Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam
Loyal Stride
The Badlands, aptly named in most ponies opinions, was not a sight calculated to raise the spirits of any casual observer. Its mountainous, desolate, rocky landscape was bleached of life for the most part, the colour drained by an unforgiving sun, and the skyline marred by the heat-haze of noonday. It was not difficult for most ponies to imagine why it was that the native inhabitants preferred to live underground.
This was not to say that there weren’t patches of life dotted around this harsh and barren wasteland. Small, defiant patches thrust their way into this parched environment like grass between paving stones, raising green and lapis lazuli blue leaves defiantly towards the cloudless sky. Creatures of this arid environment made regular pilgrimages to these sparse areas, lapping at the underground fed water pools and nibbling tentatively at the equally rare vegetation. One such animal, a lithe, toned specimen, with sharp blue eyes and a snow white coat, lay submerged in the water in between several pale birch trees. It watched, unmoving, as a rock snake slithered along the other side of the pool. The creature didn’t move, all its muscles tensed; only its blue eyes roved from side-to-side as the snake edged closer and closer.
“ACKSSSS!!” the snake cried, as a hoof descended upon its neck.
“Move away,” the stallion murmured, is deep voice carrying clearly through the silence.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” the snake said in a twangy voice. “I didn’t ssssee you there.”
“I’m sure,” the stallion said, turning the snake around with a perfunctory motion of his hoof. “Now be on your way.”
“I ccccertainly will!” the snake hissed, speeding away sideways across the sandy plain.
Loyal Stride sat back again, sighing. Inaction didn’t suit him, which – when he thought about it – was sort of ironic, given his previous job. But at least there’d always been something to do there, always somewhere to go. Keeping back baying crowds had been something. But here, in this barren stretch of craggy wasteland... it almost made him want the snake to come back.
He was just debating with himself whether or not to get out of the oasis pool, when a voice from behind made him turn around.
“Apologies, centurion,” said a crisp but young voice.
“Approach,” Loyal Stride said, waving a hoof.
“Sir.” The young stallion stepped to the pool’s edge. He raised a hoof sharply to his chest with a metallic clang as it hit his chest plate, and then extended the hoof and leg sharply in a neat salute. “General Trotus is requesting your immediate attention.”
“Immediate?” Loyal Stride repeated, frowning slightly. “Did he give details?”
“No, sir,” the stallion said, standing primly at attention. “Merely that he requests your presence as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, very well. Dismissed.”
The stallion did the salute again. “Thank you, sir!” He marched away.
Loyal Stride didn’t rise immediately; he sat for a moment in the pool, wondering. Very few things made the general call for immediate attention these day. They were a garrison army after all, so there was usually very little that required haste.
But then it was not wise to keep a superior officer waiting, and so rising dextrously from the pool, Loyal Stride shook himself off of the water, and pulled on his red tunic.
The garrison encampment was a large and impressive affair, situated between two known water sources, and extending between two walls of mountains. Tactically sound stemming from the impossibility of taking the camp by surprise, the camp was surrounded at the front, and on each mountain range, by a series of watch towers. Having been there for several decades, locals from the neighbouring Equestrian province traded with the garrison forces, and set up several shops along the traveller’s camp. The walled off soldier’s camp stood in a perfectly rectangular formation, its neat rows of tents offset by the large red and gold tent situated at the very rear, from whence flew the Republic Banner.
Loyal Stride gazed out towards the tent as he walked the perimeter of the wall. A golden eagle charge on a scarlet field, and the acronym ‘SPQR’ emblazoned below. Gules, Eagle Or Volant, over the motto The Senate and Ponies of Roam.” As was becoming of a true Roaman, the sight burgeoned a measure of pride within his heart.
“Apples!” a vendor bellowed beside him. “Apples for you, sir? Reasonably priced, and the best around!”
“Do not be swayed by him, sir!” cried another vendor. “I can see that you are in no mood for food. How about some fine jewellery for your wife?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, centurion! If what you seek is relaxation, then look no further!”
Loyal Stride ignored the vendors as usual. He sometimes found it a little wearing to always be so easily identified by his rank. Unlike the regular scarlet tunics of the soldiers all around him, his was embroidered with the pattern of gold that marked him for an officer, and the lion’s crest that displayed what rank that was. As such, every salespony in the encampment always fawned over him to sample their wares.
