Legio IX Hispania (17) (Patreon)

Marcus followed the engineers into the labyrinth. They were far from the only ones in that dark space—plenty of soldiers packed in, some still shaken from the battle for Dodge that had eventually taken them here.

Many still looked surprised to see the Legatus moving that way in the company of ponies, who walked without harness or lead through the tunnel.

This was no difficulty—every structure in the city was built at this absurd size, with towering ceilings, sprawling rooms, and hallways long enough for the ponies to navigate comfortably. 

Many members of his legion might doubt the truth he proclaimed—that Dodge was built by ponies and not some long-vanished group of men. 

But not even his loyal engineers and scholars were prepared for what waited in King Tirek's vault. 

Just as the goddess said, it overflowed with crystal, many so large that no man could lift them alone. More importantly, they radiated with supernatural power, each one self-illuminating without smoke, heat, or flame.

Many of his men would go nowhere near the room, despite orders from their superiors. Instead of trying to press the issue, Marcus waved them off. Even Lucius lingered in the hallway, hesitant to advance into such an obviously supernatural space.

Yet Marcus had no such hesitation. He saw the way the ponies behind him reacted, eyes going wide with eagerness and excitement. Whatever made the horses want to go inside couldn't be dangerous.

So he followed just behind them, keeping far enough away that he wouldn't take a tail to the face, or catch one of their hooves.

"Just you?" Lightning Dust asked. "Not the one you brought? Doesn't she want her magic back too?"

He chuckled. "Latria isn't from your world. She has as much magic to miss as I do." 

Marcus lingered in the vault doorway. The walls were scarred with various impacts, and still smelled faintly of blood. A number of minotaurs had fought to protect this chamber until the last, more fearful of their king than his legion's blades.

"I don't know the process," he said. "I assume there's some way to give this back to you. But beyond bringing you here, I can offer little."

"And you're just giving it to us," Lighting Dust went on. "Braeburn, you've known him longer. Is there a catch? What isn't he telling?"

"The Legatus has done exactly what he says," the stallion answered. "If he gives his word, he will keep it. His creatures fight like nothing I've ever seen. But when they aren't at war, they treated us with kindness. Far more than we ever got from Tirek's minotaurs."

"Take what you need from the stores," he repeated, gesturing in again. "But not more. There are hundreds of your kind in Appleloosa, and thousands in this city. If this is the kind of ration that can be stretched, you should be conservative."

"Well I ain't too proud," said the filly. She selected a little crystal from nearby, then touched It with a hoof. The light within seemed to dim—and she changed. Her colors grew more vibrant, strawberry mane and yellow coat impossibly vivid.

Stranger by far was the mark on her flank, appearing from nothing as though it belonged there—a shield, marked with an apple. She grinned, breathing out with the relief of a starving man who had finally eaten a good meal.

An impressive little trick perhaps—but nothing Marcus couldn't imagine the priests of some temple performing with the right preparation.

Watching Lightning Dust was a little more impressive—that horse actually flew. 

Once a few of them were doing it, soon the whole crowd of assembled ponies were pressing in, rushing up to the crystal displays to have their taste of the magic within.

Voices of fear and apprehension transformed into laugher and excitement. One of several shelves near the door gradually faded, from a blinding blue to a subtle orange, with several of the stones turned into lifeless, mundane quartz.

"Are we the only ones?" Lighting Dust asked, landing on the stone before him after the last of her chosen group had their chance. Each one seemed to become more colorful, gaining new marks on their flanks. In some ways they resembled brands, though growing naturally from the coat, instead of burned there. And importantly, not a source of pain. "Will you share this haul with anypony else? Or just a few?"

He glanced back at his waiting bodyguards. They had relaxed somewhat in the last hour, when the display of strange power and flashing light had obviously not inflicted harm on any of the creatures inside. They still jerked to alertness as Marcus stepped inside. But if they wanted to grab and restrain him, they resisted the urge. 

Whatever fear of being attacked by these creatures the legionnaires might have—he knew better. He'd spent his life with horses. Magic or not, these “ponies” still seemed to think like them in all the ways that mattered. 

"As I said, Rome has no intention of holding you or your kindred in pointless deprivation. The lash is for the oryx, not the horse. Perhaps you could arrange a system to bring the others down here so that all may be restored. Braeburn, have any of the scribes I assigned to you made progress with your language?"

He galloped over. Like all the others, the stallion now seemed like a different beast. Instead of grim and passive, he radiated the energy of an animal happily in his element, full of joy. Even his family's finest riding beasts rarely seemed so confident and relaxed. "They are... diligent. We have a series of signs for basic messages. I think I'm having more luck with your language than they are with ours."

"Find a way to bring them all down here. After that... I intended to leave a small number of men in this city, while we advance to the next. Perhaps you could make additions to the caravans—of food, metal, or other supplies as we may require. The maps of your nation are vast—if I read them correctly, it is larger than most provinces."

