In which the Alene tells a story and a pegasus fails her mission.

Matt took Sun Hammer and the Snøskred back to check Tišina’s corpse. He wanted to see if the magic users had guessed right.

“Oh, that’s not good.” Matt said as he looked over the grisly remains of Tišina’s skull. There was a definite mass of tissue in the skull he knew hadn’t been there before. Some of the gaps in the bone looked smoother as well.

“At this rate she’ll be back to her old nasty self in a day, maybe less.” He said to the others.

The Snøskred growled. “Is there no way to finish this beast?” His eyes fell on the stockpile a quarter mile away. “What about the bombs?”

“I like the way you think, Snøskred.” Matt said grinning. “We have more than a hundred bombs left. That’s over nine thousand pounds of tannerite. We can move the bombs next to the body and then set them off from back at the ice jumble. It may not stop her regenerating but it should buy us some time. Maybe enough to get through the storm and make our way out of the magic-sucking zone on foot afterward.”

“The three of us cannot move them in time, Lieutenant.” The Snøskred said, shaking his head.

“True enough. Sun Hammer, gallop back to the jumble and get three pairs of earth ponies to bring chariots. No need to have more people here than we have to. Three teams ought to be enough to make it in three trips.”

“Aye. Dae remember thon storm will nae wait fer ye.” Sun Hammer said. “And A can pull ma ain chariot too, tis bigger than the rest, ye ken. T’will haul mair at a time.”

“Didn’t your sergeant tell you never to volunteer, Sun Hammer?” Matt asked, chuckling. “Go to it—and glad to have you.”

The oversized pony nodded and galloped back toward the ice jumble while the Snøskred and Matt headed for the stockpile.

The job took most of the four hours they had to spare. The final arrangement saw the bombs stacked three high to provide the largest target. Matt wanted to be as far from the blast as he could possibly be, which with the rifle, scope, and loads he was using was about two miles, but the chances of hitting even a target the size of the bombs was minimal. The closer he got, the more accurate he would be, but the more likely to get blown up along with Tišina.

He finally decided on a mile and a half. The Snøskred dug a small trench for him to fire from. It wasn’t much protection but it would have to do.

He kept the armor-piercing rounds, since their pointed shape gave them better range than the round-nosed softer bullets. Either would set off the bombs if they managed to hit them. He grinned. Nine thousand pounds of tannerite was likely to make a really big bang. Big enough to vaporize Tišina’s regenerating corpse.

I hope. He thought to himself. Storm clouds were already massing on the horizon when he settled into the trench and dialed the scope as high as it would go.

Doing the range calculations in his head was second nature, but this kind of shot was tricky. Fortunately the wind had died down, the clichéd calm before the storm. His first two shots missed as he zeroed in the range.

The third shot didn’t.

He saw the flash and glimpsed the pressure wave flashing toward him. Dropping his rifle beside him he ducked face-down in the trench and covered his ears, counting to himself. On six the sound hammered him like a fist, nearly lifting him out of the trench. The blast wave tore at his clothes. When the world quieted he put his arms over his head and tried to dig himself even deeper into the bottom of the trench.

A series of loud thumps announced the shrapnel landing all around him, along with some hisses as the red hot metal turned the snow to steam. The world turned dark as the smoke-cloud covered the sun.

When the light returned he picked up the rifle and peered downrange through the scope. The entire area was still smothered in an opaque cloud, so Matt patiently waited for it to clear. When it did he let out a low whistle.

“Note to self. There is such a thing as overkill.” He murmured, rising to his feet and surveying the crater that had been their campsite. It was too deep to see the bottom from where he stood, but the really important detail was Tišina’s missing corpse...

Feeling a faint gust of wind from the approaching storm he slung his rifle and started jogging back to the snow cave.

The storm was howling full-force outside their shelter, every so often one of the trolls would travel down the tunnel to check on conditions. After an hour nearly four feet of snow had fallen. The trolls and humans were tasked with keeping the ventilation holes cleared by wiggling rods stuck through the holes. The rods had been scavenged from the chariots.

Only a few small candles lit the large snow cave, leaving much of it in shadow. The candles and the body heat from the expedition members had raised the temperature a little. It was cold, but bearable.

