27th January 1882, Tarhen, 0942 local time.

Aznan is sitting out in his garden, stretched out upon a deck-chair with a pair of sun-goggles strapped to his face. He inhales deeply, the rich scent of freshly cut grass rising up to his nostrils. His tail sways slowly and his ears twitch as he stretches out, groaning softly. Aznan, like many Khans, is fond of sunbathing. It gives him a moment to collect his thoughts and savour the rich taste of violence in the air. Even now he can hear the faint crackle of gunfire rippling across the city as the locals give the Equestrian sorceress a taste of Khan hospitality.

Finding a sufficiently large group of people willing to shoot at Twilight Sparkle was not particularly hard. The priests had been more than happy to gather a large group of people together and unleash them upon Twilight with a minimum of suggestions from his end, which works to Aznan's favour. In the vanishingly small chance of the fanatics being successful, he has plausible deniability in his favour, since the arrogance of the priests would mean they'd rather die than admit they were acting under his well meaning instructions to make sure Twilight was welcomed properly to the Khanate.

Aznan gazes upward, reaching for his spyglass as he notices a disturbance among the navy ships flying in their lazy circuits around Tarhen. Several of them are breaking off from the main battle group, a frigate and two landing craft, each one potentially loaded with marines. Aznan sucks in a breath sharply as he watches them adjust course. The Navy is the one variable in his plan that he hasn't been able to account for, since Admiral Neydin is an old rival of Aznan's, and would kill himself before submitting to Aznan's authority, never mind becoming a co-conspirator in the efforts to overthrow the Shah. However on this occasion, Aznan had planned for the Navy,and his man in the MIO had been tasked with keeping the Navy busy long enough for the bloodthirsty Legionnaires to call upon their own for aid, whose cruisers would roll in and rip a couple of city blocks apart, or use those lovely Maxim guns of theirs on a crowd of people again. That had been the plan.

However as Aznan watches the frigate turn and open fire, he sighs irritably. Evidently his man in the MIO hasn't been quite as effective as Aznan would have hoped, but no matter. That's what dry runs are for, to iron out problems. Aznan sits up in his chair, reaching for the notebook that he keeps with him at all times to jot down ideas, note details and so on. He flips it to a blank page and writes down a quick note to himself to identify and deal with whoever in the Equestrian contingent is talking to the Navy. The last thing he needs is that wretched sorceress making friends, or finding the ear of someone in the Shah's inner circle, or even the Shah himself.

Aznan groans slightly. This was supposed to be simple and clean, but complications are a fact of life, and this complication is going to tie things up rather more than it should. He'd promised the Clerics that the army and the MIO would not be arresting or cutting down his worshippers for 'spontaneous demonstrations of passion.' Up until a month ago, he could have made the same guarantee of the Navy. Admiral Zel-Markos had been old and indolent and Aznan had enough on him to see him hung if he tried to interfere. However Admiral Neydin is going to be a problem. Ferociously loyal to the Shah and a fervent believer, Aznan knows that he cannot sway the senior navy man in Tarhen... but what's to say he cannot co-opt those directly under him?

The thought makes Aznan smile. Solutions to these little problems are always close to hand, you just need to apply yourself to the problem. He makes another note in his little book. It'll soon be time for another meeting with the nice men from the OSS.

_______
27th January 1882, Tarhen. 0953 Local time.

Caporal Rainbow Dash closes her eye, leaning back in the webbing seat. Around her, she can smell the familiar stench of blood and dirt that has provided the accompaniment to her life thus far. The thick scent of cordite hangs in the air, along with the powerful and bitter whiff of failure. Princess Twilight, her ex-girlfriend was almost murdered today on her watch. Dash pulls her helmet off and runs a grimy hand through her equally grubby and greasy hair. She knows she's going to be relieved of her command the moment she gets back to the Legion's compound, and for good reason.

Dash's eyebrows knit. Well what exactly was I supposed to do? What could I have done? Dash asks herself as she adjusts her rifle slightly in her hands. The short answer to that is: nothing. Princess Twilight was sure of what she wanted, and Dash could not defy her. However Dash cannot fault Twilight's reasoning. Looking back over what had happened, Dash cannot find it in her to blame the young princess for deciding to keep moving, to disembark from the airship in the manner that they did. They could not have afforded to have stopped or waited at the terminal for those slackers in the other compagnies to get themselves ready. There were no radios in the carriage, and the only set was in the airship, which naturally would be out of bounds the moment they disembarked. However there are two people that Dash can blame for this debacle.