“Regulations are absolute,” he’d mutter under his breath, as he reminded himself that the camp rules prohibited him from walking about without his preservation of rank. It wouldn’t do him any good anyway; his bright white coat and mane was known to everypony around.
“Centurion, you should really learn to not be so rigid,” said a voice from ahead of him.
Loyal Stride’s lip curled involuntarily, and he felt the region behind his eyes burn. An automatic reaction born of his years surrounded by politicians kicked in. “Hail, Senator Servilus!” he said, saluting.
Senator Servilus stopped in front of him, flanked by two straight-faced soldiers in full armour. Their steel helmets and segmented armour glinted in the sun, but couldn’t disguise the sweat sliding down their strong legs and insouciant faces. The Senator, shorter than the rest, strode with a sort of confident, loping grace. Slightly on the paunchy side, his eyes were reduced to narrow slits in the swollen flab of his face, and the white and blue embroidered tunic he wore stretched painfully around his thick neck and vast middle. Oddly enough, taken altogether, all of these ungainly, almost comical aspects formed a rather impressive whole. It was as though taken altogether, the senator was a reflection of what feasting daily on untold wealth and power could do to a pony. Loyal Stride had on more than one occasion wondered whether the sight of such a pony as Servilus should be taken as an enticement, or a warning.
“Enough of that,” Servilus chuckled wetly, waving a hoof airily. “We aren’t in the capital now. We may speak openly, mightn’t we?”
“As you say, Senator,” Loyal Stride said in an expressionless voice.
“Oh, my boy, come now!” Servilus said sharply. “One might be forgiven for thinking that there’s bad blood between us.” He gave Loyal Stride a penetrating stare that contrasted sharply with the warm smile he was wearing.
“You’ll forgive me, Senator,” Loyal Stride said with a slight bow, “but I have an engagement with the General.”
Servilus’s lips thinned. “Whatever good you think holding onto an old grudge will do, it’ll be the death of you, boy. Mark my words.”
With that he strode away as fast as his short legs could carry. His solemn-faced guards marched behind him, their eyes fixed firmly ahead. Loyal Stride watched them out of sight, and then turned back to his intended course.
Odious, corrupt little maggot, Loyal Stride thought, trying to mentally wring the unpleasantness of the meeting from his brain. How Servilus had the audacity to even look him in the eye... The arrogance that sitting on one’s backside all day pretending to exercise power could create, was astounding.
No sooner did Loyal Stride manage to step over the perimeter of the metal fencing to the soldier’s camp then he sighed internally at yet another voice calling his name.
“Can this wait, Pen Stroke? I have a meeting with the General.”
The mare who had accosted him hesitated in her tracks. Her mouth a little open, she blinked herself into silence.
“O-Oh,” she stammered, brought up short. “Um, yes, it... it’s not important. I think.”
Loyal Stride gave her an appraising look. She wore the deep purple of a commissioned or recruited unicorn, in her case in the form of the traditional half-mantle, which marked her as a commissioned military researcher. Under this she wore the more modern stark-white coat favoured by scientists and doctors. Unlike the regulars of the army, non-combatant personnel were permitted to wear their manes in whatever style and colour they preferred, and were not required to dye them a standard tone. Pen Stroke’s chin-length hair curled thickly in bright green and purple, complimenting her pale green body, but clashing – in Loyal Stride’s opinion – with her solid pink eyes.
“If it’s important, give me a brief summary,” he said, recollecting Pen Stroke’s penchant for downplaying important information out of nerves.
“Oh, well,” she began, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s nothing compared to anything the General has to tell you, I’m sure. Perhaps you should...” she tailed off under Loyal Stride’s unblinking stare. “Well... it’s just...” She cleared her throat and tugged a folded report from her coat. “We received word of an unknown source of thaumaturgic energy in the Land of Friendship. The patrol fleet detected it and is currently investigating.”
“Any word on the source?” Loyal Stride asked, giving the report a brief look over. “Unknown resonance?” he read from the paper.