“I have never seen such a blizzard.” The Snøskred remarked as he returned from a trip to the entrance. “If the snow continues at this rate we’ll be lucky if the ventilation shafts aren’t covered by morning. We may have to dig another tunnel.”

“I told you!” Rainbow Dash said bitterly. “Ten feet, I said! Now we’re gonna turn into popsicles!”

“Ooh, I wanna be strawberry!” Pinkie exclaimed happily. The blue pegasus gave her friend an incredulous glare.

“In fact,” the Alene said diplomatically, “I believe Rainbow Dash may have severely underestimated the snowfall. Given what I observed and my knowledge of storms I’d say the actual snowfall may be closer to thirty feet.” The Snøskred considered his friend’s words and nodded thoughtfully.

“Oh that’s just great.” Rainbow Dash moaned. “We’re never getting out of here.”

“Would you bury your snout, you sniveling feiging?” The Snøskred snarled. “We have shelter, food, and water. The storm will be done by morning and we’ll dig our way out. There is no danger!”

“Easy for you to say.” Rainbow Dash grumbled.

“Dashie, I reckon the Snøskred knows what he’s talkin’ about.” Applejack said comfortingly. “If’n he says there ain’t no danger, then I fer one believe him.”

“Rainbow Dash is a creature of the sky, Bevis.” The Alene said calmly from where he sat on a blanket. “It is understandable she would be—uneasy—in a confined space such as a snow cave. Let her be. I have no doubt you yourself would be just as ill at ease among the clouds.”

He shifted to make himself more comfortable. “It promises to be a long night. Would anyone care to hear a story?”

“Yes! Me! I do, I do!” Pinkie said, hopping up and down, her puffy forelock brushing the roof of the snow cave at the top of each jump.

“Very well, my energetic friend.” The Alene said with a smile. “Sit down and I shall tell you the tale of Rolig Fottrinn, the first troll ever to bear the title Alene.”

Pinkie plopped down on her rump with a smile, watching the Alene with wide innocent eyes. The rest of the expedition quieted, glad to have a distraction. Even Rainbow Dash perked up a little.

“Rolig Fottrinn was very small for a troll,” the Alene began, “Even smaller than I am. It was said he weighed no more than a half grown youngling. In those days this was a grave matter, for the world was far crueler then. Size and strength meant life. Smallness meant weakness, and death. One such as Rolig was viewed as a drain on the clan, and barely tolerated.”

“As his fellow trolls would not abide his company he began to explore the passages his larger brethren disdained. And so he spent his days learning the secrets of the Deep Dark, a place where most trolls have sense enough not to tread.”

“Rolig, you see, though lacking size and strength was both clever and prudent. He learned easily and never forgot anything. This gift served him well, and saved his life on many occasions where a stronger but less clever troll might have met their end.”

“One day tiny Rolig found a passage nearly too narrow, even for him. But Rolig would not have survived had he been the type to easily give up in the face of adversity, and so he greased his body with fat from cave lemmings. Now let me say this, be they ever so hungry, no ordinary troll would consider eating a cave lemming. Their flesh is rank and the reek of their rendered fat is such that the strongest troll must run away from it or go mad.”

“But Rolig, who was scrawny and thus always last to claim scraps no other troll wanted, had acquired a taste for cave lemming and hunted the stupid beasts. He alone of all the trolls before him discovered the nearly miraculous properties of lemming fat. First, the stench was so great that no predator of the World Below dared stand before him and always fled. This kept him safe from death by claw or fang in the Deep Dark.”

“But the fat had a second use. Anything coated with it becomes incredibly slippery. So slippery in fact those impossibly narrow passages suddenly let Rolig pass with ease.”

The Alene smiled “His cleverness granted Rolig Fottrinn a great boon that day. For in the cavern beyond the narrow passage he found a stone drake.”

“Aren’t those just a legend?” Twilight asked with interest. “A wingless dragon?”

“Wingless indeed.” The Alene nodded. “But no legend. I myself have spoken with that very same drake, Twilight Sparkle. His name is Skifer, and he is perhaps the oldest living dragon in the world, certainly the oldest in the World Below.”

“Cool!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed, her unease temporarily forgotten. The Alene smiled at the pegasus and continued.

