Legio IX Hispania (23) (Patreon)

They spent the next day in relative peace aboard the train. They slipped out of the private car during slow hours, returning with small meals taken from the dining car. There at least were some signs of Equestria's decay and occupation, with fine food replaced with simple bread and oats, and a handful of vegetables.

The food was filling, if not particularly delicious. There was nothing rotten in the food, or any sign of maggots infesting the bread.

Given where she came from, Lyra would accept it gratefully, no matter how inferior it might be to the food of her childhood.

She kept close to Stalwart at all times. Whether or not the act of controlling him was convincing to the changelings, she did have to put up the act. She ate only in their quarters, where they might not see her consuming real food instead of being a parasite on his magic.

Sometimes her mind wandered down dangerous paths, even so. She wondered what it might be like to have a stallion like him as a partner—as brave and strong as Equestria's ancient Pillars, while simultaneously wild and primitive. If they really managed to save Equestria, having foals would no longer be such a terrible thing.

The stallion wasn't blind, and his nose wasn't full of cotton. But primitive or not, he also had a kind of rigid military discipline, one that kept him focused on their mission even when that meant ignoring his own feelings. Besides, something in the idea frightened him. He was horrified—at himself, apparently. The stallion never gave her so much as an unkind word.

Along its old route, the train would take a little over two days to bring them to Los Pegasus. But they didn't stay for the whole journey. Just as Stalwart feared, their presence was eventually noticed.

The warning came from Thorax, long before the first blow fell. The cat pawed at the door, before darting across the room to where Stalwart worked with sheets of thick cloth and a few metal tools. He seemed to be making armor of some kind, though Lyra couldn't know for sure. She knew better than to argue with the stallion about matters of war, even if it didn't seem likely to serve them very much.

A few pieces of sturdy cloth might absorb an extra blow from a sword, perhaps. If the changelings discovered their infiltration, that would make little difference.

"They're coming," said the cat, barely audible over the regular clatter of metal wheels. "In the car next to you. At least... ten. Few more in the hall."

Stalwart sat up, and the sword lifted out from under his pillow. "In closer quarters?"

"Not sure if they... know who you are, exactly," the cat went on. "But they're angry, and confident. If you can do anything..."

Lyra was no warrior—even with infinite time to come up with a plan, she would surely fail. Bonnie might be able to figure something out, clever and brave as she was. She'd been a fighter once, not an archaeologist.

Then the door fell. Wood bulged and split, as it swung outward in the other direction, then dropped, still hanging against the wall by the security chain. Several ponies stood in that doorway, behind a heavy wooden barricade.

Stalwart stood, holding his blade before him, and nudging Lyra to retreat. "Come in here, bastards! Come in and die!"

None did. Horns flashed, filling the room with awful noise. Lyra twitched, shielding herself with her forelegs. But that was all. Even if she knew one of the proper shield spells, she would never be able to cast it under pressure. But she didn't, and had no magic for casting regardless.

The spell hit her like a train. Nothing broke, no limbs tore—rather, she felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. She took a single step forward, shaking her head to try and return to alertness. It didn't work. She wobbled, then flopped sideways to the bed, and thought no more.

When her eyes opened again, Lyra wasn't on a comfortable train anymore. She smelled... awful things. Dirt, sweat, blood, and worse. Metal rusted, and liquid flowed in a steady stream somewhere she could not see.

They caught us, we failed before we even started. They'll execute us all. We're dead.

She whimpered, curling up into a tight ball. Whatever awful thing the changelings planned for her, hopefully it would be over quickly. Did the bugs eat ponies?

They didn't care for her desire to stay hidden, anyway. Someone shoved her with something cold, hard enough that she rolled. "Get up, mare. Now."

Not a voice she knew. She groaned, then rolled onto her belly.

The space was as bad as any minotaur barn, with metal walls and narrow windows. Thin straw covered the floor, not thick enough to sleep on. There was a shallow tray of water on the other wall, but that was all.

Only one other creature was inside with her—a tall earth pony, with a long metal tool for poking and prodding. She met his eyes, then cowered away.

Not a real pony, obviously. That's a bug.

"You crossed the border," he said, voice flat. "What good do you think you are? No magic, no food."

She said nothing, keeping low to the ground. In some strange way, maybe her terrible position was a kind of advantage. The bugs had nothing to take from her, because she had nothing to give. Tirek's awful kingdom meant she had no food to offer.

"This is your chance to tell us why you shouldn't be on a train back to Tirek, for whatever purpose he finds for you. The old beast doesn't take kindly to runaways, I know."

A reason not to send her back. She was going to be separated, going to...

The ground didn't feel like it was moving. This wasn't a train, wherever they were. It smelled like the worst prison any creature had ever built. Maybe she would die here. "My partner, Stalwart Hope—he's saved my life more than once. He cares about me... you should keep us together. Even if you don't want me, he has magic."

