Book II
***
Britannia and the Crystal Maze
Concerning Britannia’s involvement in the ‘Crystal Maze Incident’ of February 15th, 990 AC
***
Prologue
Three years before the present day (for a given value of the word ‘present’)
They called them the Clawsridge Mountains.
It was a land of deep impassable valleys and mighty glaciers that chewed their way through the geology. Snow-capped peaks framed the vast blue oblivion of an untamed sky, clouds streaming from their tips like pennants from mighty fortresses. Razor-edged ridges, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, crevasses, innumerable needle-leaved pines and precipices that would give a mountain goat vertigo all clustered for dominance in a landscape that seemed too immense for the world to even accommodate. This was border country.
Down in one of the relatively few valleys to have been named by Pony-kind a light but biting wind insinuated its way through the trees, sweeping ice crystals from snow-drifts and blowing them in fanning waves over the undulations of a stark-white clearing.
A lone shape weaved its way through the drifts. It was one of those most rarest of creatures: a Northern Snow-leopard. Her movements were tensed with animal caution as she slinked and darted on her journey across the valley. Her ears flicked in all directions and her amber eyes kept watch for sign of any potential threat or meal. But even this silver-coated and timid predator of the mountains couldn’t hear the hushed voices from the edge of the tree-line that seemed to come from nowhere.
“So, tell me what the the seven ‘S’s are.” one invisible voice said. It was deep and rich, a male voice with a distinct accent detectable despite its whispered tone.
“Sight.” another voice replied. This one was much lighter, female and the accent was much more pronounced, the kind one would expect from some high-class Canterlot drawing room rather than the uncharted wilderness. “We remain hidden as long as possible.”
“Good, keep going.” the male voice responded.
“Still,” the female voice continued “We keep our movement to a minimum.” If one were to look closely one might make out the faint steam of condensing breath as it rose from two indistinct lumps of white beneath the trees and was promptly dispersed by wind.
“Shape: we alter our profile and blend in with our surroundings.”
To intense scrutiny, like a magic-eye puzzle suddenly becoming clear, the two lumps could almost be the camouflage-cloaked forms of two ponies, a dusting of snow making their shapes almost invisible.
“Scent: we disguise our smell and keep downwind.” Pieces of bracken and fallen leaves stuck out from beneath the cloaks, revealing the earthen beds each pony lay upon, snow melted from their body-heat. Of that, there was little else to show for the two observers, their faces were masked in knitted white balaclavas which revealed only their eyes: one pair as green as rolling fields, the other as blue as two icy pools.
“Sound: we keep as quiet as possible, blending our voices with the environment.”
“Then, if that’s the case,” the male voice whispered, “why are we talking?”
The female voice was quiet for a moment leaving only the whisper of the wind. A distant twitter of some mountain-bird made the snow-leopard twitch her ears and gaze out over the landscape.
“Because of the sixth ‘S’, Dad” the female said with a slight chuckle. “Situation: we’re downwind, which should mean our quarry can’t hear us. If it had we would certainly know about it by now. Being able to adapt to your surroundings is crucial to tracking.”
The green-eyed pony that could be assumed to be the male seemed to nod, satisfied at the answer. “And the final ‘S’?” he said.
“Survival.” the female pony replied. “Be prepared and know your terrain and your quarry.”
“And all these together,” the male said, satisfaction in his voice. “form the code of a tracker. Use them skillfully, knowledgeably and, above all, cautiously and you’ll find you can follow anything or anypony, m’gel. Or even turn the tables so that the hunter...”
“Becomes the hunted.” the female voice finished as if she’d heard this little mantra a dozen times.
“Indeed,” the male voice replied. “Clever filly.”