“The succendum generator wasn’t able to recognise or block the magical effect,” Pen Stroke said tensely. “As you know, it effectively blocks unicorn magic, and can be tuned to block changeling magic, but—“
Loyal Stride looked back at her suddenly. “Alicorn magic?”
“We can’t rule out that possibility.”
“I’ll bring this to the General myself,” Loyal Stride assured her. “Send a priority-two message to the patrol fleet to abandon the ground search; it’s unlikely the standard bombardment would neutralise an alicorn. Have them standby on advanced air reconnaissance until I order them otherwise. I’ll direct the search personally once I’m finished with the meeting.”
“Yes, sir. But do you know how long the meeting will go on for? Perhaps somepony else could direct the search.”
“Nopony else is to know about this except for the General,” Loyal Stride said, giving Pen Stroke a brief glare of his bright blue eyes. “I will deal with this personally.”
Pen Stroke seemed about to say something else, but whether because of the finality in Loyal Stride’s voice, or because of something else that had occurred to her, she said nothing.
“Keep me posted,” he said, tucking the report away and striding off.
Pen Stroke watched him go, her pink eyes filled with a mixture of concern, and something less definable. Whatever the other thing was, she wasn’t able to take her eyes off of Loyal Stride’s retreating backside until a tell-tale buzzing sound from the research tent called her attention.
The interior of the command tent appeared like a picture from a 19th century European battlefield; except for the electric lighting. Unlike the temporary structure of a battlefield tent, the semi-permanent tents of the garrison army featured an array of more enduring internal structuring; a solid metal mesh interior for the walls coated in fine silks, hanging electric illumination, a tarnished and worn looking writing desk, a slightly dusty drinks cabinet, and a heavy table at the centre, upon which lay a large continental map. Numerous pins and little figures sat upon the map, dotting out plans and points of interest that, despite not having seen them in a few days, Loyal Stride remembered perfectly.
Seated at the desk with a glass of dark, heavy-smelling liquid, sat a thin but athletic-looking stallion, apparently engrossed in a large missive. His coat was sky blue, and his eyes a steely grey. Like all Roamans, his eyes were ringed with black like a thick layer of mascara, and his jaw was sharp and angular. His wings were folded back. As Loyal Stride expected, he wore partial uniform, with a bronze-coloured steel breastplate, matching shin guards, and a blood-red cloak held in place with a broach bearing the imperial seal.
“Sit down,” the General said, not looking up. “Have a drink. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, sir.”
The general gave a short, humourless laugh. “Strider, please; just for a moment.”
Loyal Stride bit his lip for a moment.
“What have you done now, Trotus?” he asked, leaning on the table.
Trotus looked around. “Such impertinence. What makes you think that I’ve done something?”
“Because you’re drinking,” Loyal Stride said, nodding at the glass.
“Bah!” Trotus drained the glass and set it down hard on the desk. “I’ll be honest; I don’t know what I’ve done. Or,” he said, standing up. “I don’t yet know what is to come.”
Loyal Stride, who’d just poured himself a glass of strong wine, paused with the glass half way to his mouth. He eyed his friend askance.
“Servilus is here,” he commented casually. “Does it have anything to do with the Senate?”
Trotus, who’d poured himself another glass of the dark liquid, let out a harsh, bark-like laugh of derision. Loyal Stride knew that the news must be bad for the General to be this inebriated.
“The Senate? That pack of parchment-pushing, civil-dispute settling octogenarians,” he scoffed. He took another gulp of the drink and smacked his lips frankly. “No, this is a military matter. One of the highest level.”
“Highest level?” Loyal Stride repeated. Then his eyes widened. “You mean your father?”
Trotus gave a single, tense nod. A short silence passed between them, during which time Loyal Stride attempted to moisten the inside of his mouth and throat with the wine. It didn’t much help. Whilst in no way a cowardly individual, Loyal Stride did have a certain... reticence in meeting with Trotus’ father again. He and everypony else involved in that incident had been lucky to escape with their lives, let alone their careers.
“Does he say why he’s coming?” Loyal Stride asked, his tone suddenly appropriate to someone beside the sickbed of a close friend.
