Daring Do and the Alicorn's Shadow

Daring Do and the Alicorn’s Shadow

Chapter 1

The classroom was very quiet save for the frantic scratching of quills. Some students had finished early and made a point to look as obnoxiously bored as possible. Daring didn’t doubt that she would find doodles on her more… creative students’ exam pages. Hopefully they would find more interesting ways to take advantage of the side of a pyramid than last year’s students.

Daring loved teaching introductory courses, she really did. It was always heartwarming to see that young ponies were still interested in good old archaeology. Being able to see the eager and impressionable faces of the next great archaeologists more than made up for the killer pile of paperwork that landed on her desk every day. That’s good exam material, she mused. One dead Head of Archaeology, surrounded by paperwork stacked to the rafters. What does that say about this period of Equestrian history?

The door creaked, startling most of her students. She scowled; the last thing her students needed were distraction at the last minutes. “Back to work, kids,” she said to the class, “and no extensions.” They groaned, but most heads that were not already slumped on the desks went back to bending over exams. Daring quietly went over to the door, and found that—to her surprise—it was her unicorn grad student, Herpy. She glanced back into the classroom, making sure that nopony was trying anything funny. She whispered to Herpy, “What’s going on, Herpy? I thought told I you I’m holding an exam today. That you’ll be grading.”

“Sorry, Dr. D,” he whispered back, looking sheepish, “but it’s the top pony herself.”

Her eyebrows shot all the way to her bangs. “Really? Dean Beaker?” Daring paused. “She’s in my office right now, isn’t she?”

Herpy’s nod answered that question. “That’s why I’m here.” He tilted his head towards the classroom. “I can proctor the rest of the exam... and get started on grading them, I suppose.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Herpy. What would I do without you?”

Herpy seemed to be unable to decide whether to appear resigned or annoyed. Daring grinned, tipping her hat as she trotted to her office.

When she got there, the dean was examining her reproduction of Fall of the Great Chaos Beast that adorned the left wall of her office, a cloth bag containing something vaguely round sat next to the dean’s forehooves. “Have you ever seen that one, ma’am?” Daring greeted her.

The dean blinked and slowly turned around. “Daring! Darling, you do like to startle me. Do you not know that surprises are not good for a mare as faded by age as I am?”

Daring groaned inwardly. The dean loved reminding anyone she talked to that, once upon a time, her coat was a more lustrous pink shade. “Terribly sorry, ma’am,” she said, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk. “Do sit down. Would you like some tea?”

The dean nodded in response. Daring rummaged in her cabinet for the Earl Gray that she saved for such occasions. Daring busied herself with brewing the tea; when she turned around the dean’s eyes were once again transfixed on the tapestry.

“I can’t help but notice that you seem to be captivated by that,” Daring said, pointing her wing at tapestry for emphasis. Daring had many other such artifact replicates adorning her office, and she had noted with glee that different ponies always had their eyes arrested by different pieces. She added the dean to her ever-growing list—one day she might have had enough data to write a grant application.

“Oh, yes,” the dean said. “I always forget what a horrid creature the Great Chaos Beast is.” She shuddered. “And what an active imagination some ponies have.”

Daring nodded. “I’d say. The artists never did agree on what it looked like. One sculpture gives him a dragon head and another tapestry gives a him pony head. Was his body like a snake, or was it like a lion? How many heads did he have? And so on.”

The teapot hissed. For a moment the room was quiet as Daring poured the tea and carefully brought it over to her desk. Once she had sat down, she continued, “Maybe dear old Dr. Dust Jacket had it right all along: it was a personification of chaos after all, so why ever should it appear constant?” Daring’s personal favourite was, of course, the rendition in Fall of the Great Chaos Beast. Most art critics dismissed it for being an “explosion of animal diversity that detracts the experience”;Daring thought that they rather missed the point. Besides, she liked it more for the accurate depiction of the princesses—far too many artists forgot that, once upon a time, Princess Celestia’s mane had been pink.

The dean sipped her tea, frowned, and left it alone. “Much as I’d like to discuss that particular myth with you, there’s another one which might merit… considerations,” she said cautiously. Daring tried, and failed, to look uninterested, but the dean did not seem to notice as she fiddled with the sleeve of her robe. Today it was the black one with a yellow-lined hood and green saddle—the dress robe of the Department of Biology, the dean’s almamater. She looked Daring in the eye. “Daring, how much do you know—well, you are the Head of Archaeology, so that’s a silly question. Rather, how much do you believe in the Battle for the Day?”

“Well, it obviously happened,” she answered as her brain worked furiously. As far as trick questions go, this one was more fit to evaluate whether a pony had amnesia than anything. “Princess Celestia won, Nightmare Moon was banished, and now we once again have day and night.” She thought, most kindergartners can answer that. Of course, if the dean had been talking about the small, and in Daring’s entirely professional opinion, kooky mutterings that Nightmare Moon was the Princess’ propaganda and convenient excuse to get rid of her little sister, well…

The dean looked at her through half-lidded eyes. “Yes, and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Don’t you dare be pert with me, young lady.” She clicked her tongue. “No, I meant, oh, out with it, the Shroud of Shadows.”

“Oh, the Shroud.” Also known as the response to stupid questions in archaeological circles, the Shroud of Shadows was either a physical manifestation of Nightmare Moon’s powers or an example of why poems should not be read so literally. It originally appeared as one or two lines in Dawn Age poems, but it had since infected scholars and romantics alike with the idea that such a thing not only exists, but whosoever wore it could potentially rival Princess Celestia in magical prowess. Supposedly Princess Celestia was aware of this—some might even go as far as saying that she feared it, and that was the real reason for its obscurity.