“Now in those days Skifer had not dealt with trolls before, for his caverns lay on the other side of a thrust of rock they call the Vegg. The Vegg is vast, you see, and nearly impossible to dig through. So only clever Rolig found a way through the Vegg into Skifer’s realm. No one else was foolish enough to travel as far into the Deep Dark as Rolig had done, and none was small enough to fit through the passage he found.”

“So Rolig, out of all the trolls in his clan, was the first to lay eyes on the vast caverns of Skifer the stone drake. At first Rolig had no idea that Skifer was there, for stone drakes are covered with lumpy rock-like skin and can change their color to match their surroundings.”

“But Skifer knew Rolig was there even though Rolig was cautious by habit, for the stench of the lemming fat was pungent indeed. In fact it woke the drake out of a sound sleep.”

“As everyone knows rousing a dragon from its slumber is the height of foolishness. Things might have gone very badly for Rolig indeed because of it.”

Rainbow Dash winced as her friends gave her significant looks.

“But the gods had blessed Rolig with luck as well as cleverness. You see, Skifer was not terribly hungry at the moment. He was ancient even in those days, and so was less impulsive than most dragons. He observed Rolig with some interest, never having seen such a creature before. But what really spared Rolig from the drake’s belly was how the troll acted.”

“Unaware of the death lurking behind him Rolig did what he always did upon discovering a new cavern. He stood absolutely still and observed. Now it is common knowledge that trolls have dark sight. It lets us see without light, a useful ability indeed in the many places lys-mose does not grow. But the stone drake’s cavern was rich with lys-mose so Rolig had no need to rely on his dark sight.”

“What’s lys-mose?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“It is a type of lichen that glows with a soft green light.” The Alene replied. “It grows wild in the Deep Dark and is cultivated by most races in the World Below, including trolls.”

“Discovering an interesting dryppsteinene formation he moved to study it. This intrigued Skifer. The drake had never seen a creature that was interested in cave formations before. In the drake’s experience animals ignored the scenery, only interested in food, avoiding predators, and finding mates. Skifer knew the hanging stones held none of these, for if they had the stone drake would have devoured them long since. Thus the drake had no idea what Rolig was doing.”

“In those days trolls had no written language, all knowledge was handed down verbally. We did not in fact understand one could record knowledge except by memorizing it. So Rolig was used to remembering everything he saw, a skill he was particularly gifted in. But such memorization takes time, and so Rolig stood in thought for several minutes as he studied the dryppsteinene.”

“Skifer was beginning to suspect Rolig was no mere animal and, like all ancient dragons, knew magic. He cast a translation spell and began to speak to Rolig. This is the conversation as it was related by Rolig to his first student, who passed the tale down to his student, and so on, until the day trolls discovered the art of writing and recorded the tale for all time.”

“What are you doing?” Skifer asked in a low thunderous rumble.

“Who speaks?” Rolig asked in some alarm, searching the cavern and finding it apparently empty.

“I am Skifer, and this is my home. What are you doing, strange creature?”

“I am studying the stones that hang from the ceiling.” Rolig answered, still searching for any sign of his interrogator.

“Why?” Skifer asked, obviously confused.

“Why not?” Rolig answered. “I have never seen hanging stones of this shape and color before. By remembering them I will know them if I see them again. And then I will know where I am should I ever be lost.”

“A good answer.” Skifer admitted. “Who are you and why have you come here, creature?”

“My name is Rolig, of Clan Fottrinn. I came here because I was curious to see what lay beyond the narrow passage. Where are you?”

“I am here.” Skifer replied, allowing himself to contrast against the cave wall. Rolig froze when he realized just how big Skifer was.

“I am sorry if I intruded, great Skifer.” Rolig said. “I will go now and leave you in peace. My apologies for disturbing your rest.”

He started backing toward the passage, hoping against hope he could escape without being eaten.

“Do you think to escape me, little morsel?” Skifer asked, chuckling as he moved his tail to cover the opening.

Rolig realized his only hope of escape lay in clever words. He was no stranger to talking his way out of trouble. Most of the clan did not like him, and were quick to express their displeasure physically. He’d gained a silver tongue after years of painful beatings.

“Perish the thought!” He said quickly. “However I’m sure a magnificent creature such as you would find me a most disagreeable mouthful, great Skifer! I would hate to be the cause of your distress.”

“What do you mean?” Skifer asked, his curiosity aroused.