When this is over, she's going to kick Prophet’s stupid head in. Then when she has done that, she's going to beat her own stupid head in and resign her stripes. She, Rainbow Dash, archprelate of awesome and empress of extreme, has fucked up. No, that's not right.

Fucked up doesn't even begin to plumb the depths of her failure. She's allowed one of the four rulers of Equestria to get shot at, and worse, she's had men killed today, good men who trusted her to lead them. Men that she let down. Dash reaches back for her bottle, unscrewing it and taking a sip.

“So where are we going?” Dash hears Twilight ask hoarsely, and the Admiral clears his throat.

“We are en route to the Eternal Fire, from whence we shall decide what to do...” Admiral Neydin replies, and Dash tilts her head. One Khan is much the same as any other to her, and whilst he may have saved their lives, Dash cannot afford to let her guard down. She pats down her pocket once more, wanting nothing more than to light a second cigarette and take another calming draw, however she can't. She has a limited supply of cigarettes here, and whilst smoking is one of the few things that isn't banned in the Khanate, she's fairly sure that no one's going to serve her.

“Admiral, I need you to take us to the Legion base,” Prophet says suddenly. “I have no doubt that the Legion are aware of what has transpired, and they will even now be preparing forces to roar out to the Princess' rescue. I think we would both rather they did not engage in a wild goose-chase, if that is agreeable, Your Highness?” Dash notices Twilight look up from her own dark musings. Dash doesn't even want to know what is passing through Twilight's mind right now, but Dash can see that Twilight's beating herself up something chronic, just from the pallor of her skin beneath the crust of brown dried blood that cakes her arms up to the elbow, and further up, where the dried blood is flecked with silver. The princess is absolutely filthy, her crown is dented, her dress is torn. Those bright purple eyes are shining with tears and her bottom lip is quivering. Dash's lip curls downwards into a snarl. She wants nothing more than to go over and give Twilight a good hard slap round the face to make her see sense. It's not Twilight's fault. As far as Dash can see, responsibility for this lies squarely upon her own shoulders.

“What a goddamn lightweight.” Dash's attention is drawn to her legionnaires, to their muttering in the flowing Prench that every legionnaire is expected to know.

“Should have stayed in Canterlot,” Scabs mutters icily, jerking his head at Twilight.

“War's no place for adolescents, at least the Field Marshal didn't get weepy about blood,” Tabby grunts in reply. Dash's eye narrows. These are her soldiers, but Twilight is her best friend and her princess. She's not going to let them back-chat, not least because Dash is fairly sure Twilight could quite possibly know Prench. She knows everything after all.

“Legionnaires,” Dash's tone is flinty. “She's your princess, act like it.”

“But boss-”

“Don't 'but boss' me,” Dash snaps. “She stepped up to the plate big-style today, you all had how much combat training before you joined us out here?”

“Four months boss, same as you.”

“Yeah, she's had about three weeks of training, tops. It's not her job to shoot shit, but she was putting fire down with the rest of us today. She's not combat medic trained but she put Stitch back together after he took a couple to the chest. So with that in mind, if I hear any of you slating her then I will have absolutely no hesitation in decking you, do we understand each other legionnaires?”

The legionnaires glance at each other uneasily, and then Smit grimaces, lowering his eyes.

“I didn't-”

“Also,” Dash cuts in, leaning in close to the other legionnaires, “don't assume that there is anything Princess Twilight does not know. That includes Prench.” Her gaze flicks to Twilight, and Dash's heart stops as she notices those purple eyes are locked upon her. Dash then notices Twilight's head incline slightly in a faint nod, and Dash lets out an exhalation of dread.

“Right,” Dash continues in Prench. “Duties time. When we get back to base, get food and water on, get ammunition and ditch any duff kit you may have. I'll speak to Her Highness and see what plans the Princess has.”

“Caporal.” Dash turns as she hears Twilight's voice, which is heartbreakingly weary and hoarse. “How long will your men need to get turned around to go out again?” she asks.

“We can go whenever you're ready Princess, though we need a few if you’ll need them looking more like soldiers than a grox that’s been dragged through a hedge,” Dash says, wondering exactly what her best friend has in mind, though she's relieved when Twilight shakes her head slightly.

“That... that won't be needed Caporal, I'm possibly looking to leave again in approximately an hour. We'll be airborne, and though I'm not anticipating combat... I need you to organise an escorting unit.”

Dash nods. “Where are we going, Ma’am?”

