Emperor Gaius Renault sat upon the Onyx Throne with no outward sign of the absolute despair he felt. No bird in his vast throne room—not the dozens of his Plumage Guard, not the advisors flying or scurrying about, not even the slaves—none could know what he was feeling. Such emotions from a griffon were a terrible thing. It was not wise to chum the waters in a kingdom of predators.
Gaius was not an old bird, but he also was not a young bird. There were feathers missing from his vast expanse of gold wings, there were patches of fur going slightly gray. But for all that, there was no sign of weakness in him. Below that fur was still powerful muscle, claws sharpened daily, and a keen intellect for war. Any could oppose him in challenge at any time, so appearances were important.
A pair of creatures hurried into the room—one of his Plumage Guard, along with a slave. The zebra was far from its lowest kin that worked the mines, grew crops, or any other task that was below a proper griffon’s notice. Zoya was a spellcaster proficient in the old magic, a valued member of his household and slave in name only. She wore a gold chain around her neck instead of an iron one, and it wasn’t nearly tight enough to cause discomfort. That chain was a protection from the others of his kind, not a hindrance to the zebra who wore it.
She did not speak in the emperor’s presence, of course—not with so many birds around to see. It was considered radical enough that she was permitted into his presence, up the iron walk that led to the throne, where she extended a silver tray with a single scroll resting on it. The scroll that would decide the fate of his empire—perhaps his entire species.
Gaius gestured down towards it, and one of his other servants retrieved it—a griffon this time, his steward. It would’ve been inconvenient to have a steward who was religiously barred from speaking at court. Of course, like all males, the steward wouldn’t be able to read the letter any better than Gaius could. “It is from Equestria?” he asked the zebra in a low whisper—low enough that many of the birds assembled in the Onyx Hall would not be able to hear.
She only nodded in response. It was a testament to her quality that Gaius could not read anything about what the message contained from her face.
Leopold made his way up to the throne, watched always by the Plumage Guard on either side. They had their weapons ready at all times—at the slightest indication from him, they could cut down anyone he ordered. It was not something his Plumage Guard did very often, though some of his predecessors had been less judicious. Leopold offered the scroll in one claw, which Gaius took. The parchment roll was lighter than he expected, though it was sealed. Bright gold wax, with a little sun mark set into it.
“Should we wait for the clan lords, my emperor?” Leopold asked. “I know they wait for the contents of this message with the same anticipation we do.”
“We will not,” Gaius ordered, his voice as confident and authoritative as ever. “Steward, summon six scribes from my household. They have five minutes. And bring my wife as well.” He chuckled. “No ultimatums for her.”
Leopold took to the air in a brief flurry of feathers, vanishing out one of the Onyx Hall’s many upper passages. As all members of the royal household could fly, the palace was not built to accommodate lesser species confined to the ground. Slaves and others who weren’t birds weren’t allowed into the nests of the ruling clan anyway.
The scribes arrived first—six females young enough to be outside their nests, though none were married. Marriage meant becoming an officer of her husband’s rank—it meant losing a scribe. But unlike other kings, Gaius did not discourage them. As difficult as it could be to train new scribes, his old ones made for valuable contacts across the empire. A tool he had used many times.
Each of these wore the colors of Clan Virtue, the same purple and gold that he wore. He recognized a few familiar features—speckled feathers here, heterochromia there—traits that marked these birds as distant relations of his family. All birds in the clan were connected if you went back far enough.
His wife arrived from the passage concealed behind him only moments later, her own robes ruffled and hastily donned. Birds didn’t dress often, but court was an exception. Since a female would have no armored uniform, that meant robes. “This response better be good,” she whispered to him, as she entered. “I just got out of a meeting with my engineers. Their projections are dire for all of the Accipion Empire.”
“No hope of reversing the trend? You’re certain there’s no mundane path to prevent an eruption? No miracles?”
She cut him off, shaking her head. “It is impossible, Gaius. The forces we’re dealing with are beyond the comprehension of any bird in this room. Perhaps our great-great grandchildren could’ve been prepared, armed with some of the inventions my most talented engineers are at this moment only dreaming of. But no, there is no time. The horses will pass judgment on us.”
“They will pass judgement on themselves,” he said, proffering the still-sealed scroll to her. “Everything is prepared. Every airship, every bird, every slave. All five of the great clans are ready.”
His wife broke the seal with one claw. As she did so, the scribes he had called in earlier crowded a little closer to the raised dais upon which they rested, alert and attentive. She unrolled the scroll with great deliberation and care, though of course she wasn’t going to rip it with her claws like some hatchling not even out of the nest. Only when it had been completely unrolled did she start reading, her voice clear and words slow.
“High King Gaius Renault,
“Equestria has diligently considered your petition. Given our history, you must understand the difficulty of accepting your request. Though many of your generations have passed, I remember King Vercingetorix, and the betrayal of Queen Avernian. We know the heights of virtue to which your kind might soar, and the depths of treachery. We know how Equestria must seem to you, with your society so much as it was centuries ago.
