus to fly, he figured he would have been born a pegasus. He poked his head into the cockpit. “How soon can we land, Fyz?”

A pony who had been born a pegasus, one wearing a rust-colored robe that matched his oil-smeared coat, glanced back. “Relax Cab. We’re only a few minutes from HQ now.” Fyzzix, a Magosus of the Adequus Mequestricus, responded in the somewhat nasal voice that was actually projected through the speaker-box affixed to his neck. Most Meq-priests underwent similar “improvements” as they rose through the ranks of their mysterious order, slowly replacing their organic systems with stronger, mechanical ones. By now, both of Fyzzix’s eyes and hind legs were entirely metal.

Caballus let out a resigned sigh. “Sorry, Fyz. You know how I get.”

Fyzzix smiled back with the fleshy half of his face and replied without even moving his lips. “I do know how you get. I know that no matter how many times I don’t crash the balloon, you’ll always remind me of the once or twice that I have.”

It was Caballus’s turn to smile now. “It was actually three times. The first time that rampaging hydra dragged us down. And the second time you rammed that hijacked snow-delivery cart, and the damage caused us to crash-land into the main snow manufactorum of Nimbostrata.”

“Those last two still only counts as one crash though,” Fyzzix said with a chuckle. He returned his gaze to the balloon’s instruments and a mechanical claw emerged from beneath his robes, giving Caballus a dismissive wave. “Now I’ve got to begin the Rites of Safe Landing, so stop distracting me, or we might all experience crash number three… or four, if you’re determined to maintain that delusion.”

Caballus returned to the passenger compartment in better spirits. Fyz had always had a knack for easing his nerves, almost as well as he rattled them with his reckless piloting. The joke often told was that his cutie mark, a winged wrench painstakingly restyled onto his artificial flank, meant that Fyzzix’s special talent was fixing the vehicles that he himself had damaged with his over-enthusiasm. It was a charge the pegasus always laughed off, but never denied.

The compartment he returned to was mostly just a space that contained all the team’s gear and had a few seats to spend the ride in. Roughshod was dozing off to one side, and Mystic was sitting in the far back corner, staring out the window.

For his part, Roughshod seemed quite comfortable. The pony was reclining in his seat, head down and snoring a little. An old Guard habit, he would always tell Caballus, of getting sleep when and wherever he could in the field.

Every aspect of his appearance was similarly practical. His mane was a darker brown than his coat, and trimmed short to prevent enemies from grabbing it in a brawl. His hooves, despite his name, were all shod securely with horseshoes designed for grip and durability, and custom fit for his large proportions. Caballus glanced down at Roughshod’s cutie mark, a shield with a star on it, and remarked to himself how it had once again proved fitting on their latest outing.

He wasn’t going to wake the former soldier just yet, but somehow Roughshod always knew when they were on final approach, and he sat right up.

“We almost there, boss?”

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” replied the Inquisipony. “When we arrive, I’ll be delivering my report and receiving orders from Lord Banehoof in person. You’re in charge of resupply while I’m gone. Have Mystic help you.”

“You got it, boss.” Roughshod looked back over his shoulder and grinned at Mystic. “You hear that, Sweet Pea? I’m in charge.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Which means I’ll be doing all the lifting. You know, just because I can lift things with magic doesn’t mean it’s easy.” The younger unicorn had never cared for the nickname Roughshod had given her based on her coloring, so naturally he ribbed her with it at every opportunity. Her irritation was further expressed by impatiently blowing away the lime green forelock that hung past her horn, between her eyes. It was a highlight that ran up into the otherwise dark blue bun she tightly kept her mane in, and it was symbolic of her magical talents, in a way; precise, deliberate and carefully maintained, but betraying something… caged, something straining to escape. Many enemies of the Princess had mistaken the slender, frail-looking pony for helpless. But the sparkling lightning bolt on her flank spoke to the swiftness with which she brought them Celestia’s justice.

