Legio IX Hispania (15) (Patreon)

It was not a large cave, even as their makeshift shelters went. Lyra's companion still insisted on making it a proper retreat—arranging their bedrolls, covering the entrance with a cloth to protect it from the wind, and gathering water from the nearby stream. 

"No fire tonight," he said, almost guilty. "We can't give them more scent to follow."

She settled onto her haunches on the cave floor. "There's no room for one anyway." There wasn't even room for two separate beds. Stalwart had done his best, packing the blankets into every available inch of the cave. But mostly he'd just piled them atop each other.

"And nothing to cook with it." He rested his head against the cavern wall. "I should have been more diligent in my offerings. Whatever god I angered to arrive at this position, I beg forgiveness. Let me return to Rome, I pray, and I will see a new offering place erected in your name."

Lyra watched him, fascinated. The stallion really acted like a creature out of ancient days. But unlike the minotaurs, there was more than simple bloodlust and animal hungers. Stalwart Hope wasn't evil, he was just... backward.

He's going to pee himself when we get to the train station.

Nothing answered his prayer, supernatural or otherwise. Then he opened his eyes, flicking open the saddlebags with his mouth. He dug around inside for a few seconds, before lifting the pouch that held what little food they had scavenged.

Even after weeks on the trail, she'd never seen him eat grass. He took a few bruised berries from inside, then offered the pouch to her. "Eat the rest. We need our strength."

She obeyed without objection, though the fruit was already going soft. Better than what she usually ate in Appleloosa, but not by much.

"We've traveled far..." he continued, voice distant. "Into lands you say are dangerous. Away from the legion who could have sheltered us..."

But as he said it, he grew less confident with every word. You don't think they would recognize you. 

"I must know why. Clearly this time. What do we have to gain? Surely there must be a friendlier place to travel."

She looked away from him. "When Equestria fell, our conquerors divided their prize in three pieces. Each claimed what they could—but Chrysalis took two of them—Princess Luna, and Princess Cadance. The love princess can't help us right now—but if we want to help Equestria, we have to free Luna. She used to be our general, back when we still fought wars. She knows more about it than anypony."

The stallion watched her, unblinking. "Can she undo the spell you cast on me as well?"

Lyra nodded without thinking. "She's an Alicorn—she can do almost anything. Or she could, when she still had magic."

He groaned, before spinning sharply in place, then crawling into the cave. He stretched out on one side, pressing his eyes into the makeshift pillow. "You're saying she might be powerless. We may go all this way, fighting for our lives with every step, only to find her as helpless as we are."

She slipped the cloth closed, then followed him into that narrow opening. Perhaps there was some blessing to the uncomfortable quarters—it meant they wouldn't be cold tonight. Chill air was already beginning to seep its way in through the cloth. Neither had the strength of an earth pony, or the insulating feathers of a pegasus.

"Even if she can't help right away, she knows more about our enemy than anypony. She needs to know about your... legion. Maybe together, you can win."

The stallion shifted as she crawled her way in. Not avoiding her exactly, but using as little  space as he could. She would've called it respectful, if she wanted to be away from him. Instead, it was infuriating.

"I can't speak for the legion's aid. Our Legatus..." he rolled over, facing her in the narrow space. Yet even inches from her, his face was unreadable in the dark. "I saw them run him through. A man that age would never survive such a wound. I don't know who would take his place—Lucius? I can't tell you what he would think about waging war over this land."

He lowered his voice to a low mutter. "Marcus might. He hungers for glory. To take this strange, fertile land for Rome."

"What does that mean?" She tensed, sitting up. "Conquer us instead? Your warriors whipping us instead of minotaurs?"

"Doubt it. More like... Egypt. Have you heard of Egypt? It does Rome nothing to see it looted and burned. Rome would want tribute. Perhaps auxiliaries to fight alongside the legion, if you had good men of fighting age. Good... horses." He rolled back around, facing the wall. "That is assuming we could convince them you were people at all. I might not have believed it unless I saw for myself."

"You never asked me for... tribute," she whispered, barely audible. "Before I changed you. You tried to set me free. I thought you were... good. Finally, somewhere out there were creatures strong and brave enough to free us."

He didn't answer for a long time, long enough that Lyra began to wonder if he'd already fallen asleep. But then he did speak, barely louder than she had. "I saw how they treated you. Neither slave nor beasts deserve such things. I hoped at least one of us would escape that awful place."

He wants to help. He just doesn't know the words to say it.

Lyra knew then what she had since the first moment she saw him through the bars: this creature was the hero Equestria needed. She just had to help him see.

"I wasn't going to leave you either," she said, resting one hoof against his shoulder. She wouldn't dare more, no matter how much she craved a friendly touch. Without the whip or rotten hay, without the desperation or the stink of confinement. Maybe she could give stallions another try.

His ears folded back, tail twitching under him. He didn't reply—but at least he didn't tell her to let go. For one night, it would have to do.