Britannia smiled and focused her binoculars on the snow-leopard as it continued its journey and allowed herself to be enthralled by this privileged sight. It wasn’t the quarry she thought they’d come out to find but its appearance was a wonderful surprise. She wondered where it was off to. Was it hunting? Perhaps it had some cubs on the other side of the valley somewhere and was returning to them. She marveled at its gorgeous silvery grey coat and the smoothness with which it moved silently over the snow. There were times when she thought she’d missed it only for a faint shimmer to signpost its position.
The white-coated unicorn mare’s own feline friend came to her mind and she couldn’t help but compare the two. Roary was her pet Zebrican Jungle Manticore, she’d found him as a filly when he was a cub and he’d been inseparable from her ever since. Her father often joked that it was more like the animal adopted her rather than the other way round. He certainly didn’t move like the leopard. His gangly adolescent frame, as tall as a full-grown stallion and getting bigger, did not lend itself too well to stealth at the moment. When he moved with his huge fore-legs he didn’t so much lope as lollop, like an overgrown dog.
It was a blessing that they’d been able to leave him at base-camp, dozing away under the influence of a sleeping spell cast by one of the medical officers. Otherwise he’d probably have sprung after the leopard the moment he’d seen it and attempt to play with the smaller cat. He could be such a dope sometimes and seemed to forget he was no longer a cub but nearly three-hundred pounds of muscle, hair, bat-wings and venomous tail. She shook her head, a smile beneath her concealing headwear. She’d really have to see if she could learn that sleeping spell. She knew she’d get it eventually, she just had to find the knack.
“So,” she whispered in a conversational tone. “Is this why we’re really out here, Dad? Does the Princess want the R.E.E.F to study wild-life now as well as undertake negotiations?”
Her father turned his gaze towards his daughter. She wasn’t the same little filly she’d been when he’d first whisked her away around the world from the family manor house in Canterlot all those years ago. Instead, the summers and winters spent travelling along with his regiment as a camp-follower had seen her blossom into quite the young mare. Her slim build was toned and athletic from the rigours of life on the edge of civilisation. Her mind was sharp, broadened by experiences of cultures far removed from the stuffiness of Canterlot and honed by the challenges of living off the land. And her heart, Quarter Mane smiled, her heart was good: full of passion and determination and a desire to do her best and a genuine love for the excitement that life with the Royal Equestrian Expeditionary Force offered her.
Her magic wasn’t all that expansive, he’d admit, though. Unicorns usually managed to pick up a variety of spells connected to their special talent as they grew to adulthood. His own Cutie-Mark of a compass represented his talent for exploration and his range of spells reflected that: a locator spell, a direction spell and an innate sense of time and place as well as a few other useful little cantrips. No matter how hard she tried, however, Britannia had not really yet mastered any spells beyond simple telekinesis and illumination, something nearly all unicorns learned at an early age.
Her telekinesis was exceptional, he had to admit. She had a dexterousness and strength that many couldn’t achieve, as if she were focusing all her magical power on this one simple trick. She certainly used it to her advantage when it came to self-defence. Her ability with a quarterstaff almost bested his own considerable fencing skills and, with the correct training, he had no doubt it would some day. It was a useful thing to know out in the wilds with its vicious beasts and monsters, not to mention her levitation magic had other practical applications. Her growing survival skills and her clever mind were also a huge advantage, but whatever special talent her Cutie-Mark represented just didn’t seem to have any related spells attached. Which was puzzling really when he took into account just what her Cutie-Mark was. The Holy Hoof-Grenade: an ancient magical artefact of myth and legend.
In his mind’s eye, Major Quarter Mane could still picture his daughter as she was when she first gained her Cutie-Mark, eyes absorbed in an old book full of ancient relics. She’d been captivated by one in particular: a golden orb, bound in jewels and topped with the red heart of Harmony. It was a device steeped in mystery and so much ambiguity; a device rumoured to be able to protect the wielder from evil. A device that could be capable of great good or terrible destruction. I want to be the first pony to find it, he remembered her saying, eyes full of wonder and determination. And, in a way, she had.