And here he stood, commanding only a single legion against a vast nation overflowing with monsters. They could win battles, they could take small swathes of territory—but how would they fare when the conquerors mobilized true resistance?

"You hope..." Lighting Dust said. "Not a demand? None of your... small soldiers standing behind us to force ponies to work? That would be easier if you kept our magic."

He shrugged. "None. The path of retreat is closed. Before us we find two enemies. One builds cities, grows crops. The other rampages through the wilderness, burning, pillaging, and enslaving. Or to put it another way—if you did not need our help, you would not now be conquered. Would you rather be citizens of a province of Rome? Or, slaves kept in barns and fed rotting grain by barbarians? It feels like a very simple choice to me."

"He means it," said the filly. Listening to their conversation taught him her name was 'Apple Bloom.' "What kinda better deal do you think is comin'?"

At last the mare had no response. "We haven't had many reasons to trust," she said. Her wings remained open, as though still afraid of him. Like the blade at his side could overpower a charging horse! "Dodge is in bad shape. Even before I got sent here. Buildings are ruined, power barely works... lots to repair. If you're expecting tributes to start flowing to you, we might not have very much to give at first."

"My engineers will assist you," he said, without hesitation. "The legion has built many roads, homes, fortresses, and aqueducts. My second cohort is far better with construction than they are with their blades anyway. We will not leave immediately—your enemy will likely send a counterattack in the next days or weeks. For now, I can't involve any of your kind as auxiliaries—not without a common tongue. But if any volunteer to assist in our work raising fortifications around your city, it will increase our odds of success." 

He stepped out the door, just long enough to take a scroll one of the scribes was carrying. Like so many other men, he showed no sign of willingness to enter the magical stockpile.

Marcus opened it seconds later, squinting down at what it contained. A map of Dodge, drawn during the battle. He had already marked those areas they would use for a wall. A handful of exterior buildings would be collapsed, then the rubble made to block most means of approach. The map showed those areas with the most construction to do, and those his own men had already finished.

"Laborers marshal here each morning." He turned the map towards them, pointing. "I demand nothing. But any who go there at sunrise will be eagerly accepted." He offered the scroll to Braeburn, but it wasn't he who took it. One of the other horses, with a horn on their head, stepped forward. Then the map was floating. It lifted out of Marcus's grip, its edges glowing faintly. He released it instantly, springing back from the effects. A few soldiers watching from outside jerked to attention.

"It's okay—" Apple Bloom said, "Ain't nothing meant by it. That's unicorn magic."

He lowered his hand from the hilt of his blade. Outside, the bodyguards seemed more reluctant to do the same—until he turned, waving them back. 

"So I get this straight—this isn't some veiled threat?" Lighting Dusk demanded. "We've never seen creatures like you before. You aren't telling us we'll be punished if we don't help? Or maybe you won't share this magic after all?"

"I don't veil threats, Lighting Dust. If Rome had demands, she would make them. My father is a senator—I lack the subtlety for his work. I speak exactly what I mean. What I mean is simple—look at yourselves, then at me. An army is coming to throw you all back into chains. You may choose to help us prepare, or not. Maybe we don't need your help. But if I was the one threatened with slavery, I wouldn't trust 'hope' to protect me. I would either take my people and flee, or grab a bow and find a place on the wall."

He left them there in the vault without another word. Perhaps one day he would curse himself to give away such treasure, even if at that moment he did not know its worth. 

But the goddess had been clear in her instructions—give what they found back to its rightful owners, and the legion would be blessed in return. Her wisdom had brought him this far—he would need it to carry them to victory.

He heard more than saw as the ponies made their way down into the vault, and emerged transformed. Once some saw it happening, all demanded to go, be they volunteers from Appleloosa or survivors of Dodge. Soon a number of his own men gathered outside on the street, taking wagers over what colors and symbols might emerge on each horse who passed their way. 

Soon the camp followers had a proper market set up there, offering refreshments to the men, and even the occasional native who dared venture to the stall.

With their “magic” returned, the city had not changed—its windows were cracked and dirty, its streets full of garbage and some homes burned from the siege. Yet with its residents so changed, it no longer looked half as grim to his eyes. 

When Marcus rode back to his command tent, he even heard music rising from the streets. 

The next morning, he found a large line of ponies joining with the legionnaires, prisoners, and volunteers to assist in construction. At first they needed his talents to give basic instruction—but then the second cohort got into a rhythm, and simple hand gestures would do. Ponies trotted off, pulling carts of brick and cement without rider, driver, or master. Work crews trailed behind them, watching with renewed shock.

One day we'll get used to this. How strange will it be when they join the Equitae?

If Marcus ever found his way home, he would get a Triumph for this—or an execution.