“We're going to go get Diplomatic Incident,” Twilight explains grimly, and Dash nods again. She'd met Diplomatic Incident before, back when she and Twilight were dating, although only in passing. She can understand Twi wanting to surround herself with allies, or at least to recover someone from the Khanate's clutches if possible. Dash takes another rejuvenating sip of her water bottle as she watches the admiral tap Twilight on the shoulder and mutter something into her ear. Twilight's back straightens, and as Dash watches, she rises to her feet and heads sternward, leaving the Legionnaires and Prophet alone in the troop-compartment of the landing craft as it thunders through the air, and for a long moment, the only sound is the thunder of the ship's drives as the Legionnaires silently sip at their canteens and draw at their cigarettes, whilst Prophet in turn draws his massive blade and a rag and slowly starts to polish it, murmuring litanies as he applies various oils and pastes to the weapon.

Dash watches Prophet for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. She's not at all sure what to make of the Justicar. On the one hand, it was one of his soldiers who tried to kill her and Twilight last night, and she's absolutely certain that the Justicar knows more than he's letting on about that. On the other hand, he has come through today, calling in reinforcements when they were about to be overrun. If he really wanted Twilight dead, then he wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't have needed to do anything but watch as they got swarmed under. Then again it was his fault that they got into that ambush in the first place. He said he knew that part of town after all.

Caporal Dash suddenly feels the landing ship tilt beneath her and a warning bell ring out from the cabin. Prophet calmly rises to his feet, wiping the oil off his sword before sliding it back into its sheath.

“We are nearly at our destination,” he rumbles, pulling the hood of his robe back up, and tugging his cloak back around himself, hiding the power armour beneath flowing crimson fabric and bowing his head, reminding Dash of the pilgrims that used to trek past the Equestrian embassy day in day out, though their robes were made of linen rather than exotic silks.

Dash likewise rises to her feet, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. The other Legionnaires behind her are grimacing, but some of the tension is clearly fading out of their bodies, their shoulders slumping as the adrenaline high gives way to exhaustion. However Dash can feel a rising knot of tension in her stomach, and she can feel her own shoulders stiffening as she prepares for the mother of all beastings. She just knows they're going to take her stripes off her, along with everything else. She deserves nothing less.

Thus, when they land in the perimeter of the warehouse complex, Dash is braced for a fight. As the engines power down, she can hear a crowd gathering, the low rumble of hundreds of voices outside. Great, I'm going to get hauled over the coals in the view of the entire battle-group. Dash turns to look at the six Legionnaires, who are rising to their feet in silence. Smit then steps forward and claps Dash on the shoulder.

“We've got this boss,” he says, and Dash tosses him a grateful look. Over his shoulder, she notices the Admiral stepping out from behind the wheel-house, Twilight at his shoulder, an expression of firm resolution upon the Princess' face, though she treats Dash to a quick and encouraging smile.

“Let's do this,” Dash mumbles, and then the ramp suddenly drops with a resounding clang, giving them all their first glimpse of their accommodations for the duration of this trip. The compound is a former airship maintenance yard, with the hangars and suchlike still very much intact.

Dash also spots a group of three-storey administrative buildings, and a set of small workshops on the edge of the landing area, however all that is obscured by the mass of soldiers currently gathered at the edge of the landing field, all attention upon the landing craft. As Dash steps forward, down the ramp, she notices other Legionnaires are standing around their own landing ship, a much uglier, more utilitarian design than that used by the Khanate with a flat wedge shaped nose. Those Legionnaires are dressed in black ship-suits, complete with masks and hoses. All eyes however are on her now. Dash can feel the tension hanging in the air. Dash then hears the clattering of other Legionnaires behind her and she doesn't need to look to know that her own troops are coming down the ramp behind her.

Dash notices Capitane Adrelana and Capitane Belial are both standing at the edge of the landing ground, along with a Valorossiyan that Dash has never seen before. For a long moment, there is absolute silence, the gaze of the entire battle group making Dash's knuckles whiten as she grips her rifle tighter. Dash then hears another set of footsteps coming down the ramp.

“Atten-shun! For Her Majesty, Princess Twilight Sparkle, Eyes front!” someone yells.

Dash turns to see Twilight walking out, her back ramrod straight, Prophet at her back as she strides out onto the landing ground, majestic as a figurehead in spite of her ripped dress and her blood-spattered skin. Her face looks to be absolutely caked with dirt, dried blood is smeared up to her elbows, which are skinned and battered. Her dainty dress is ruined and those bright lavender eyes which had sparkled with life and hope are now cold and hard. Dash’s heart wrenches at the sight of her ex gazing out at the world with a flat, thousand-yard stare.