They rarely talked of that hot and terrifying night these days. So much had happened since then, but he could still remember it. The passage of time had not faded it, almost as if it had happened just yesterday. That was the thing with getting old, he thought to himself, time just seems to pass so bloody quickly. Too bloody quickly. He glanced at her eyes as they looked over at the snow-leopard in fascination. Light blue and edged in thick dark lashes, so like her mother’s.
Suddenly Britannia gasped, knocking Quarter Mane out of his melancholic reverie. He looked through his binoculars at what she was now intently focused on and saw the reason. A snow-shoe hare, black ear-tips picking it out among the whiteness, had appeared upon a snowy bank and the two ponies weren’t the only thing that had noticed. The leopard had now stopped, still as a statue and staring intently at the large rabbit as it started to dig and nibble at some morsel of food.
“No, young filly-me-lass," Quarter Mane said in hushed tones. "Although Princess Celestia may command and we obey and Her Majesty’s Expeditionary Force carries a lot of duties under its belt. This time, this right here,” he indicated the scene playing out before them. “This is just for us.”
The corners of Britannia’s eyes creased up as the balaclava hitched in places, the tell-tale sign of a massive grin. Quarter Mane couldn’t help but return it. The snow-leopard was a fluke. He’d known there were at least a few in the area but being able to sight one like this and in this valley at this time specifically, was a pure and privileged chance. Even more so as it was alongside the dearest pony in the world to him. There would be far fewer chances than this when they returned to Equestria in a few weeks time.
They would have embraced, they both knew it, but any movement would give them away so instead they just turned and watched as the mountain-cat began to stalk towards its prey. Britannia’s heart hammered against the ground as she watched with growing excitement. She realised the snow-leopard was utilising all of the seven ‘S’s as it worked itself within striking distance. It’s mottled coat blended it with its surroundings, its movement was glacier slow, it was approaching from downwind, it was keeping utterly silent as it placed its paws with utmost care, it knew the limitations and allowances of its situation favoured it and survival, well, out here in the wilderness survival was everything.
Mixed feelings churned within her. She felt her heart go out to the oblivious rabbit. Part of her longed for it to flee, to notice at the last minute and escape. She could almost bring herself to cry a warning. But, there was also the snow-leopard. This was its way of life. Out here it was nothing like Equestria, there weren’t any ponies looking after the animals. It was up to them to find their own food, even if that food was other animals. What if this was its first possible meal in days or if it really did have cubs and they were waiting for their mother to return with food for them?
She thought of all the times Roary, when he was younger, brought her little presents or she caught him about to do some horrific thing to some small squeaky creature of some kind. It was in his nature, it was just what the world had made him to do. Who was she to interfere with that? Would she have let him starve, forced him to eat food that his body couldn’t process just because it clashed with what she saw as right? Thankfully her admonishments and the liberal use of a combination of fish (which she could pretend were more like underwater vegetables) and Kit-e-Chow Magically Recovered Feline Protein Nourishment made feeding her overgrown pet a bit less morally awkward these days; but there was still something about the whole predator/prey thing that got to her. Life, she appreciated, just wasn’t as clear-cut out here on the edge. So instead she just watched, heart pounding, as the battle that just wasn’t hers to fight began to play out over the snow. It was, simply, breathtaking.
Like glass shattering, a loud cry echoed through the valley, making every living creature stop and stare up at the sky. It was like a combination of a screech and a roar, as if both an eagle and a lion were calling out at the same. The rabbit bolted for the treeline and, desperate not to let her prey go so easily, the snow-leopard followed suit, disappearing into the forest to continue their deadly dance within.
The two ponies looked to the sky as, dropping out of the sun’s glare like bullets, three winged shapes came into view. They tilted with the precision of stunt-flyers and began to circle the clearing.
Quarter Mane sighed, “And, now, back to business.” He started to fuss around beneath his camo-cloak.