“I am not a healthy troll, great Skifer! I am scrawny and ill-fed and have little meat on my bones. Worse, I feed largely on cave lemmings. This makes my flesh toxic to other creatures. I suspect a massive creature such as you would not die from eating me. But you would certainly grow quite ill. A superb creature such as you should never suffer such an indignity! It would be a crime against nature. My spirit could not rest if I were to be the cause of such calamity!”

“Rest assured you will not make me ill.” The stone drake replied. “Stone drakes do not suffer distress from anything we eat. But I thank you for your concern. I must say I have never had my meal consider my well-being before. It is quite—novel.”

“Does not my stench offend your nostrils, great Skifer?” Rolig inquired slyly. “Other creatures find my odor so offensive they run away.”

“What do you mean?” Skifer sniffed deeply. “You smell of cave lemming, and something else I have never smelled before. But what of it?”

“The odor doesn’t bother you?” Rolig asked, masking his unease.

“No. Why would a smell bother me?” The drake was genuinely confused. Like most dragons he was a loner by nature and thus seldom had conversations with others. However, in none of those rare conversations could he ever remember the subject of odors arising.

“Bad smells warn of poisonous or spoiled food, marvelous drake! It is nature’s way to warn creatures that food is not fit to eat.”

“Is this so?” The drake blinked, considering the matter. “Perhaps that is why I am not bothered then. For nothing I have ever consumed has caused me misery, little morsel. Thus it would seem I need not worry about you.”

“Are you then a cannibal, Skifer? Consuming your own kind without remorse?” Rolig asked innocently.

“Do you claim to be a stone drake then?” Skifer asked in amusement. “I think not, little morsel.”

“I am not a stone drake.” Rolig admitted easily. “But I am none the less the same kind as you, for I can speak and think and ponder secrets of the Deep Dark. How then am I different from you, Skifer? Do you not think and speak and ponder secrets?”

“And what secrets do you ponder, Rolig of Clan Fottrinn?” Skifer asked, clearly unimpressed. “Where your next meal is coming from? My own meals do this as well, and they are larger than you and do not put up such a fuss.”

“I ponder where I was before I was born, great Skifer. How is it that my body is so much smaller than other trolls? Why was I not given massive strength like the rest of my clan? Why is it I am bothered by these questions when they are not? How is it that I discovered the secret of rendering cave lemming fat when none of my forebears ever did? What are the lights in the sky above the uppermost level of rock in our caverns? Why have I spent my life learning about other creatures, even the ones that pose no threat to me and can’t be hunted for food?”

“Why does lys-mose glow? Why is it green? Are there other colors of lys-mose? Or perhaps other plants that make light? Why does the World Below stop, why does it not continue upward and downward forever? Or are there hidden ways that lead downward deeper into the Deep Dark?”

He paused for breath, unable to tell if his words, borne from the frustration of years, were having any effect on the stone drake or not.

“You interest me.” The stone drake finally rumbled. “You are a strange creature, Rolig Fottrinn. Perhaps I will not eat you after all. The questions you ponder never occurred to me to ask and I find myself wondering why that should be so.”

“I don't know, is it possible the powerful do not have a need to do this?” Rolig responded. “I have no strength and my clan despises me for it. But I know more than they do about the Deep Dark. I venture there alone and have always made it back home. How then can I be weak, Skifer? You are more powerful than my entire clan, can you solve this riddle? I have sought the answer from the beginning, yet have no spoor to follow.”

“I will gift you this knowledge, Rolig of Clan Fottrinn.” Skifer said after several minutes of thought. “Answers are elusive things, and never easily caught. Those who seek must be patient and cunning. Stone drakes know many secrets. Sometimes we trade for them with other dragons. It is not unheard of for a younger drake to seek out an elder bearing tribute in trade for knowledge of magic, or some other matter.”

“What is magic, great Skifer?” Rolig asked, intrigued.

The pegasus cruised northward, snapping her gigantic wings every few seconds to maintain her astonishing speed. Below her she could see the curve of the world, and reveled in the clear cold air and the warm dry spot on her nose. Up here she could relax.

She was a hundred miles from target when she got the first indication something was amiss. The warm spot started heating up and rapidly became painful. The pegasus let herself slow but the heat kept increasing, so she did something she ordinarily never would, she lightly cupped her wings to bleed off speed as rapidly as she dared. By the time the burning went away she was well below a third her of her normal cruising speed and she’d started to lose altitude with alarming rapidity.

