Rancor Regicide
Introduction
By: Silbern & 1st*Cav
“Target sighted,” a calm voice spoke out softly as a hand reached out to turn one dial. “Five meters right of cherry tree.”
“Seen,” the other man replied, gradually shifting to adjust his aim with the butt of the rifle held firmly against his shoulder.
“Wind moving southeast to northwest at six km/h. Target distance one thousand and nine point five meters.”
“Compensated.”
“These two are perfect for the job.”
“I'm not convinced.” A man said as he pulled one portfolio from the large oak table and began to read its contents.
“Not married, no immediate family, young and with plenty of experience. They are a fail-safe in and of themselves,” the other much loftier man said as he went to sit at the head of the table. “If their cover is blown then we’ll merely cut the cord. They will be phantom operatives with no connection to us.”
“The risk for this is too high!”
“Ice Pond, this is Canuck Diver. Sunbeam is in our ball park, over,” the spotter said as he adjusted his own scope.
“Canuck Diver, this is Ice Pond,” a voice responded over the radio ear piece. “You’re green for home run. I say again, you are green for home run, over.”
The sniper held his weapon securely, his finger lying carefully upon the trigger. This was his moment.
“If they fail and we're compromised, the global powers will be breaking our backs. The diplomatic tension between our worlds is still too fragile,” the man simply explained as he threw the portfolio against the table, causing two photos to slide out from between the folder.
“They will be ghosts.” The man at the head of the table leaned back; his chair groaned in protest against the weight. “Ghosts have no allegiance or nation,” siting back up straight he lightly pressed down with one finger onto his conference phone. “Purge all files connected to operators Yankee and Canuck. Make 'em disappear.”
“Here we go. Yellow,” the spotter said quietly as he gazed through his own scope.
The sniper drew one final breath in before holding it half way.
“Yellow.”
The majestic white pony chatted cordially with a balding man in a suit.
“Yellow.”
The sniper squinted for a moment as he swore he could see the mare looking directly at him. Puzzled but unshaken, he peered back down his sight, keenly anticipating his cue to fire. Everything was going according to plan. The conditions were ideal, and their technique nonpareil, owed to years of rigorous training together. Superb marksmanship was not merely employment, but an art, and one they excelled at. Yet, in spite of all this, his gut instinct felt that something was amiss.
“Green.”
Taking nothing for granted, the sniper swiftly recalled the fundamentals of marksmanship: steady position, proper sight-picture, controlled breathing, and a smooth trigger squeeze. The time had come. He gently depressed the trigger. The firing pin struck the cartridge, igniting the round and sending the fifty caliber bullet spinning down the barrel. In an instant it gained incredible velocity, whisking through the rifling and warping the air upon its exit, leaving only a thundering crack in its wake as the spent casing launched from the ejection port. The spotter policed up the searing hot brass as soon as it struck the soil, tucking it away into his bag. He knew well the importance of leaving behind as little evidence as possible upon fulfilling a contract. Fewer than two seconds elapsed before the team once more lay motionless. The human ambassador fled in their direction as security personnel surrounded him in a flash.
“Miss. Green.”
Another skillful shot rang out but only managed to produce similar results. There was no visible dust cloud or debris to suggest a miss, yet the target displayed not even slightest flinch. The spotter briefly went wide-eyed as he caught a small glare from a grinning Princess Celestia.
“Oi, Yankee!” the spotter shouted to his partner, “I reckon this is your last chance. She’s onto us! Line up one more shot, post-haste, and make it count!”
“Bloody impossible,” the sniper remarked. “What could be wrong?” This was unprecedented. He was not accustomed to missing a stationary target, especially twice. Suddenly he remembered something that he had been saving for just such an occasion. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a single special round. “One armour-piercing incendiary, coming up!” he smirked as he hurriedly loaded it into the chamber, again taking careful aim. “This ought to rustle your jimmies, eh, lass?” The final shot blasted from the rifle, the sound reverberating off the craggy walls of the mountainside and shaking loose some diminutive stones.
“The bullets are levitating in front of her!” the spotter exclaimed with disbelief, scarcely able to trust his own eyes. He could clearly see the white hot phosphorous still ignited and fizzling out, hovering alongside the previous two shots. The sniper had not missed after all; an enigmatic barrier was safeguarding the mystical mare from harm.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice boomed out from behind. Immediately they both turned to see several armoured pegasi land upon them in a fury of hooves. Their countenances rapidly soured to incredulity, and then panic, as the guards swarmed in to surround them.
“Break for it, mate!” the spotter hollered. Professionals always have a plan for dire circumstances such as this; they had rehearsed a rendezvous location in case they became compromised. Each grabbing their gear and drawing a sidearm, they bolted in opposite directions, but it was too late. Almost simultaneously, two shimmering swords slashed at the pistols, deftly disarming the duo, but otherwise leaving them unscathed. Awestruck, they could only stand frozen before their captors.