Britannia focused her binoculars on the three swooping figures. Their forequarters, wings and heads were like those of mighty birds of prey while their hind-quarters seemed to switch mid-way into those of big cats. The griffin in the middle of the formation struck a chord of recognition immediately; the white feathers, black-edged wings, the grey uniform tunic and the hind quarters that, she now realised, looked exactly like a snow leopard’s. The griffins came to a perfect landing in the middle of the clearing and the two flanking the centre one spread out, weaponry gripped in their talons.
The young mare frowned a little and looked at her father. He’d removed the balaclava now, revealing his grey coat, characteristically short-cropped scarlet mane and toussled moustache that had begun to whiten at the tips with age. He was also checking his sabre, sliding his signature weapon out of its sheath an inch with his magic before snapping it back into place.
“I thought you said Blacktip was a friend of yours?” Britannia asked with a wary note to her voice.
“She is,” Quarter Mane replied as he readjusted the camouflage cloak over his body. “But, sometimes, that doesn’t count for much among griffins, my dear.” Especially when it comes to bearers of bad news, he thought to himself. He looked over to his daughter. “Stay down, Britty. Nothing should happen, but, if it does, you know what to do.”
Britannia nodded, a determined expression on her face, then levitated something out from under her own cloak. It was a long shape, wrapped up in white camouflage strips with the dull grey metal of a thin barrel protruding from one end and a wooden stock at the other. Quarter Mane raised his brows in surprise.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, scrutinising the rifle.
“Sgt. Pin Point gave it to me before we left camp, “ she said, referring to the regiment’s long-serving and short-statured sharpshooter. She steadied the gun carefully on the snow bank ahead of her and braced the stock against her shoulder. “She says I’m getting better with it.”
Quarter Mane goggled slightly, then shook his head with a wry smile. He shouldn’t have been surprised really. “Keeping your old dad covered, eh?” he said.
“Like one of Cousin May Bell’s pullovers,” Britannia said.
Her father gave a quiet snort of a laugh. “Hopefully it won’t come to it, lass,” he said. “But, if things do turn pear-shaped, wait for the others, all right?”
“All right, Dad,” she said. Quarter Mane stood up and began to move out from the shelter of the treeline. “And, Dad,” the Major looked back and saw a look of concern in her eyes. “Be careful, all right?” she said.
He smiled and winked at her. “Aren’t I always?” Then he turned and began to make his way over to the assembled griffins.
As the snow crunched beneath Major Quarter Mane’s hooves and he saw the winged creatures turn towards him he let his grin subside into an expression of deadpan neutrality. His mind was racing with fevered thoughts as, indeed, it had been throughout the summer. Not about this encounter, though he had his own trepidations concerning that. Thirty-plus years of long, long service to Her Majesty made this little diplomatic negotiation of only tangential concern to his worries. No, the thing that was eating away at him, no amount of training or experience could have prepared him for. His only child was growing up.
The letters had finally been sent. She’d finally left that ridiculous prep school that Hyacinth had insisted on and all the evaluation tests had been passed with flying colours. Could it have been any other way, when it was her taking those tests? And now, once this last little assignment had been completed, they’d be returning to Equestria and she’d be on her way to basic training at a Royal Guard boot-camp and then, he had no doubt, on to old 'Sandhorse'.
It had been inevitable that she’d want to join, almost from the moment she’d stepped off the boat that had been bound for Zebrica all those years ago; certainly since the night her mark had first appeared. In that dark tent, with the growling manticore, the wounded zebra and the terrible creature that had finally met its match. The military was in her blood: generations of the ponies of the House of Buckingham had marched beneath the Princess’s banner over the centuries and journeyed to the far-corners of the world at Her command. He’d taught his daughter all he could, guided her, tried to prepare her, seen her learn and grow and now it was time. He knew she’d be certain to cause a splash and not just with the teachers, if things hadn’t changed too much from his own younger days. A filly like her would be certain to turn a few of the young bucks’ heads. A filly like that did.