“No,” Trotus sighed. “Which, of course, makes me think that he wants to tell me in person what’s going on. Here.” He threw the missive, which during the conversation he’d managed to fold into a long paper aeroplane, across the room to Loyal Stride. Catching it, he opened it up and began to read. The bulk of the parchment was devoted to various political and social goings on in the homeland, but the seventh paragraph caught his eye as he skimmed down.
“Make all necessary preparations for my arrival,” he read. “All necessary preparations? That doesn’t sound like your father to be concerned with etiquette.”
“Precisely,” Trotus groaned, pressing at the bridge of his nose. “If he wants the camp sprucing up, that can only mean that he’s bringing an entourage.”
“Or an army,” Loyal Stride suggested.
“Can’t be. We’re not at war with anypony over here. The bugs have been all but exterminated or enslaved. Their queen is long since dead. And we can’t be going to war with Equestria, or I’d already know. Preparations for the garrison to march would take far too long.”
“Speaking of war,” Loyal Stride began, pulling the report from his tunic. “The research department received a report on magical activity in no-pony’s-land.”
“The Land of Friendship?” Trotus frowned. “Has communications reported anything?”
“Not that I know of, although they should have already spoken to you about it.” He passed the report and the parchment-aeroplane back to the general. Despite having drunk a decent amount of a considerably strong drink, the General’s eyes moved swiftly and unwaveringly down the report. “Given that, I suggested there might be an alicorn present, and ordered the patrol fleet to stand by.”
Trotus nodded. “Probably a good idea. No sense poking under the stones. We’ll need a wide net to catch a Princess at work.” He yawned widely into his hoof. “Damn Equestrians. Always so nosey about things that aren’t theirs anymore.”
“Catching spies there is one thing,” Loyal Stride said, leaning forward in his seat. “But a Princess... their leadership is already strained.”
“True,” Trotus smirked. “They don’t have that many Princesses left to lose.” He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, evidently amused. Then he blinked, and looked sideways at his friend. “Oooh,” he said, beginning to grin. “Oh, you are good.” Loyal Stride smiled too. “We should really send a thank you basket to Canterlot for this opportunity. What a wonderful gift that would make for father; an Equestrian royal trussed up and ready for extradition.”
“Or execution,” Loyal Stride added.
“Yes,” Trotus said quietly, rubbing his chin. “Yes. And if you go, all will be as it was.” He stood up and clapped Loyal Stride hard on the shoulder. “My friend, you would not fail. You’re my most competent and strongest officer. You’ll go, then?”
“Trotus, I still owe you my life. I’d stand in front of an Onagar—“
“Oh will you stop with that,” the General interrupted half-laughing. “By the Spirits, you were my friend; I would never have let them execute you.”
“You still saved my life at the cost of your relationship with your father. I owe it to you.”
The General sighed. “You’re so old fashioned. Well if it makes you feel better, if you manage to pull this off, you’ll have saved my life several times over. Whatever debt you think you owe will be repaid.”
“At your word, general,” Loyal Stride said, looking his friend dead in the eye. “Although, I should only take a small team with me. We don’t want to scare her off.”
“Then let me make it official!” Trotus cried. Picking up a quill with his teeth, he hastily scribbled a confirmation on the report. Then he set down his glass on the large table, and filled both his and Loyal Stride’s with wine. “Loyal Stride, Senior Centurion to the Third Cohort. I, Trotus Flyvius Vespegasusianus Incultacus, do command you to locate and capture those responsible for breaking their agreement with Roam. Drag them screaming to the feet of the Fifteenth Legion for the greater glory of the Republic!” They both drained their glasses. “And for a little glory ourselves,” he added with a wink.
“I shall not fail,” Loyal Stride said, standing again. “If there’s a Princess in the Land of Friendship, I shall find her and bring her to you. For the Republic.”
“You just wait, my friend,” Trotus said in high good-humour. “A day of reconciliation is not far from us. News that I thought would mean nothing but misery may now prove to be our salvation from watching over this pathetic backwash.”