The not-pony leaned on his staff a second, looking thoughtful. "Dangerous friend you have. No pony like that has appeared since conquest. All were found, and dealt with. Where did he come from?"

If I'm talking, I'm useful. But if I tell them everything, I'm not.

She rose into a nervous sitting position, resting on her haunches. "Where's Stalwart?"

"Harvesting. There was need for some... evaluation. One must judge the worth of new property. He seems quite valuable—whether that is enough to justify your presence, we will soon see."

He turned on her, settling the metal tool over his back and walking away. "If there is nothing else, you may be moved soon. If you can make yourself more valuable, this is your last chance. Where did he come from?"

She whimpered. Save herself by revealing more information about her companion? But without any guarantee it would make a difference, what was the point?

So she said nothing. Better than a lie—lying to bugs was a waste of time. They could always tell.

The creature made his slow way out, then slammed the door shut. Seconds later, she heard a lock smack into place.

Lyra circled around her cell, searching for any potential weakness. But it had no windows, nothing to illuminate it except the single door, and what light shone in from outside. It had no features except a tray of water, and a metal grate where a prisoner might relieve themselves. Part of the awful smell came up from there.

She curled up on the far side of the room, as near the door as possible without actually touching it. The air was fresher out there, stinking far less of whatever awful suffering the bugs inflicted on the prisoners of this pit.

Lyra Heartstrings had a long time to think after that. Without Stalwart, without the cat, she could only wonder to herself in silence, over what happened to her friends, what the bugs would do with him. If they learned how effective Stalwart was, they would probably execute him. Unless they figured out where he came from. Maybe they would see the legion as a new food source, one that should be split with Tirek.

She slept sometimes, dozing lightly, then rousing again as more bugs moved outside her door. But they weren't coming to her—they had another task. Why should she think she mattered to them? She wasn't one of the Elements. She wasn't even a SMILE agent like Sweetie Drops used to be.

If they sent her back to Tirek, or they forgot her and left her to starve, the world would be a better place.

[hr]

Marcus soared over the world as only the gods had ever seen it. Borne aloft by Lightning Dust, the world seemed vanishingly small. The regular rows and barracks of his Legion were little more than a geometric demonstration, barely rising above the dirt.

Only the largest and most significant features were visible from up here—the sharp metal lines of “train” track, curving only slightly on their course. Trails and roads were more visible, though less strictly bound by straight lines.

Nothing kept him on the creature's back besides the soft leather saddle, and his own extensive experience.

From the first second in the air, he knew that only expert riders would ever have a hope of riding the “pegasus” ponies. They might be horse shaped, but their method of movement was... exceptional. Great arcs, dramatic sweeps, and sharp banks through the air that threatened to throw him from her back.

Nor could any pegasus be compelled to serve. Lightning Dust could fly entirely upside-down if she wanted. Killing him would be super easy, barely an inconvenience.

"It's incredible!" He leaned forward, shouting over the rush of wind. "When you fly forward, we move so fast I'm nearly blinded! I had no idea such speed was possible!"

Intelligent or not, vivid with color and flush with magic or not, Lightning Dust did share some things in common with horses. She was clearly proud of her speed, from the way she puffed out her chest, and deliberately accelerated.

"Fast pegasi sometimes wear goggles over their eyes! Keeps the wind out! And bugs... even something small can really hurt going this fast!"

She slowed as she said it, coming up towards a large white bank. He realized what it must be only as they got close, thick white fog that somehow remained connected as they approached.

The vapor of a... cloud? They should've passed through it, just as he had done many times while high on Mt. Etna.

Instead, the pegasus came to a landing, scattering puffs of white as though they were fluffy snow. Her wings folded, and she paced slowly around the cloud. "Are clouds in your world... different?" he asked, cautious. "Or is there..."

"Pegasus magic," Lightning answered. "Stay on my back, rider. You don't have wings of your own. It takes a spell to do this otherwise. Unicorns can cast it for you. Without them, you have to stay where you are."

She walked slowly to the edge, staring down at Dodge from high above. The soldiers were breaking camp down there, gathering in preparation to march on Sire's Hollow. They didn't want to give the minotaurs too long to prepare a defense, after all.

"When you gave me my magic back, I wanted to fly away. Started to, actually. Made it... maybe fifty miles, more."

"You came back," he said. Not a whisper—nothing could be quiet and still be understood over the wind. Just as in the mountains, any conversation came only with difficulty here. "You must have had a reason."

"It's not about me anymore," she said. "When I was younger I acted like it was. Solving problems was for somepony else. The world was safe, we had princesses to take care of the big stuff. But that was wrong. They lost. If I left... a lot of other ponies might never get their magic back. If you were going to keep it for yourselves... you could've already done that. No reason to let us take it right away."

"I am not a creature of deception, Lightning Dust. What oaths I make, I keep."

"You better." She spread her wings, then slipped off the clouds in a rush of wind and freezing air. "This was a great first flight! Now we get you back to the ground before you freeze. You riders need to pack warmer clothes next time..."

End of Part 1