He shooed away that errant thought. He knew she’d be able to handle anything they threw at her, but. Oh, there was still so much he hadn’t told her. Things he still just couldn’t bring to tell her. Still, there was still time. When the time was right.
He was close enough to the party of griffins to make out Blacktip’s expression, those familiar calculating red eyes above the constant smile her beak seemed to give her. She’d spread her forelegs wide in an open gesture of greeting. Her escort, on the other hoof, couldn’t have looked more defensive with their crossbows gripped in taloned claws and eagle eyes watching his every move. They eat ponies, you know, lad. I’ve seen ‘em. His father’s words insinuated their way through his mind before he consigned that little ghost to the crypt from whence it came. Strange how silly comments the old goat had said still had a way of coming back to haunt him.
He knew these three wouldn’t be alone, though they’d pretend otherwise. There’d be a few Wings up on the valley walls and at least one up in the sky, keeping in the sun’s glare. That’s why he too hadn’t come alone. Aside from the little surprise his daughter had pulled out, Pin-Point and the rest of her squad would be dotted around the treeline, their own rifles keeping a close bead on the griffins and Flight Lt. Flash Heart would be aloft with his pegasi, hiding in the cloud cover. It was all precaution, all pieces on the chessboard in one very dangerous game.
He thought of his daughter one more time and of all the times he’d worried about the life he was letting her in for, the risk he was taking in exposing her to life on the edge. There was no point in regretting his decisions now. He’d weighed his options and sold away his fears for her safety a long time ago in exchange for the pony he knew she’d have to be. You can’t fight the Call of the Cutie. I have faith in you, Britty...and may you have mercy on my soul.
And now it was all business. Four figures: three griffins, one pony, and the fate of nations hanging in the balance. Business as usual.
***
Britannia watched her father go with an uneasy knot in her stomach. She wasn’t a naive little filly anymore, thinking her father’s life was just a whirlwind of action and adventure and strange new places and mysterious treasures. The past ten years had changed that perception dramatically.
Her father was a soldier in the R.E.E.F. He explored new lands, he met with strange cultures and he hunted for magical artefacts all in the name of the Crown as one of Princess Celestia’s official magical treasure-hunters. He and Britannia would spend hours poring over maps and documents in libraries and archives across the globe researching some treasure or another. The ‘Flashstone’, the ‘Bow of Burning Gold’, the ‘Arrows of Desire’, the ‘Rainbow of Light’ and, of course, the ‘Holy Hoof-Grenade.’ All items of ancient myth that seemed to have just the right grain of truth to them to follow up on and see if they could still exist in the places where history forgets and the legends begin.
Mostly it came to nothing, treasures being treasures for a reason and unlikely to be simply dug out of the ground like some common diamond. But sometimes their expedition would turn up a clue. Something they could follow or pass on for others to investigate. Even when she had to return back to Canterlot, to her Aunt and relatives at Buckingham Manor or the teachers and other students at the Lady Derby Preparatory School for Young Mares, she’d still be following the work they’d started together, studying in the libraries or practicing the skills needed to be an explorer. It was her special talent after all: to go out into the world and discover the mysteries of ancient and forgotten worlds. Why else would she have gained the Holy Hoof-Grenade itself as a cutie mark?
But she knew that, sometimes. Most of the time actually, when she wasn’t accompanying him, her father’s work was that of any other soldier: politics, diplomacy and safeguarding the kingdom in that very unique way the R.E.E.F did out on the front line, the borders, the edge where the sea of the wilderness met Equestria’s island of tranquility. It was a duty that called for courage and the possibility of having to do some very difficult things and the potential that somepony could get very badly hurt. Britannia was prepared, though.