In truth, this information did have a positive effect upon Loyal Stride. He, like the General, had been feeling the strain of being part of an occupational army. By Roaman military law, all territories of the Republic had to be fielded by a professional legion at any given time to react to invasions in those territories. The Fifteenth Legion, XV Ferreta, was the permanent defence force of the Badlands. A glorified bug exterminator, as one senator had sardonically put it, during one budget investigation. And Loyal Stride could hardly argue with the description; nothing but dealing with raids by bands of disparate changelings, so disjointed from each other that crushing one band merely meant that another was out there somewhere, harassing somewhere else.
Loyal Stride was sick of it. He was a soldier, not a police officer. He looked around at the bleak, orangey-brown surroundings, and his lip curled. Perhaps he would be done with this benighted wasteland before long, if the mission went well.
“Centurion?”
“Pen Stroke?”
“I was just wondering,” Pen Stroke said as Loyal Stride neared the research tent. “Are you still intent on proceeding yourself? Comms reports that the patrol fleet has officially requested permission to continue the patrol search.”
“Negative. I shall be there soon with my contubernium. Have comms relay that they are to remain in place. And demand to know why the General was not informed sooner as well.”
“I could do it straight from the research tent,” Pen Stroke said immediately. “If it’s still meant to be a confidential message, I mean. The staff are all out on a sample dig.”
“More iron deposits?” Loyal Stride asked as they both turned to the tent.
“Record Strike seems to think so,” Pen Stroke said, pushing through the plastic flaps as Loyal Stride held open the door. “Some of the samples from sector twenty three made them think that maybe we’d overlooked—“
She got no further than that. Loyal Stride had taken one quick look around the room, then seized hold of Pen Stroke by the mantle and pressed her against the nearest cubicle divide. She gave a little squeak as she hit the wall, and a little gasp as Loyal Stride descended upon her.
The kiss was long and full of feeling. Both pulled at each other, trying in vain to pull the other closer. Pen Stroke managed to pull away for a split second to gasp
“Strider, we can’t—“ before diving once again. “We can’t,” she moaned again once the deepest of their passions had passed. “You can’t. We agreed.”
“I know,” Loyal Stride muttered, exhaling deeply. “But it has been too long. What’s the point of this pretence if it makes us unhappy?”
“Strider, you’re a high ranking officer in the army,” Pen Stroke said, running a hoof through his short mane. “You can’t be seen having an affair with a unicorn.”
“A high ranking officer of low birth,” Loyal Stride nodded, rolling his eyes. “As my peers love to remind me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Pen Stroke objected as he pulled away from her. “Please, we have our careers to think about. We can’t jeopardise our entire lives for—“
“That’s the funny thing about loyalty,” Loyal Stride interrupted her, angrily. “No matter how loyal you are to someone or something...” he left the sentence hanging with a snort of disgust. “I joined the army first, I owe my life and allegiance to the Republic.” He spoke it harshly, but not to Pen Stroke.
“Of course you do. We all do,” Pen Stroke said gently. “I’m proud of you for it; I honestly am. That’s why you can’t put yourself at risk by being seen with me.”
Loyal Stride gave another snort, which then turned into a short eruption of bitter laughter. “For the Republic, and the ideals it aspires to,” he said, as though repeating some catch-phrase. “And what ideals we fight for. Hate magic in all its forms, and those who practise it.”
“Loyal Stride, you know it’s more complicated than that.”
“Everything always is. But that’s the gist, isn’t it? No matter that Pegasi use magic to affect the weather, or Earth Ponies like me have a magical affiliation to nature. No, we ignore that, we accept that. It’s only unicorns we have to hate.”
“Not so loud!” Pen Stroke begged, glancing at the tent entrance.
“Sorry,” Loyal Stride grumbled after a short pause.
“You’ve been holding that in for a while, huh?” Pen Stroke said, coyly.
“Yeah, a bit,” he replied, absently rubbing the back of his neck. “And a couple of other things too. It’s not like we can keep it all a secret much longer anyway.”
Pen Stroke’s lips tightened at this. “I know,” she said, no longer able to meet his eye. “It’d be hard to hide.”
“We’ll deal with it as it comes,” Loyal Stride said bracingly. “Trotus isn’t going to do anything, and just let the others try. Most of them barely remember what the political process is, let alone how to fight in it.”