“Now then,” a knight scoffed, readying two sets of bronze cuffs, “if you’d be so kind as to cease your insolent escape attempt and accompany us back to the castle, the Princess desires an audience with you.” Left with few alternatives, they began the tough trek down the mountainside toward the opulent palace, nervously awaiting their fate.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
By: 1st*Cav & Silbern
The guard contingent began to descend the rugged slope alongside their newfound captives. A few hundred meters below them ran a slender pathway. The eroding cobblestone trail appeared to leisurely meander back toward Canterlot via a narrow corridor in the mountainside.
“You there, prisoners,” the captain bellowed, “What is it that you call yourselves?”
“The name’s Yankee,” the sniper answered snidely.
“They call me Canuck,” said the spotter.
“What peculiar monikers these foreigners take upon themselves,” the captain remarked, snickering. “Well, ‘Yankee’ and ‘Canuck,’ here’s how the cow’s going to eat the cabbage, so listen up. Do you see that grey footpath down yonder? You will lug your sorry carcasses over there so that we may begin the march toward her majesty’s palace. Keep your distance from one another and make no sudden moves. The lieutenant and I will take point, with my two sergeants bringing up the rear. Stay back from us a minimum of twenty paces or you will sorely regret it. You two sods will remain in the center of the formation at all times. Once we’ve begun to march, you will fixate your view on the walkway. No peering up or glancing around. Know that by the authority of the Chief of Security we are authorized the use of deadly force to prevent your abscondence. Don’t get any wise ideas. Endeavouring to flee or resist will serve only to alleviate you of a mortal existence. Did you miscreants get all of that?”
“Uh huh, roger that, chap,” Canuck replied, furtively rolling his eyes. “Bloody wanker,” he spoke under his breath, catching a jab to the back.
“Sir,” the lieutenant inquired, “would you rather that we hasten our trip by flying the prisoners back to the palace?”
“Nay, lieutenant, I would not require that my men perform a task which I would not do myself. The mere notion of carrying these mongrels upon my back causes my stomach to wretch. They shall walk; it would be a service to fly them back.”
“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “Sergeants, let’s move out; maintain a vigilant watch on our guests.”
“Move along, prisoners,” the senior sergeant ordered. “I would advise that you avoid becoming injured as you traverse this rocky incline. You’ll arrive in Canterlot of your own power, even if that means your partner must drag you there himself.”
Yankee and Canuck reluctantly complied, cautiously negotiating the rough terrain toward the path as the four pegasi hovered overhead. Obeying the captain’s instructions, they each took up proper placement along the road, with the guards landing to escort them.
“Alright men, forward…march!” the lieutenant commanded.
As they trudged onward a handful of russet coloured leaves gently wafted upon the brisk mountain breeze. The sound of the wind sweeping through the nearby foliage reminded Canuck of home. Autumn was normally his favourite time of the year, but his mind was preoccupied by foreboding thoughts of their apprehension. His imagination raced with scenarios of what might await them at Celestia’s castle. After their attempt on her life, she was certain to be of a less than amiable demeanour. It seemed that only a scant few minutes had passed when the captain abruptly directed his squad to halt. With the subordinate pegasi keeping close watch upon us, the captain advanced slightly to examine an aged wooden signpost. The paint that once adorned its surface was heavily weather-battered and flaking. The text was almost unintelligible from years of neglected upkeep. Yankee inferred that their route must be one rarely trodden. Ponies outside of the occasional troop patrol seldom had a legitimate business reason for traveling through the remote ridge.
“Canterlot: 1.4 Km,” the captain read quietly to himself, struggling to make out the number. A mossy black arrow pointed onward down the curving trail.
“Let us continue,” he called out as he retook his spot to the right of the lieutenant, “and keep up the steady pace.”
“Oi, Yankee…” Canuck whispered under his breath with his still head facing downward to eschew suspicion from the sergeants in the rear.
“What is it, mate?” Yankee softly answered back, hardly able to hear partner.
“We’ve got to think of a plan…” Canuck mumbled.
“What? Say again?”
“Silence up there! First and final warning! Spread apart!” a sergeant heatedly growled as the two winced and puckered up. This garnered the attention of the lieutenant.
“Are the prisoners giving you any trouble back there, sergeant?”
“No sir, we have the situation under control,” he confirmed.
As the party passed by the road marker, the growing urgency of their situation began to sink in. A raven swooped down and perched upon the sign. It seemed to cast its gaze everywhere and nowhere all at once. Its piercing glare made Yankee uneasy. The avian fiend offered up a harassing squawk to their plight, as would a heckler along the route to a public execution. He hopped from side to side in a taunting pose, and then took flight, leaving them to their fate.
“It seems that even the fauna harbor ill will toward you in this place,” a guard mocked. Making their way through the corridor a light shined in from the exit, illuminating the way to the other side of the mountain. As they re-entered the open ground an imposing wooden palisade came into view. The fortification stood next to a grand cascading waterfall, and together with it dominated the landscape, watching over the side entrance to the city. A cloud of mist enveloped the area, lending an eerie aura to the lone spindly rope bridge spanning the chasm over the falls.
The chilling bells of the royal clock tower in nearby Canterlot were faintly audible. Each ghastly chime sent shivers running down Yankee’s spine. Time was dwindling fast. He knew they had to formulate an escape plan, and quickly. Having witnessed the supernatural powers of the princess earlier, he questioned the wisdom of allowing himself to be taken as her captive. It became clear that drastic measures might be required.