[hr]

Marcus sat atop his horse at the head of a great column.

Whatever advantage having an intelligent mount might grant, he wasn't going to trust his life to one who had never seen combat. The goddess's gift let them understand him, but it didn't compel obedience.

They rode along the tracks, following them as interrogation, pony, and map all suggested.

On all sides he saw them marching, all armored and armed and moving at a good pace.

Despite their horrifying opponents, his legion seemed eager to be moving again. They could only dig ditches and build houses for so long before the itch of combat inevitably returned.

His own guards and servants had a half-dozen or so new additions to their number—ponies, strange colors and all. Most carried gear, a few carried men who would not see combat. If he watched only from a distance, he could almost forget some had wings.

Pity none of them can fly. Marcus would not expect their new allies to carry him all the way up Mt. Olympus if they could carry his Equitae into battle from above, or bear his spies aloft across the wilderness to watch their enemies. Even if they were not strong enough to carry his knights, they could still fly back and report what they had seen to him.

He saw her standing in the distance—a single human figure visible through the swaying wheat.

"Soldier—continue your advance, I'll catch up with you." 

He didn't stop to explain himself, but urged Latria forward, guiding the reins away from the path. She was eager too, in her way—eager to do more than trot along in slow formation. She  deserved more time to run!

But she didn't get very far—thirty seconds at a gallop, and he was already pulling the reins for her to slow. She obeyed, however reluctantly. He felt the eyes of officers and marching legionnaires alike, as their legate rode out on his own.

None questioned him. Generals could do far worse than enjoy their time on horseback. 

"Marcus Petronius Romulus," said the goddess. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, and her golden hair perfectly caught the light. "I felt the boots in their advance. The earth trembles before the legion."

He tried not to look at her—not just for her constant habit of intentionally throwing him off-balance with what she chose to wear. A hunter who saw Diana in this state ended up a Stag for his trouble. Best to avoid any course of action that might end with gaining a pair of hooves—or looking as though he'd lost his mind to the men he commanded.

"Is that your way of saying this was the right time to commence an attack? We'll be victorious in Dodge?"

"You will be... escalating the course of events," she said. "A few missing trains in an insignificant border town could be ignored. No one of any consequence would be stationed in Appleloosa. But where you travel, Dodge is different. When Tirek learns of this, he will take notice. He will send his army against you. After that, he will come himself."

He reached back to his saddlebags, lifting one of the fine apples from an Appleloosan tree into his fingers. Rarely had he enjoyed such luxuries on the battlefield. He'd been away from the homeland too long. Legions planted their own grain, but orchards took a generation to grow. He split it in half, then offered half to the goddess. When she didn't react, he held it before Latria instead.

At least his beast wasn't too proud to take it, chewing gratefully.

"You make it sound like the king should be more frightening than his army."

"Indeed. At this moment, I invest all the power I possess to conceal you from his sight, to fill the minds of his generals with lies. If he gallops against you before you're prepared, he will slaughter you with little resistance. You carry no weapon that can harm him."

That gave him pause. Marcus turned from the goddess, and instead watched his troops advance in a line. Thousands of legionnaires, thousands more slaves and auxiliaries and support staff. Behind them in the conquered town and all the land round about were just as many camp followers—healers and whores and the wives and children of legionnaires.

"My men fight for the glory of Rome and her Emperor," he said. "But they do not come to die for no reason. I won't throw them against a wall that won't break. I won't camp them in pointless siege for seven years of slaughter or march them through the desert to wither away. I won't lodge them in jungle and wilderness to watch them starve and sicken. If we can't win, why are we here?"

The goddess approached his horse. Up close, her scale became all the more frightening—Olympian in scope, far larger than even the largest men. She met his eyes even while he rested in the saddle.

"I know who you are, Marcus Petronius Romulus. I chose you for this task. There are others, serving other tasks. Your man—Caelius—he does not know it, but he seeks the information you require to defeat this king. I brought you to face the least dangerous of Equestria's tyrants—Tirek's power is significant, but his pride and sloth and vanity are all equally vast. If your missing tribune is successful, if your army captures the magic required to face Tirek and his Minotaurs, then victory will be yours."

She caught his arm, squeezing so hard the armor there bent and deformed under the pressure. But no matter how close she got, she stopped short of harming him. "Tirek is too proud to share the magic he stole from Equestria. He leaves it languishing, stored for his need, instead of shared with his troops. Return the magic to the ponies in your company. If you take it for yourself, it will never be yours, just as magic never truly belonged to Tirek. When the city is yours, seal the large underground chamber you find filled with glowing crystals. Bring ponies there, and tell them you return their magic without expectation of reward. Some may go, your payment abandonment.

"But some will not. In the kingdom that was, friendship was their chief virtue. Show them this, and they will give willingly in return."

She released his arm. "Watch for those touched by magic, and gather them. I will be there."