She peered down the sights of her rifle: a 5th Series Experimental Equestrian Magical Armaments Factory New-Pattern Rifled Musket, affectionately nicknamed the ‘Brown Betty’ by the unicorn snipers who exclusively used them. She plucked a tranquiliser bullet from her ammunition pouch and loaded it into the breach with a faint click. She cocked the trigger-pin back as Pin Point had shown her and began to charge the shot.
The idea was straightforward: any unicorn with enough skill with levitation can apply the kinetic energy required to throw objects or propel them like missiles. It had been common in pony warfare since time immemorial, making use of javelins, grenades, darts, baked goods etc. but it took a lot of practice and unicorns needed to be very strong to make effective use of the technique. But the principle behind the ‘Brown Betty’, and other weapons like it, was to take the potential kinetic energy of a unicorn’s levitation spell and charge it within a holding gem located within the stock of the gun. Once it was charged it would remain so until it was deactivated or until the trigger was pulled with a firm pressure. The shot, most commonly a Royal Medical Service approved tranquiliser bullet, could then be fired at a terminal velocity making it consistent and, above all, accurate. Only specially trained unicorns could use such a weapon effectively as, even if a unicorn were to charge each shot for a pony of another tribe to use, it would still need support and the kick-back could be almost as nasty as the delivery unless it was cushioned with a firm hold of further levitation magic. Not to mention, being able to aim properly, was another skill all unto itself.
It was a skill Britannia was growing better with, as she always seemed to when it came to weaponry. She supposed it was all just part of her special talent, part of being an explorer. She focused on one of the griffins on the left, noting the business-like crossbow he gripped in his talons. Her heart was pounding but she kept her aim steady. The tranq-bullet would drop him in seconds if she needed to, the headache he’d wake up with would be the least of his worries afterwards. She let her breath rise and fall slowly, just like Pin Point had said, keeping calm and steady and overcoming the nerves and the underlying quiver of excitement she always felt at times like this. Like she was going to explode.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been in a position to hold a weapon to another creature. There were the sparring matches she had with her father’s troops, that time with the pirates in the Fillyppines and the firedrake in the Emberbrace Mountains. Not to mention that night with the asanbosam in the heart of the Zebrican jungle, that is if you counted a book as a weapon. It scared her but she knew that it was, sometimes, what she had to do, just like her father. To do your duty, to protect your loved ones and to achieve great things, you need to be strong and you need to master your fear. Hold it in, listen to it, learn from it and use it to your advantage. And never let the buggers see you’re hurt. Because if they think they can’t hurt you, they can never stop you.
She remembered everything he’d taught her, running his words and her experiences through her mind nearly every night. It would soon be the day that she would say goodbye to the civilian life and learn to be just like him: a Royal Guard, a soldier and, one day, an explorer for the Princess, just like her father. And together they would travel the world again and they would find the treasures of their dreams. She chuckled slightly in her hidey-hole in the snow. A foalish dream, she’d admit. But how could she not see it to fruition? How could she not achieve her own personal quest when the item she sought was right there on her flank? What she knew for sure was that she would do everything she could, face any fear, weather any challenge and brave any danger, to achieve it.
Meanwhile, beyond the clearing where the dramas of ponies and griffins were being set in place like pieces on a great white chess-board, a small silvery shape was emerging from the treeline to scale up the sheer crags of the mountainside. It had been hard, it had been tough, but the snow-leopard held her prize tight in her jaws: the limp white shape of a creature that had given its all and paid the heavy price for its failure. Her challenges weren’t over yet. They never were. She had two more ranges to cross before she reached her den and the young cub she’d nursed since the summer had warmed the mountains. She stopped and looked out across the valley, watching the griffins and pegasi that were circling warily up above.
The griffins had their own name for this valley, of course. But to the ponies of Equestria, in their maps and their records, this tiny strip of land on the border between two great and ancient empires, had only one name. One taken from the first pony explorer who had ever crossed it but had never returned alive.
It was the valley known as Care Gone.