“Ah. That’s the outpost up ahead. We’re almost there,” the captain commented to his lieutenant. The group began crossing the rickety bridge. It swayed slightly back and forth over the rushing waters below.
“Sergeants, hold position here while the captain and I converse with the guards manning the gateway,” the lieutenant instructed.
“Yes, sir,” the senior sergeant reciprocated. This was it. Yankee and Canuck exchanged anxious glances. Two of the pegasi were distracted; they would not likely get another such chance beyond the palisade. Yankee could see it in Canuck’s eyes. They were on the same page. Being close partners for several years tends to produce that sort of bond.
“Hey, you lot, you’ve been told to keep your heads down!” a sergeant yelled out.
“Are we really about to do this?” Yankee asked skeptically.
“Bloody right!” Canuck exclaimed. At that moment, Canuck leaned down to the boards forming the bridge and swung his weight vigorously, shuffling the guards and throwing them off balance.
“Now! Go for it! Death would be preferable to imprisonment by a magical basket-case!”
Canuck took the opportunity to draw a pocketknife that he had been concealing inside of his left boot. Fortunately, ponies were not well acquainted with the concept of always cuffing detainees with their hands behind their backs. Typically, such a method would be anatomically irrelevant. This gave Canuck the range of motion he needed to swing his knife back and forth at the staggered sergeants, startling them further and holding them at bay.
Yankee, nearly falling over himself, managed to retain his footing. Barely able to muster the courage and willpower required by such an act, he took a final gulp and managed a fleeting prayer, then dove off the bridge. “Geronimooooo!” he shrieked, plunging toward the depths and landing on his back with a great splash. Canuck, wasting no time, promptly followed suit.
“Here goes! We regret nothing!” Canuck yelled indignantly as he launched over the ropes and plummeted into the churning rapids. The sergeants, struggling to regain their stability, could only gawp in astonishment at what had just transpired.
“Did they really…”
“Yes! Quickly, grab them!” Taking flight, they swooped down toward the gushing water, but the men had already been swallowed by the wild current.
The captain and lieutenant, witnessing the event unfold through the window, burst out of the palisade sentry shack and ran to the edge of the chasm, frantically scanning the river.
“You fools! How could you allow the prisoners to evade us so easily!” the captain roared.
“The one called Canuck shook the bridge unexpectedly to destabilize us, and then he and his partner dove over, sir.”
“Yes! I saw from the guard hut! No excuses!” The captain rubbed his brow with frustration. “Lieutenant, take these two and any excess personnel at the outpost and mount a search party! I will inform the princess of what has happened. Surely they will drown, but we cannot afford to take any unnecessary risks.”
“At once, sir,” the lieutenant agreed. Taking to the air, the captain sped toward Celestia’s keep to deliver her the news of their failure and receive further instruction.
Celestia giggled to herself, her smile widening. She pulled her head away from the telescope residing on her tower balcony. She’d been watching the intruders navigate down the mountainside with great interest. Was she shocked that these individuals tried to assassinate her? Not at all; it came with the territory of being both a goddess and a leader. The Gryphons tried and failed long ago, as did the Dragoons of the West. Some were more severely punished than others, but the Princess always made a point of trying to keep things diplomatic. If anything, it vexed her adversaries that she remained alive and affable.
The Humans were just another species with which to enact her little game. This time she had two pawns to toy with instead of the usual boisterous military figures and politicians whom she would rather cram down a drain than shake hooves with. Politicians, it seems, are the exact same, no matter what species you belong to.
Three solid raps upon her large double door shook her from such thoughts as she turned to greet the only pony she was expecting. “Come in, dear captain.”
The pegasus donned in royal armour could only gawk for a moment as he heard the Princess beckon him from inside her chamber. How she knew it was he who sought her audience was still a bit unnerving. Nudging the door aside, he took a few chary steps inside, and then sealed the entrance behind him. “Princess, I apologize for the intrusion into your private quarters, but I have pressing news about the two Human intruders,” the smaller pony spoke out, standing at his best form of attention and rendering a crisp salute.
“It seems that their species doesn't shirk at a little swim, hmm?” she spoke softly as her horn began to glow signifying use of magic.
The guard captain simply watched as a pen, inkpot, and parchment floated nearby. The Princess began to hum a heart-warming tune to the strokes of her numinous pen. He stood in silence until at last the Goddess of the Sun had finished and dispatched the letter by way of incineration; it was something the captain had always considered quite an oddity. “What are your orders then Princess?”
“Send aerial patrols to search both the waterfall and the river as far as White Tail Woods and Ghastly Gorge. I'll send word to Captain Shining Armour and he will mount the land operations. Remember that I desire them taken alive if possible. They are to be treated as guests now in these halls,” the white Alicorn ordered as she turned to go back to her telescope.
“As you wish, Princess,” he obeyed. The captain saluted, and then turned to exit the room with drilled finesse.
“My little Human, my little Human,” Celestia cooed softly. She lowered her head once more to view through her telescope, eagerly scanning a fervid eye for any indication of her visitors’ presence.
