Legio IX Hispania (Patreon)

Dodge burned again.

Marcus rode along the fields, watching as their prisoners dug. The pit was vast now, at least a hundred feet long, and twenty wide. Even his second cohort would have difficulty with such an assignment. But their new prisoners—they had a kind of strength and endurance not even the mightiest humans could equal.

Archers surrounded the trench, with many other soldiers further back. They could not yet trust these minotaurs, even when they worked at such a painful reminder of their defeat. Marcus watched as they dug the mass grave. Others pulled carts, each one loaded with corpses.

The counterattack had come exactly as he hoped—swift, and foolish. Thousands of minotaurs stampeded into his fortifications, without any trace of coordination or strategy.

"I believe I know how Caesar felt in Gaul," Lucius said, walking along beside him. The aquilifer followed in their footsteps, before the dozen men of his honor guard. "They throw themselves against us, driven by rage. One must admire their spirit—if not their tactics."

Before them, carts of the dead rumbled down into the trench, depositing more minotaurs in the gruesome grave. Despite all objections, Marcus refused to allow the legion to butcher these creatures. They might look like cattle, but they walked like men.

"If they knew how to fight, we would be outmatched," Marcus answered. "I did hear similar stories of the Celts—giants, red-bearded and powerful. Yet some could barely handle weapons. When the battle begins, they lose all semblance of command, save to their king."

"Be grateful he is not here," said another voice, making Marcus settle both boots into Latria, stopping her dead.

The unknown goddess was beside him, as imposing as she was unadorned. She walked along the battlefield on bare feet, apparently unmoved by the slaughter. "Tirek would have waited in the rear, then crushed your army beneath his hooves and scoured you with magic. Until today, you wielded nothing that would injure him. But now, perhaps you do."

"Legatus?" His friend had continued ahead, oblivious of his companion. He stopped along the trail, looking back in confusion. "What is it?"

He ignored the question for now, raising one hand in the simple infantry command of a halt. Even right before the goddess, his men couldn't see her. "What weapon is that?" he asked. "More prisoners of war?"

The goddess gestured at the city behind them. Past the defensive lines, the walls of concrete still damp in places. Behind his legion, and scattered in their midst, were ponies.

Many had watched the battle. A few even rendered some aid, pulling carts of supplies or helping to ferry the wounded from the front. None fought, at least not that Marcus knew.

But how did a horse fight, anyway?

"You've given two demonstrations to Equestria today. That you are willing to do what you say, and give them back what is theirs, even when nothing compels you. Even more importantly, you proved you would fight and win against the enemy. For the first time, these ponies have reason to believe that someone can triumph against their occupation. And here you are, waiting with arms open to receive them."

He nodded slowly. The soldiers of his honor guard watched him, clear confusion on their faces. Sure, he was winning now—but would his men think he'd lost his mind? He would need to keep this conversation brief. "What order are you giving me?"

"Tomorrow morning, wake with the dawn. A pony will approach you, the leader of this town—Lightning Dust. She will offer her service to you, and say there are many ponies who want to do likewise. They will not know how, as you fight so differently. When she does, ask for the pegasi among them to carry your knights, with her as your new steed. The earth ponies, assign to men you trust. The unicorns, give your engineers. Those who wish to help, but not fight, keep in Dodge, to raise grain and forge metal. They will supply you dutifully."

"Will she accept?" he asked, frown deepening. "Her troops would be the lowliest in my army. No man would agree."

The goddess laughed. "You are more than a general, Marcus. Negotiate with her. Make her accept. And once you do, prepare to march on Sire's Hollow. It has no defenses to speak of, and many of its fighting creatures will soon be in a mass grave. When the population can see you on the horizon, ponies and men fighting together, they will rise up in rebellion. It will be a brief battle indeed."

He turned towards her, ready with another question—but the goddess was gone.

"I take it we had a visitor I could not see," Lucius said, cautious. At least he didn't look at him like he was insane. "What did she offer this time?"

He shrugged. "A vision of the future." He nudged the horse beneath him, turning away from the grave. "See this is done, Lucius. I have one final matter to attend to tonight."

He did not have very far to go. Past the grave, where the dead among the minotaurs still piled high, amid the defenses they failed to break.

There he found what he was looking for—a group of prisoners, surrounded by his mounted knights.

These prisoners all had one thing in common—they were injured. Some could barely stand, others had missing limbs, or faces covered with poorly stitched wounds. Marcus had allowed the minotaurs’ own medicus to go among them, and treat them how they could. He'd even given them provisions—everything the minotaurs themselves had brought.

"Captives," he said, passing through the ranks of his knights onto the field. He remained mounted, keeping his hands on the reins and his feet ready to urge Latria into a retreat.