Daring didn’t care much for it–or the Dawn Age in general–and she had always believed it to be mere literary turn of phrase gone wrong. Although… look at how that debacle about the Spear of Windigo turned out. Daring finally said, ”While I can’t deny that stranger things have turned out to be true, it is also true that scholars have never agreed on the general location of the final battle. Or to be more precise,” she added when the dean looked like she was about to object, “the general consensus is that it was located in the Palace of the Royal Sisters in Everfree Forest, as supported by what few surviving documents we have of the years immediately following the Battle for the Day. It is not very strong evidence, but the Everfree Forest being what it is…” Daring trailed off when she saw the glitter in the dean’s eyes. “… Unless there’s new evidence that just came in today…” Down girl, it’s probably just stupid rumours like always.

Instead of answering, the dean merely sipped the last of her tea. “Ooh, fantastic tea, Daring. Where did you buy it?”

“A little hole in the wall not too far from here,” Daring replied impatiently, “I can write you the directions later. The Shroud, ma’am?”

“Oh, silly me, getting sidetracked like that. When you get to my age, dear, you’ll latch onto anything interesting and new.” The dean, Daring mused, was absolutely terrible at affecting youthful cheekiness.

“Ahem.” And faking throat clearing. “You are aware, of course, that Her Majesty the Princess Celestia has magnanimously granted the land next to Everfree Forest to a wandering clan. I believe they call themselves the Smiths.”

“Yes, I do know of Ponyville—I’ve heard that it’s quite promising.”

“Mmm. In any case, being a small and growing village, there are naturally rambunctious colts and fillies around, and inevitably one of them found his way into the Everfree Forest. Don’t worry, he came back, but not without the most outrageous news.”

A chill ran down Daring’s spine, though she tried not to let her excitement show preemptively. “He found the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters.”

“His precise words were: ‘old, spooky, and creepy castle that’s falling apart.’” The Dean held up one hoof. “I know. ‘He’s just a boy, and boys think everything is cooler than they are.’ Or are you going to say that it could be any of the pre-classical Unicornia forts?” The Dean chuckled at Daring’s expression. “I thought so too, darling, but… here, I’ll just save us time and show it to you.” She retrieved her bag and set it on the desk between them. Using both hooves to steady the round object, she carefully unrolled the bag from the top down with her mouth.

Daring’s jaw dropped open, and she forced it shut with some difficulty. “That’s…” She sneaked a glance at the dean, as though afraid that taking her eyes off the thing for too long would allow it to burst into confetti and ‘SURPRISE!’ tapes. “Is this really…?”

The Dean was positively beaming now. “The boy was so scared that he grabbed this for protection on the way back. Of course, it would be inadequate in all likelihood, but why look at the gift wagon’s spokes?” The Dean paused as Daring slowly reached out, as though afraid that a touch from her hooves would dissolve the prize. It didn’t; she lifted and examined it against the light.

After a while the dean said, “I haven’t shown this to anyone else, dear, but tell me, is this what I think it is?”

Daring ran the helmet against her fetlock, then very gently tapped its top side with a hoof. “A domed helmet which may or may not be made of brass, which, in addition to full protection of the skull, also covers half the width of the muzzle, a style that has not been seen since the end of the Dawn Age?” Daring ruffled the helmet’s red plumage and forgot to breathe. “This is…real hair. I–I don’t…” She turned the helmet around very carefully, this time noting every little detail. There were cracks and dents suggesting that it had indeed endured punishments, but, aside from the area around those deformities, the paint was pristine. There was also the matter of the plumage, which was unevenly cut, but on the whole did not look like something that had been rotting for hundreds of years. “I’m not quite sure what to make of this, ma’am.”

The Dean looked deflated. “Oh. So is it a fake?”

“We–ell,” Daring drawled, searching for the right words. “It is quite a study in contradictions. The helmet’s design and material points to something produced at the end of the Dawn Age at the latest. The deformities.” she pointed at each of the cracks and dents for the dean to squint at. “Suggests that it has withstood damages strong enough to give the wearer a concussion, or worse, a mortal wound. The very well-preserved state of the thing as a whole, however, is more reminiscent of a very well-researched replica that was made at most a year ago.” Daring set the helmet down gingerly—fake or not, it was still a work of art. She looked at the dean, who had a distant expression about her. “If we are absolutely convinced that the eyewitness can be trusted, we should ask Dr. Look Back to appraise it; his evaluating spell seems to be legitimate.”

The Dean snapped back to reality and blinked several times, as though surprised to see Daring still in front of her. “Oh, Dr. Look Back? Heavens, no, let’s not spread this further. Don’t want Trottingham University to find out more than they do as it is.” She pursed her lips and suddenly looked very, very serious. “There is more at stake, Daring. The Shroud of Shadows, for instance.”

The dean looked back, as if to make sure that the door was closed. She leaned forward and whispered, “Daring, what do you know about Dr. Flash Point and his research on arcanic bosons?”

“Nothing, but I assume this is relevant to the Shroud of Shadows?”

The dean nodded solemnly. Her voice lowered even further, and Daring had to lean forward to catch it. “This must not leave this room, but yes, we do have concrete reasons to believe that the Shroud exists. It is also imperative that you retrieve it as soon as possible.”

Daring abandoned all pretense of professional disinterest. She grinned from ear to ear and said, “Oh, I agree, ma’am.”