The whistle of the wind.
The crunch of the snow underhoof.
And silence.
A seasonal forest, once beautiful and lush in the spring, gave way to the harsh winter winds and snow, turning the beauty into death. This was the scenery for two lone figures, heading south and west, trying to reach the lands in which their country lay. And all that accompanied them was each other, the cloaks on their backs, their knives, and the deadened trees. And not far behind them, the imperialistic troops of the Solar Empire.
The wind bit into the fur on their heads and necks, where the cloaks did not cover their bodies. The snow fell heavy, creating barely a layer in some places, and a blanket nearly to their torsos in others. As the raging winds blew, sending the haphazard earthbound flakes of snow every which way, one of the duo began to speak.
“Why are we out here again, Deale?” spoke a slight, feminized voice. “We’re freezing, we have very little to ourselves, and we failed our mission. What’s there left to do?”
“Because, love, despite our failure, we’re still the top prize for the pigs that chase us now,” a gruff voice replied, seasoned with age and aggression. “If we’re captured, we’ll be tortured with no end until we’re forced to betray the Lunar Republic. And I, for one, would never budge for them but one inch, not one word…”
The mare fell silent. Spent in thought, she then replied, “just… how did we go wrong? Where did we fail?”
The colt didn’t respond, his mind replaying the events that passed…
A silent infiltration into the heartland of the North, where many of the Solar Empire’s troops lay.
A wayward report of the troops stationed in the frigid wastelands belonging to two of the Sunnies’ strongest platoons of soldiers.
A quiet and stealthy entrance into the camp, in the dead of night.
Infiltration of the lead General’s tent.
Stumbling straight into his posted sentry.
The klaxon going up.
A hasty retreat, possibly a hundred troops awake, in a rage that a couple of Lunatics made it so far into their camp, each of them swiftly and daftly attempting to capture the espionage duo.
The beginning of the trek across the tundra, the fresh blood of fifty or so troops on their hooves, and death in their minds.
Silence once again beheld the pair, the wind having died down for a short period of time. Off in the distance, the sounds of armor clanking against the ponies wearing them, against each other, and the spears in their sockets could be heard, very slightly…
“Again, why are we out here?”
“Because we, as the Captain’s top spies and assassins, are devoted to our country and Captain before our own lives. And besides, with how many different campaigns we’ve held against the Sunnies, and how many of their dead they’ve collected, you think they’d show us mercy?”
The mare thought for a while, before responding, “no… I suppose you are right.”
“Of course I’m right. None of those fuckin’ pigs would show us the slightest delay or mercy before having us dead. Now, quit talking. Conserve your warmth.”
“Since this is our first time actually together for longer than a mission, I want to know… just how long have you been fighting?”
The colt gave a good, long thought. He slowly responded, “A good while longer than you, love. Longer than most of the soldiers we have. Longer than the Captain herself, Luna save her.”
“…longer than Captain Sparkle, huh?”
“Yes. And she’s been at this for longer still than you’ve been a part of us. Lessee, this is your… third mission with us.”
“Right…”
The sounds of armor and spears were rapidly approaching. The mare picked up on the sounds, but the colt, Deale, did not.
“And, well, that’s barely longer than three months. I’d say she’s been at this for four times over that.”
“That’s… impressive…”
Deale chuckled softly. “Yes, it sure is.”
“I can’t think of how long you’ve been doing… this…”
Again, he chuckled. “If we live past our next encounter, I’ll tell ya. But for now,” he said as he slowly stopped his pace, “we have Sunnies.”
Three large pegasi colts, each bearing the insignia of the Princess of the Sun, and each a respective member of the Elite, surrounded the pair. A few more pegasi, of lesser rank, but bearing the same insignia, stayed aloft in the air, ready to give support.
One of the Elite stepped forward. “Deale and Bené, you are charged with infiltration, resisting arrest, treason, and murder. In the name of the Solar Empire and the Princess of the Sun, we demand your lives.”