“You must know, further, that the devastation this eruption will cause will inflict terrible harm upon all the world, including Equestria. Though we will escape its pyroclastic fury unscathed, the climate of Equus will not. It remains to be seen whether the magical prowess of our kind will alleviate the famine that will follow.”
Emperor Gaius felt himself tensing on the throne as he heard the words. The princess—he didn’t know which of Equestria’s royals this was yet, as the writer had not introduced herself. Whichever it was, whether the new and unknown princess of the moon, or else the terrible searing desolation of the sun princess, it seemed as though she was trying to excuse a refusal yet to come.
There can be no refusal, royal cousin, he thought. You know this as well as we do. We cannot be expected to stay here and die in flames. What are you planning?
“Nevertheless,” his wife read on, to the silent and enraptured hall. Every bird in this room understood the gravity of their situation, even the lowliest guard. They had heard Emperor Gaius deliberating over this for months. “Despite our relationship of the past, we cannot damn your country to destruction. We understand what a refusal would mean.
“We give, therefore, the following conditions. A swathe of territory unused in Equestria since ancient days will be allocated to refugees from Accipio for exactly ten years. Following that time, it may be possible for your birds to re-inherit your ancestral homes, or some other home. If not, the terms will be renewed every decade following until you may return.
“Secondly, the ships of your fleet will be disarmed upon entering Equestrian airspace. They will not be permitted to cross into our borders until all the gunpowder weapons have been cast into the sea. You will not be permitted to create new weapons of this kind during your stay within our borders.
“Lastly, an advisor of my court will be arriving by airship within a week of your receipt of this message. She will be granted access to observe any aspect of your evacuation, and will report back to me. Should she fail to do so, or indicate anything to suggest you do not plan to obey these terms, Equestria will treat your ‘refugees’ as an army of invasion.
“We do not wish to see the griffons of Accipio destroyed, Emperor Gaius. But if you force us to choose between the lives of our ponies and of your griffons, we will do as you compel to protect those we love. Act in accordance with this treaty, and this time of terrible distress might instead become an opportunity for new friendship and an end to the ancient feuds. The choice is yours to make, Gaius. Make it wisely.
“Princess Celestia”
Guinevere Renault paused for effect at the end of the letter, before turning the scroll over so that Gaius could see. “There are maps here, Gaius. The territory they wish to give us. It is… not as much as we were hoping for.”
That was the first of his fears—his birds couldn’t be contained in one place—without enough land for themselves, they would have no choice but to spread to Equestria at large. What would they do once they had? Would they grow weak and soft, as the ponies did? Would they forget their heritage? Or worse, would they remember it too well, including the ancient feud with the pony creatures.
While few of the colorful equines remembered that chapter of history, the griffons had never forgotten. Of all the nations they had ever faced, Equestria alone had not bowed the knee. Equestria alone had separated Accipio from total dominion. If the birds of his kingdom decided it was their duty to rectify that ancient defeat and bring honor to all birds, well… it was possible they would spell the end of both species.
“It could have been worse,” Gaius said, though in truth he didn’t believe it. It couldn’t have been much worse without the ponies demanding their entire nation enter slavery. Requiring them to give up their weapons would sound like the intention to enslave them as soon as they passed over the borders.
Gaius was one of a few birds in his kingdom who would know the inherent absurdity in that notion—the others would assume Equestria worked the same way Accipio did, because of course it would. But he knew better—he knew that the ponies had never tolerated slavery.
In the days of ancient warfare, when the armies of the long extinct Endurance clan had been defeated in their invasion, they hadn’t been enslaved—instead, they’d been given territory, and built their own home in Equestria. He had seen that city once, and it still gave him nightmares. It was terrifying what could become of his birds when stripped of their virtue.
We won’t become a shadow of ourselves. We won’t become pets. He rose slowly from the throne, spreading his wings wide as he did so. “Record my proclamation, scribes. The Accipion Empire agrees to the terms offered by Equestria. All the clan lords are commanded by their monarch to prepare every bird, every citizen, and every slave for departure. They are required of the throne to leave none behind, even the lowliest slave. Advise any who protest that if they cannot find room aboard their airships, they might take this opportunity to remove their weapons in advance.
“We will be faithful to these terms, for we have no choice. We cannot win a war against nature and against our ancient enemy at the same time. We will survive the first, so that one day we might triumph in the second. This is my command.”
He landed again on all fours, roaring a call that echoed in the hall and would no doubt reverberate to the city all around.
“One more thing,” he said, as soon as the sound had faded. “Inform the Clan Lords I will hold council in one week’s time. They may bring whatever objections to me at that time, but not before.” Then he sat back in his throne, folding his wings against his side.
“Go!” the steward called, gesturing to the scribes with an urgent wing. “Find messengers and see the emperor’s words delivered!” They soared from the room in a flurry of urgent feathers.
“Well, if you haven’t just caused a civil war, we might just survive this,” Guinevere said, settling onto the padded seat beside the throne. “I assume I should order my engineers to begin retrofitting Clan Virtue’s fleet immediately?”
“Yes,” he said. “Though… begin with the smallest ships. I don’t know how the council will end.”