Velar remembered the first time he had ever visited the great city of Scythia. After a childhood raised on warships and army camps, he was initially unprepared for the stone majesty of such a city. He had taken months of time with his mother guiding him through the streets before he finally came to accept that strange world of stone nests and ample resources for himself.
New Scythia was to be the equivalent of that ancient homeland in the strange territory of Equestria. Without the thousands of years of history, without the blood in the stones and the ashes of his fathers entombed there.
His father would have said something noble if he had expressed such thoughts. Probably the emperor would’ve reminded him that their mere presence here was evidence of their grit and resolve.
Velar could still see the ashy snow falling when he closed his eyes. He had scrubbed himself raw in the bath, but the grit of the ash never went away. How much of that was made from the bodies of birds?
None, he knew on a rational level. Even so, his soul didn’t believe it.
Scythia had been built in the highest peaks, with stone and supplies brought to the city using an ingenious system of motorized lifts. New Scythia was flat, without so much as a hill anywhere near it for hundreds of miles. There was a river—a single, murky river, which was the future city’s entire reason for being here in the first place.
Acheron was a wide, slow-moving river, brown and turbid. But it was deep, and fed by diverse sources along its route. It was the best they had.
This strange new Scythia would not be a natural thing, to grow out in curves and spirals. Its unpaved streets were arrayed along a plain grid, with main thoroughfares crossing the entire length at increasingly specific areas.
Velar could take a little solace as he walked down those streets—there was activity. Though the feeling was subdued and most birds looked uncomfortable in the scorching heat, he received salutes and raised fists from birds everywhere he passed.
This was not like the capital, not yet. At this stage, each of the surviving houses would be focused on the creation of their own little pocket of civilization. They would not be sending their lords and diplomats here for at least a month to come. Not until there was someplace to send them.
Along the street was activity more akin to a military camp than anything in civilian lands. Birds and citizens in uniforms worked according to an obvious plan, erecting tents in neat rows, digging latrine ditches, setting up camp areas. The entire city was being erected as a military fortification first, with pickets and barriers along the exterior.
“What do you think of all this, Zoya?” he asked, turning to the zebra who had been keeping pace with him the entire time. In theory he was her escort through the city, since it was not yet consecrated and that meant a house slave was not fit to be outside the home. In practice the two of them mostly kept to themselves. Velar would’ve happily gone another way to inspect something that interested Zoya, if she asked. “Can we turn this desert into somewhere livable?”
There were many, many plain wooden crates of supplies simply left sitting exposed in their places along the grid—with no regard to whether any bird or slave might want to steal what they contained.
The zebra took a long time to answer. She reached up, running one hoof along the gold chain around her neck. “It is not a good place, lord Velar. If it were, the ponies would not have left it empty. They have given Accipio the very worst of their empire. I do not know if it will be enough for their betters to survive. There is much food in provision, but we will need much to plant crops. If they do not grow well, in the soil we’ve been given… what then?”
Then war, Velar thought, though he didn’t say so out loud. There were plenty of other birds around—all gave them their privacy in the center of the road, though that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be unfriendly ears listening all the time. Velar had long since learned to assume there was always a spy nearby when he was outside the palace. “They won’t fail. We’ll get ponies involved with our crop—this land is theirs, so their magic will work well to keep us fed.”
The requests were already made, so there was no keeping it secret. Already house Vengeance was whispering that Gaius had again lost his mind. Or perhaps, he had only won the duel with a cheap trick, and had been insane this whole time.
The ashes of Accipio aren’t even cool, and already they’re forgetting we survived because of him.
“Perhaps,” Zoya said. “I know what their ponies say they do. Frankly my lord, I don’t believe much of it. We were powerful before, poised for invasion. Naturally they needed to intimidate us then convince us not to bring weapons to a war we could surely win. But now that we are here… we’ll see many myths disproven. Perhaps that old story about the sun rising here at the command of Celestia herself. Perhaps the claims that pegasi can control the weather, or that crops can only grow well when earth ponies bless them. It all seems like too much magic without the price. That is not the art I learned.”
Velar had seen more of pony magic than most, though not Zoya. “I hope you’re wrong. I’m the one who requested we hire ponies to help here. If they’re less than they claim to be, I will be the one made a fool of before the other clans.”
“Better you than your father,” Zoya said, grinning slightly at him. Zoya was smaller than he was, and well over twice his age. Yet she was braver than any other slave his family owned. She was probably the most powerful slave in the whole kingdom.
“I suppose so,” Velar said. “But if I’m right, I’ll want an apology.”
“Happily,” she laughed. “It’s what happens if I’m right that I fear. In all my years of study, Lord Velar, I have learned that there is never a feast offered without a price asked in return. If that price isn’t paid when you enter, it will still be asked due. In my experience, it is those hosts who speak the least of what they demand who are the most dangerous.”