No closer than eighty miles to target she was nearly falling from the sky so she began one of her long slow turns. But in this case it was a descending curve that brought her down toward the tops of huge clouds. By the time she managed to reverse course she was a scant hundred feet above the thick black clouds.

I don’t like the look of those at all! She thought to herself as she desperately tried to accelerate and climb away from the ominous boiling cloud tops. But even her best efforts merely slowed her descent. Fifteen nerve-racking minutes later, with her hooves less than five feet above the clouds whatever evil force that was trying to bring her down finally lost its grip. Nearly exhausted the mare felt herself start to lift away from the cloud tops. She was crying in relief as she finally regained the safety of cruise altitude. Shuddering she started the forty-five minute flight back to Canterlot, her mission an utter failure, the camera harnessed against her belly lacking even a single picture.

“She nearly died bringing us this information, Your Highness.” Subtle Dancer said grimly. “She started having trouble flying a hundred miles from Tišina’s lair, which is exactly the same place our scrying spells failed. She nearly fell into the blizzard.”

“Losing her would have been a tragedy my friend.” Celestia shook her head. “There is no other pegasus like her in all of Equestria. See to it no more reconnaissance flights are made within a hundred and fifty miles of Tišina’s lair. We can’t afford to lose any Land Survey Group members. Even aside from the heartbreak of losing one of my little ponies, the rarity of their skills makes them irreplaceable.” She paused.

“Speaking of which, Compass Rose is extremely angry with you. She stormed into my private study and read me the riot act.” She chuckled at his appalled look and nodded with mock solemnity.

“She was not the least apologetic either. She said, and I quote. ‘If that idiotic unicorn ever endangers one of my team again I will personally tear his horn out by the roots and then kick him so hard he will never be able to father a child. Tell him that’s a promise.’ If I were you I think I’d steer clear of Compass Rose for a while.”

“For the next several years, from the sound of it.” Subtle Dancer said ruefully. “I’ll have to see if I can’t find something to soothe her ruffled feathers. Perhaps some kind of new enchanted equipment.”

“Tread lightly.” Celestia said with a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Any mare angry enough to beard me in my den is a mare to be reckoned with.”

Subtle Dancer sighed. “I seem to have a gift for angering mares lately, Your Highness. Dawn Spire is none too pleased with me either.”

“Oh? What did you do to her?”

“Threatened to have you give her a medal.” He said. “And then sent her on the expedition to Tišina’s lair.”

Celestia blinked.

“Isn’t she rather—analytical—to be doing field work?” Celestia asked after a moment.

“Unfortunately, it was either her or me, because the portal popper she came up with is exceptionally difficult to cast.”

“And I needed you here.” Celestia nodded. “Hopefully Matthew will keep her and the rest of the expedition safe.”

“Hmm.” Subtle Dancer said noncommittally.

“You don’t believe he’s capable?” Celestia asked, surprised.

“No, it’s not that. If anyone can succeed it would be him.” There was just the slightest hint of distaste in the Chief Horn’s tone.

“You don’t like him?” Celestia asked shrewdly.

“He is a killer, Your Highness. He freely admits taking many lives. He did it for a living! At least Sun Hammer only did it once—to save the world.”

“And me.” Celestia replied dryly.

“You are the life of the world, Your Highness. Saving you is saving the world.”

“You do know I have taken lives myself, Subtle Dancer? To protect my little ponies I very nearly took Tišina’s life. I did take Nightmare’s. How then am I any less guilty than Matthew or Sun Hammer?”

“Your Highness!” The unicorn stepped back, clearly shocked.

“Matthew’s heart is not that of a murderer, Chief Horn. His calm demeanor hides a heart in turmoil. I do not believe he would take a life unnecessarily, nor without regret. I would prefer to turn Tišina to stone for all eternity rather than kill her. But we may not have that luxury. I will not rein in Matthew when he may be the key to Equestria’s survival.”

“I bow to your superior wisdom, Your Highness.” The black unicorn dipped his horn. “But this sudden storm and the failure of magic in the area bodes ill. We are helpless because of it.”

She sighed.

“I know. But that is all the more reason to trust the Lieutenant.”

“Let us hope he deserves that trust, Your Highness.” Subtle Dancer said somberly.