“It’s a little like our own little country over here, isn’t it?” Pen Stroke chuckled. “With all the ocean between us, it’s hard for anyone in the capital to really take notice of us.”
“Which is the point of exiling us here, of course,” Loyal Stride huffed. “Well, let’s get that message sent. If that patrol jumps the gun again, I’m going to have them all in chains.”
“Be nice, dear,” Pen Stroke warned him, giving him an ironical look. “And come back safely.”
“One thing, though,” Loyal Stride said, for the first time sounding uncertain. He cursed himself internally for his hesitation and ploughed on. “There’s a chance that, given where the anomaly was, it might have something—“
“To do with my brother,” Pen Stroke finished for him, staring hard at a half-written report on a nearby table. “I know.”
“You know what I have to do if I find him.”
“I do,” she replied. She swallowed, and suddenly sounded as though she had a slight cough. “Just... I know he has his reasons for... whatever he’s doing.”
“Maybe,” Loyal Stride replied quietly. “But the law is the law.” When Pen Stroke didn’t reply, Loyal Stride trotted to the door. He looked back once before exiting, and then disappeared beyond the flaps into the camp.
“Idiot,” Pen Stroke sniffed, wiping her eyes hurriedly. “Him, as an uncle...”
The loud hum of the engine masked the sound of Loyal Stride’s clanking armour as he approached the troop carrier.
“Is it true what they’re saying, sir?” asked Hard Hat.
“That depends who they are, and what they’re saying,” Loyal Stride replied loudly over the sound of the rotors, hopping onto the entrance ramp.
“The men!” Hard Hat called back. “They say we’re off to catch a princess!”
“Whoever told you that had best lay low. This mission is meant to be confidential.”
“Your rigid adherence to regulations is an inspiration for us all, sir,” Hard Hat said, giving a mock salute as he strapped himself to his seat.
“As it should be,” Loyal Stride said, grinning. “Listen up, mares and gentlecolts!” he called to the group at large. Eight pairs of eyes turned to look at him as the ramp rose and sealed them all in. “Apparently somepony already knows the specs of this mission. Patrol Fleet Diana’s succendum field generator detected an anomalous reading half an hour ago, and we think Equestrian royalty is breaking the terms of our peace agreement. Our job is to get there and apprehend the culprit.”
“Royalty, sir?” a mare with a regulation coffee-coloured body asked narrowly. “Princesses?”
“That’s what we’re thinking.”
A buzz of chatter filled the confined space until somepony smacked their hooves together eagerly. The metal greaves clanked and ground together as the culprit grinned toothily.
“Capture or kill?” asked the enormous specimen, in a voice like a bear after a heavy feed.
“Capture,” Loyal Stride replied clearly, staring around at them all. “Whomever we find must be captured alive. Living prisoners are far more valuable.”
“And look better for when the Princeps arrives,” said Hard Hat eagerly.
“The next pony to know things they ought not to is getting flogged,” Loyal Stride snapped, jabbing Hard Hat in the chest. “You all hear me?”
The cabin filled dully with the resentful murmurs of ascension.
“Damn, sir,” Hard Hat huffed. “Message received.”
“Eyes forward, the lot of you,” Loyal Stride barked. “You think a princess is going down easy? I need you all on task for this.”
This seemed to pump them up a little. The mare next to the first nodded slowly. “I heard their manes float around them like there’s always wind.”
“They’m tall too,” a scrappy-looking stallion opposite her added.
“I heard they can kill ya with a single look from the eyes,” a dark red veteran growled, indicating his own, narrowed yellow eyes, and glaring sinisterly around.
“They die like any other pony,” Loyal Stride said firmly. “Stick ‘em with a sword, they bleed. Hit them and bones break. All they’ve got is slightly more powerful magic, and how many magic-wielding weaklings have been fool enough to challenge Roam and live?”
The soldiers all grinned and nodded. The two mares gave each other knowing looks and tapped smacked their hooves together with a loud clang. The dark red veteran sat back in his seat with a satisfied chuckle. Loyal Stride knocked the wall to his left.
“Take us out of here!”
“Right away, sir!” called the pilot, snapping her goggles into place. “Destination set.”
Loyal Stride allowed himself an eager half-smile. “The operation is underway!”
- To be Continued