Velar thought about that a moment, then turned away. He was heading for the barracks, one of the few structures that had been completed by the small expeditionary force they had sent some time ago.
His house guard followed as they always did, though he wasn’t so sure how much he needed them in his own city. Their armaments had changed—there was not a firearm between them. The treaty did not have exceptions.
So they wore swords instead, to go with cloth armor that would stop a knife but be unable to do a thing to protect them if an assassin brought a gun.
Velar’s own uniform was made of the same spun metal fabric—the strongest field weave they had. They were at war now, and would be dressing accordingly until they returned to their homeland.
They said it might take decades. I might be ruling by then.
Velar couldn’t distract himself with fears over a responsibility he didn’t even have yet. Accipio would have to survive to that day.
Either that, or we conquer Equestria while we’re here. Then we never have to go back. It wouldn’t be the first time an emperor had turned an apparent disadvantage to their favor.
Velar saw the barracks near the center of the city. It was not a tall building, not compared to some of what had stood in Scythia. Most of this building was underground, burrows reinforced with the same red-brown rock that had built the upper floors.
The barracks was rectangular and unadorned, but that didn’t matter. It looked strong, defensible. It had been built with many openings for birds to come and go from the roof, many places they could shoot without subjecting themselves to danger outside. This barracks was a fortress, and it was so close to the river that he would be very surprised if pipes weren’t already connecting it somewhere underground.
His family’s large slave crew was hard at work beside it, preparing massive trays of adobe bricks in the sun. Common homes could not be built from stone, not when there were so many refugees who needed places to live. But adobe? Straw, mud, and clay were here in abundance.
Velar ignored them of course, striding straight up to the stone building. He returned several salutes from soldiers wearing uniforms just like his, nodding for someone to wait outside with Zoya. Though eminently respected, it would still not be proper for him to enter a building like this with anyone but a female relative, or a spouse.
He found field commander Gerald pacing back and forth beside a tiny model of the city—or rather, of what the city might look like twenty years from now. Surrounded by high walls, with different districts raised on wooden construction to stand above each other. An impressive, artificial aerie.
Probably just a dream. It would take a great deal of lumber to make that kind of dream come true, and they needed what few trees they had for more important purposes.
“Lord Velar.” Combat Lord Gerald straightened as he entered, saluting. “I didn’t expect you here so soon. Shouldn’t you be settling into the palace?”
He returned the salute. He had learned through much practice never to look at Gerald’s missing eye, or the scars all down one of his wings. It was impressive the wrinkly old bird could even fly.
“The palace won’t be fit to live in for weeks yet,” Velar said, trying not to sound unappreciative. “It’s still bare stone floors and sweltering hot rooms. My family will be rooming aboard the flagship for another few weeks at least.”
“Oh,” Gerald said, relaxing a little. Once the bare minimum of respect and pleasantries were out of the way, his formal facade began to decay. “Probably for the best m’lord, much as it will cut the egos of some of our craftsmen. Not safe in the city yet. Your father has too many enemies to sleep somewhere without strong walls.”
“More than you know,” Velar muttered, turning away from the bird, and approaching the model. “This is the master plan, then? My mother’s work is always so… complicated.”
“At least she didn’t forget to give us an arena.” Gerald followed him to the model, pointing out the specific place with one claw. “I have every idle slave digging the foundation already. Will be twice the size of Scythia’s, five years from now. Might even be able to recreate a few old sea battles.”
Velar grinned at the prospect. Themed duels were some of the most interesting—he’d seen plenty that used clouds, or other simple obstructions. But there were only stories of ancient birds managing to turn arenas into little lakes. No modern engineer could recreate that achievement. Or our females just have less spirit than they did.
“I’m here on my father’s behalf,” Velar said, a little more slowly. “He has an urgent change to the priorities, one he hopes you can accommodate into the labor schedule as soon as possible.”
“One my wife can accommodate, you mean,” Gerald said, though he was still grinning good-naturedly. “I don’t keep the schedule, Lord Velar. I just keep every working bird to theirs.”
“Right.” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “We plan on hosting the equestrian princesses here in one month’s time. All four of them.” He tapped on the edge of the palace model with one claw. “There needs to be somewhere for them to visit, understand? Their coming to New Scythia instead of one of the other infant cities will ensure my father’s position is unopposed. So long as other nations continue to recognize us as Accipio’s leaders, then the clan lords must as well.”
Gerald nodded, though his expression was dark. “I will… speak to my wife immediately. I hope you understand that laborers do not come from nowhere. Focusing on one project means we must neglect others.”
Velar nodded towards the arena. “We can do without that for a little longer, I think. The slaves can have their contest out in the wilderness, if we have to. We can erect benches… whatever. Just so long as the Equestrians see how quickly we recover, how implacable we are. We must discourage any intention to take advantage of us before it arises.”
Gerald nodded. “It will be done.”