“I expect you both to be lifting. We won’t be staying in HQ for very long.” Caballus turned his attention out the window, toward the cityscape below. Great spires of polished white rose above the drab sprawl, remnants of a more glorious age standing defiant against the encroachments of the modern. The edge of the urban area stretched nearly to the horizon, dotted with parks and ponds and spacious squares in some parts, and crowded high with tall buildings in others. Above the bustling streets, the sky was thick with pegasus traffic. Carts, chariots and balloons of every shape and size ferried goods to and from the city below to their floating communities that drifted above the city, and off to the far corners of Equestria. Hippopolis had been one of the shining jewels of Equestrian trade and industry for hundreds of years, and was the regional capital of the Palomyna Sector.

Her Solar Majesty banked as it began its descent. One of the smaller towers started to loom larger in the windows. It stood out from its brethren, not for its size, but because instead of being pristine marble, it was obsidian black. The Friendquisition favored an intimidating presence. Soon, one of the large landing pads on the top of the tower filled the whole view, and the prop-balloon came to a jolting halt on its surface. A dislodged crate tipped over, and would have landed on Caballus, had Roughshod not yanked him away by the collar of his leather armor.

“Sorry!” Fyzzix yelled from the cockpit. “Must have been… the wind… or something.”

The ramp lowered and the team disembarked. Crews scurried around the craft, checking various systems and instruments. Fyzzix was already leading a few other Meq-adepts in maintenance rituals. Roughshod conferred with a quartermaster over a list of needed supplies, and Mystic was already levitating the necessary crates across the loading area. Caballus descended into the tower alone.

The polished, black, stone corridors echoed with every fall of Caballus’s hooves. Even though it was smaller than many other such buildings in Hippopolis, this tower was still immense. Had he not memorized the structure’s layout in his years of training here, he would have been hopelessly lost after only a few minutes.

Finally he entered a large, vaulted hall. On either side stood grand statues of Friendquisitional heroes and murals depicting their legendary exploits. All of it was inlaid with gems and precious metals, so that the dark walls gave way to a bright, glittering display. The Hall of The Honored still filled Caballus with awe no matter how many times he saw it. He had an appointment to keep, however, so he couldn’t afford to stop and admire the sight, as much as he would have liked to.

At the far end of the Hall stood two gigantic doors displaying ancient symbols that marked them as the Friendquisitional Court. Just as Caballus approached, they opened with a loud groan. Another Inquisipony walked out, flanked by two guards who were dragging another thrashing pony with them. Caballus nodded to his colleague as they passed one another, and didn’t even spare a glance to the ragged, gibbering prisoner. He didn’t need to know the wretch’s verdict or sentence. If a pony was brought before the Tribunal, he was already guilty. Caballus stepped through the doors.

The chamber was circular, ringed with seats like an amphitheater and lit with flickering torches. Opposite the entrance stood the Tribunal bench, and atop it, towering over the Inquisipony, sat the judges.

The pony in the center seat scrutinized Caballus below with the one eye not covered by a patch. His ancient gray hide, crisscrossed with scars, wrinkled as he squinted. After a moment, he spoke. “Ah, Caballus, my faithful student, there you are. It is good to see you again.”

With a smile, Caballus bowed. “And you as well, Lord Banehoof.”

“No need for formalities, Caballus. You know I have no patience for them.” Banehoof chuckled and waved his hoof. Then he cleared his throat, saying, “but we must get to business. I trust you have something to report?”

“Yes, Lord.” He glanced toward the judges on either side of his mentor, addressing them with courteous nods. “Lord Inquisipony Stallius. Lady Inquisipony Vigilant. As you know, I’ve been following the trail of the Cheat-worm infestation since they were discovered by the Canterlot Guard. I may have finally found a lead to their source.”

“Yes...” Banehoof said, “the Cheat-worms are a grave affair. It’s serious enough whenever they turn up, but to slip past our defenses? Only stopped on the doorstep of Holy Canterlot just weeks before the Summer Sun Celebration? It’s most troubling.”

“Indeed,” Lord Stallius agreed. “When we received your preliminary field report, we did some searching of our own about this ‘merchant.’”

“And you’ve found something?” asked the Inquisipony.