Dash hears a collective gasp of surprise at the sight of the princess holding a rifle, with a shotgun slung across her back, covered in blood and dirt, but clearly alive. A voice suddenly breaks the silence:

“THREE CHEERS FOR CAPORAL BOLT AND THE NINTH COMPAGNIE!”

“HUZZAH, HUZZAH, HUZZAH!”

Dash's heart jerks with surprise as the air resounds with the thunder of three hundred Legionnaires. This isn't the normal prelude to a bollocking... The roar of their voices crash upon her ears like waves crashing upon a sea wall. A fusillade of applause breaks out, and Dash's heart swells with pride as she notices Belial and Adrelana both smiling broadly, the Valorossiyan next to them grinning enthusiastically as she likewise applauds. For a moment, Dash is transported back in time to that brief snatch of time as a Wonderbolt, where she would be applauded by stadia of thousands. The same overwhelming rush of adulation and pride sweeps through her as it did back then, an intoxicating high that makes the hairs on the back of Dash's neck stand on end, and in spite of herself, a broad smile spreads across her face.

“THREE CHEERS FOR PRINCESS TWILIGHT!” Capitane Adrelana roars over the thunder of applause.

“HUZZAH, HUZZAH, HUZZAH!”

The Legionnaires bellow, whistling and whooping enthusiastically, and Dash turns to see Twilight stop, stunned. Her eyes are wide and a blush of colour crosses her cheeks, which surprises Dash. She would have thought the princess would be used to being cheered nineteen to the dozen by this point. However as Dash watches, the shock rapidly fades from Twilight's face, to be replaced with the calm mask-like detachment that Dash had hated seeing on her face. The princess woodenly raises her hand to the crowd, gesturing for them to be silent and still. An uneasy hush descends upon the compound. Dash watches the red flush upon Twilight’s face shrink into tiny pinpricks, those lavender eyes closing for a second as she absently strokes the joint between thumb and finger on her right hand. Dash has been around Twilight long enough to recognize the signs that Twilight was composing a speech. Twilight’s eyes then open, her expression hardening into one of grim resolution, though Dash notices the way she taps her right foot in the old familiar nervous tic.

“Legionnaires!” Twilight's voice booms across the parade ground. Whilst it is not the Royal Canterlot Voice, it is still powerful enough to carry to the corners of the landing ground. “Before I came here, I had no knowledge of your organisation. When I first arrived at your Regimental Headquarters, I must confess I was more than a little intimidated, surrounded as I was by men and women forged of iron and steel rather than woven of fine silk and cotton as I was accustomed to.”

Dash looks around, noticing the Legionnaires are, to a man, enthused by Twilight's words. Dash herself finds the speech more than a little captivating.

“The common perception in Canterlot is that people like you are savages, barely capable of sapient thought. The common belief is that you are criminals, best kept at arm’s length. I find this to be a gross disservice to your courage, one which I shall personally make sure is corrected. You may still wish to keep them at arm’s length however, for they walk with their noses so far up in the air that most cannot see where they're going. I often wonder if they have their noses like that because they cannot abide the stench of their own bullshit.”

A ripple of laughter spreads across the courtyard, and Dash’s grin tilts slightly, becoming a smirk. Obviously you’ve picked up a few new tricks since the last time you had to speak in public: that was drier than a dune rat on a hot rock.

“But I'm not here to waste my breath talking about Canterlot high society. I'm talking about you, Legionnaires of Equestria; soldiers from all corners of the known world who came to fight for our crown. I have tasted but a drop of the bitter cup that you have willingly taken upon yourselves to drink for our subjects, and I am a nervous wreck. I am imbued with the power of the immortals: my deeds will live forever in poems and songs. Yet I find myself humbled by even the least among you.” Dash watches Twilight forge onward, her mouth open in awe. She never thought her ex, the bumbling librarian who would never say boo to a goose, could speak with such confidence.

“In the end, I must say this,” Twilight says, her voice dropping in pitch. “We're here to safeguard peace, and our words and deeds must reflect that. Our quarrel is not with the common folk of this country, and we will treat them with the respect that you have shown to me. However I am not here to bow before blatant aggression. We shall find the person responsible for today's welcoming committee and we will show them the fullest extent of the Legion’s renowned hospitality!”