“See, Bené, what’d I tell you? No mercy,” Deale said to the mare, who was preparing her assassin’s knife: serrated edge down to the finest point, razor sharp, and double-edged, it was a sight to behold, if you weren’t on the receiving end. Deale reached and prepared his own knife, which was a simple flick-and-cut knife, but just as deadly as Bené’s, as the tip of it was double-edged and double-tipped, leaving a fine cut, at least, if the blade didn’t stab you first.
“Ready, love?” the mare jested.
“Always.”
The duo kicked up snow to help obscure themselves from the Guards as they began their work. Blinded, the pegasi began to panic, before each fell to one blade or the other. As soon as they heard their allies falling, the airborne pegasi rushed in, only to find themselves in the same situation.
Just minutes after they began, the skirmish was over. As the last bodies hit the ground in a flurry of wind and blinding snow, the duo of assassins stood stock still, listening for the slightest movements. Satisfied that his blade had performed yet again, Deale began to chuckle in a warm tone that closely matched the tone that fills his voice when he speaks. The mare, however, was still, deep in thought, deciding for her country, which would result in her death, or for herself, which would inevitably end in death just the same…
As his chuckles wound down, he noticed she hadn’t moved.
“Hey, love, you alright? C’mon, we need to get moving, or we’ll freeze here.”
She slowly turned around, her eyes full of confusion, but her mind set. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Well, then, let’s get going.”
The duo began walking again, with nary a word betwixt the two. After a while, the mare spoke up, in a slightly hushed tone. “Deale. Tell me how you got your peculiar name.”
“Hm… an odd question, but sure.
“Simply put, my parents named me Deale, since I was somewhat a trouble-maker around the household. But if you’re asking about my callname, well, that’s different…
“I received the callname ‘the Dealer’ from the Captain herself, after she saw my prowess firsthoof, in hers and my first battle.”
“But I thought you’d been doing assassin work longer than she’s been fighting.”
“Ah, I never said it was assassin work, did I? I simply said it was a battle… I was assigned to back up her platoon as a precaution, and it turns out that I was needed after all, for they released some of the worst things for our kind: counter-spies.
“She didn’t know how to handle the situation. I stepped in, and won the battle; the counter-spies were weak-minded, and were too fresh to fight well… even so, she lost a good portion of her troops.”
“Quite a tale…”
Chuckling again, he replied, “yes, and it’s not one of my favorite ones. But I can tell you later, when we’re safe.”
The mare stopped suddenly behind Deale, hearing the clank of a whole squadron of troops’ armor against each other. Her mind aflame with emotions she had never held for anypony else, with thoughts she could never bare to speak, with pains of what she was ordered to do.
“Another group, you figure?” Deale asked without turning around. “Well, we can take ‘em.”
The mare was silent.
“…love? You there?”
Nothing.
“…if you’re messing around, it’s not--”
A sharp pain.
Connected to the knife in which Bené held in her teeth and muzzle.
Bené’s eyes full of tears, her mind set, her plan in motion, her soul beckoning for the safety of her family, and the mercy of the Elite.
“…B-Bené… why…” was all he managed to say.
As his body fell limp, she adjusted the knife to be able to catch him… she lay his body down, his eyes to never open again, the long career of the Dealer of Death now over.
As the squadron approached Bené, they stopped short a few yards short. One Guard, a ranking officer of the Platoon, stepped forward, and spoke in a somber voice.
“We would like to say ‘thank you, Dickie, for your service to the Princess of the Sun.’”
“It’s not Dickie.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My name. It’s no longer Richard. It’s Bené.”
“Bené or Dick, it truly does not matter in this case.”
Her heart, which had been slightly hopeful, had plummeted, her fate resigned.
“We would like to say ‘thank you,’ but, even as counter-espionage of the New Lunar Republic, you still were at hoof for the murder of countless troops, Guards, and civilians belonging to the Solar Empire alike over the duration of the last few months.
“The punishment for such crimes, unfortunately…”
Bené hung her head.
The clatter of a knife against barren ground, where no snow lie.
The scrape of metal on metal, as a spear extended.
A blunt sound.
Then silence.