“As a matter of fact, we have,” replied Lady Vigilant. Her horn glowed softly in the dim chamber, and several scrolls deftly floated into the space in front of Caballus. “There’s been a recent surge of activity in the illicit animal market. It seems the individual believed to be largely responsible matches his description. We believe he’s a Rogue Trader, one who is slipping through our border patrols to collect exotic creatures from the Everfree to sell them here in Equestria.”

“Unfortunately,” said Banehoof, grimly “that’s all we have. Whoever he is, his tracks are well covered.”

“Forgive me lord,” Caballus ventured, skimming the scrolls before him, “but isn’t that a task better suited for a member of the Ordo Zoonos? Dangerous and foreign beasts are their jurisdiction, not the Hereticolt’s.”

“Normally, yes. But much of the information we’ve gathered has been from intercepted communications between cells of a cult I believe you’re rather familiar with…”

“The Children…” the Inquisipony said when he reached the end of the report. “So… they’ve returned?”

Banehoof nodded. “Indeed they have. According to intelligence gathered by Hereticolt and Zoonos agents, the Children are active in Equestria once again.”

“It’s been so long...” Caballus was still struggling with the revelation. It had been decades since the Friendquisition had vanquished that vile cult, putting its members to flight and its squalid nests to the torch. “Are you positive it’s them? I was sure we had destroyed them last time…”

“All evidence points to it,” said Lord Stallius. “This time, the Holy Ordos will need to be more thorough.”

“We defeated them once, by the Princess’s grace,” Lord Banehoof said with a glimmer of the old warrior’s fire in his eye, “and by Her grace we’ll do it again.”

“Yes. Of course, Lord. By Her grace.” Caballus bowed again, turned, and left though the Court’s gigantic doors.

---

“What do you mean, ‘the Children are back!?!’”

Roughshod paced the flight deck back and forth, fuming.

“I mean exactly what I said. The reports indicate that the Children are once again operating cult cells on Equestrian soil.”

“No!” Roughshod reared up and stamped the floor. The impact left a spider-web fracture in the stone. “They can’t be back! After all we did? After all they did? They were gone for good, you said that.”

“You know I wish this weren’t true,” Caballus said, trying to calm his friend down, “that it was some sort of mistake, or a rumor drummed up by some two-bit amateurs trying to make a name for themselves. Celestia knows we get that sort of false alarm all the time. But the intel is solid. They’re back.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” Mystic interrupted, “but whose children?”

“Before your time, kid,” said Roughshod, “Something that should have stayed in the past, dead and buried.”

“The ‘Children of Liberation’ were- are a heretical cult that Roughshod and I had a hoof in purging several years before we met you.”

“So?” she said, “I bet you’ve dealt with tons of cults. It is your job after all. What’s so special about this one?”

Caballus sighed. “I suppose you’re too young to remember the Skyroan Crisis. The Children, as far as we know, started off like any other cult. The Hereticolt would uncover an isolated coven and stamp it out, only for another to crop up elsewhere, as they often do. But around the time I was elevated to the rank of Inquisipony, something changed. They became better equipped, better trained, and better organized. Isolated attacks became a full blown campaign of terror and insurrection across the entire sector. At the height of the fighting, Governor-Mayor Skyros declared himself independent of Equestria, and most of the CDF followed him. It took the entire Ordos Palomyna, five regiments of Equestrian Guard, and three companies of Apple Fists to restore order. We later learned that the Governor-Mayor and his advisors had been funding and supplying the Children for quite some time before they made their move.”

“Fat lot of good it did him, though,” Roughshod snorted.

Caballus nodded in agreement. “Lord Banehoof personally delivered the pie to Skyros’s face that ended the mad affair. We spent countless weeks tracking down every last heretic who’d taken part. Once they make their move and reveal themselves, cults don’t tend to last long. But someone must have escaped, hidden under some rock, and now they’ve returned to rebuild the Children.”

“But without a benefactor like Skyros…” Mystic ventured, “the Children can’t be that much of a threat anymore, right?”

“I would dearly like to think that, but we won’t underestimate them again. We’ve got a lead on the Cheat-worm dealer, and with some luck, he’ll lead us to whoever is employing him.”

Roughshod turned to head back to Her Solar Majesty. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“Actually, we won’t be taking the ship. Too big and too conspicuous. Besides, we’re not going that far.”