Few beasts could remain so implacable in the face of monsters like these. He would be sorry to replace her, even with a cousin of the Pegasus himself.

"Hear me!" he yelled, a little louder. "Prisoners of Rome. You will hear me, or you will die."

They turned. Just as with ponies, the ability to understand made him instantly significant. The pride of minotaurs was great—but these were badly injured. Some would not survive their journey. None was strong enough to resist him.

"I permit you to return to your home. You will tell them what you saw, and deliver my message. Among you, who is the wisest?"

He found his target instantly—a white-furred beast, missing an arm. So far as he could tell, the minotaur had no blood or other visible injuries to speak of. He had kept his distance during the battle, and remained healthy for it. "You, step forward."

The creature did so, shuffling on his hooves. "What is asked?"

"Deliver my message. Can you remember it?"

He nodded. "Of course, strange creature. Whatever is asked."

"My message is this. We will follow you to Sire's Hollow, soon. When we arrive, we will offer its minotaurs a place of service to Rome. You may accept it without bloodshed."

One of the injured creatures laughed, voice low and feeble. "They would rather die."

"The second half of my message," he said, louder. "All who raise their weapons against Rome will be put to death. We will take not one prisoner. Instruct those who wish to live to throw down their arms and submit when we take the city. All others will be burned in Jupiter's temple."

Shock descended on the prisoners. A few shared terrified looks, others muttered to each other in rage. "Thousands of..."

Someone bolted for him, or hobbled towards him, anyway. "Monster!"

Marcus lifted the bow from astride his saddle, took aim, and pierced the beast through the eye.

"I offer two paths," he said, lowering the bow again. “Messenger. If the city fights, know that I will not merely take possession of it. When your bones are black and the god is satisfied, I will enslave your old and your children, and work them as you have worked Equestria."

"Yet in surrender…” the minotaur whispered, head bowed. "Will you spare them?"

He nodded. "When my army reaches Sire's Hollow, march out of the gates without weapons. I will spare your lives, and make you peregrini. Free foreigners. The decision is yours."

Marcus backed away from the prisoners, in the way he came. He stopped beside Varius, at the edge of the protective permitter.

"Sir?"

He raised his voice, speaking for his own troops as much as the captive minotaurs. It would be his way of giving them instruction, as well as ordering the knights. "Lead these past the grave. I want them to see the fate of those who raise their weapons against the empire. When they have seen, escort them the first mile away from Dodge, then let them go. If any respond with violence, instruct your archers to shoot them dead. Otherwise, give them the seized provisions and let them go."

He brought one fist up against his armored chest. "As you say, Legatus. It will be done."

Marcus passed through a gap in the protective line, leaving the prisoners behind. In some ways, sparing these was overly generous. But if it prevented future battles without a blade being lifted...

In the end, the unknown goddess spoke the truth. He woke the next morning to find a nervous centurion at his door, muttering of a “daughter of Pegasus” who seemed to know where to find him, and insisted on a meeting.

"She's waiting in the paddock, beside your horses. I do not know if she will remain patient for long. She, uh... flew here, sir. Through the air."

Marcus nodded. "Bring fruit and cool water to my command tent. Then, ask her to follow you."

“I don’t have the gift, Sir,” the centurion said. “How am I to ask?”

He shrugged. “Gesture for her to follow. They are smart creatures, I am sure they will understand.”

The soldier saluted. "As you say, Legatus. You wish to permit the horse... into your command tent?"

"Strange times indeed, centurion," he agreed. "When you see the future born for Rome this day, perhaps you will understand. Do it."

He washed and dressed in royal purple, as he might've done when meeting with any other important diplomat. By the time he crossed to the command tent, he could already hear restless hooves on the wooden floor within.

Lightning Dust looked different from their first meeting. There was vivid color in her coat, as bright as the fine gowns of the imperial court. Her mane seemed to ripple in wind he couldn’t see, though the energy he felt in the air was... different. The hairs on his limbs stood on end, as though lifted by a nearby lightning strike.

The tent was empty, aside for a single scribe near the back. The old man kept his distance from the pony, as though afraid she might turn her anger on him and attack.

"Lightning Dust, welcome. You wanted to speak with me?"

She spun on him, little lines of energy arcing from her tail. Were those real, or... some supernatural sense the goddess had given him? "Legatus. We watched you fight yesterday."

"The ninth is the finest legion I ever knew," he said. "If the men ever speak of the fifth, they whisper patrician rumors. None is our equal."

"I never thought anyone had a chance to win this," she said, approaching him. "Now, I think differently. We want to help take back our home."

He grinned, selecting a single red apple from the bowl on his table. From the prominent gaps in one side, his guest had already helped herself. "That is excellent news. Have a seat, let's discuss how to make that a reality."