“Yes ma'am!” The roar of three hundred Legion voices fills the landing ground, and Dash grins: Twilight is hot when she gets angry. Thoughts of Twilight in the bathtub this morning suddenly intrude, followed by the brief but incredibly sharp words that Dash had offered the princess on the airship, and Dash's face burns as she reflects on the memory. Twilight has really exceeded every expectation Dash had of her today, and the least she can do is apologise.

“Excellent. I've kept you long enough. All that remains is to say welcome to Tarhen.” With that, Twilight turns on her heel and starts walking towards the administration block. Dash turns and quickly walks over to Twilight even as the Legionnaires start to cheer once more, applauding their princess as Adrelana steps forward to fall the battle-group out. Twilight is walking quickly, so fast that Dash has to lengthen her stride to catch up. She has something she wants to talk to Twilight about.
“Hey, Princess, that was a good speech,” Dash says as she catches up to Twilight, who turns and smiles slightly.

“Thanks, I had to ad-lib most of it,” Twilight says with a nervous little grin. Dash can feel Twilight's nervousness, the unease radiating off her.

“What's up?” Dash asks, before mentally kicking herself. They're still in public, free of the crowd of Legionnaires now, but they're still in earshot of quite a few of them. Of course Twilight's not going to talk about it, of course something's up. The princess has just stopped a guy from bleeding to death, she's killed people and been shot at, up close and personal. Of course that's going to leave a mark on a civvie.
“It's nothing,” Twilight says quickly, her eyes flicking up and to the right. Dash struggles to bury her doubtful expression, but before she can say anything, there's a voice from behind them.

“Princess Twilight.” The high lilting voice of a Valorossiyan female makes Dash's back stiffen. She whirls, intent on putting herself between Twilight and the Val, only for her eye to widen in shock. It's the Val that was standing at the edge of the landing ground, much closer now and all the more intimidating for it. Whilst Dash is used to Vals, having spent the better part of a year and a half around Zaranov and Adrelana, this is the first time she's met a Val that isn't a Legionnaire. It's also the first time she's even seen a female Val outside of picture books. She's heard the horror stories though, about how females are worse than the males when it comes to pure unmitigated aggression.

This one is shorter than Zaranov, with blood red hair that she's tied back into a pony-tail, to leave her ears, and more importantly, the short spiny crest running along the upper edge of each one, on full display. Dash is intimately familiar with Val biology, and she knows what those spiny crests mean. This Val, whoever she is, is very important. That much is clear from her attire. Silver velvet waistcoat with a silver watch-chain hanging from her right pocket, over a black blouse shirt and a red tie speak volumes about her status within the Union. They also accentuate her strange proportions, the broad shoulders and long neck, the slender limbs and flat belly that characterise the Valorossiyans, if those four eyes and that pointed chin weren't enough for that. Dash is reminded rather uncomfortably of a large and dangerous spider as she watches the Val.

“Yes?” Dash hears Twilight's voice over her shoulder as the princess turns around, and Dash steps aside so that she's flanking Twilight rather than obstructing her.

“That was a good speech, you should have been born Valorossiyan,” the Val says, a broad smile on her face. Dash frantically tries to remember what she can about Val body-language, since a smile from a Val can mean a hundred different things and she'd rather not get Twilight gutted on her watch.

“Thank you-” Twilight trails off, looking for a name.

“Lady Ambassador Zsaryna Adrelana, of the Union, at your service,” the Val supplies, and Dash can hear Twilight's sharp indrawn breath.

“My apologies Lady Ambassador, I-”

“It is of no moment. You do not know me, and I do not expect you to know me by sight. We all look the same to the untrained eye, no?” The Val's faint smile widens slightly, as though the whole thing is some kind of big joke. Dash watches Twilight nod, though she notices the very subtle stiffening of Twilight's spine and neck as the Val offers her hand to shake. Twilight shakes her head quickly.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Ambassador, I don't want to dirty your hands, I'm not exactly clean,” Twilight says, blushing slightly, and the Val shrugs.

“A little bit of blood should never get in the way of politeness,” Zsaryna replies, taking Twilight's hand in hers and shaking it warmly. “I heard the fighting from here, it was quite the battle. Did you extract a good reckoning?”

“She did, Lady Ambassador,” Dash says, intent on diverting the Val's attention. Dash can see how such questions could upset Twilight, unused to combat as she is. The Val's wintry stare turns upon Dash, and Rainbow feels something small and furry at the base of her spine start to loudly shriek about a pressing appointment on the other side of the world. Dash feels her heart beat a little faster as four eyes seem to look right through her, peering into her very soul.

“So this is the head of your protective detail... a pleasure to meet you, Caporal Bolt. Colonel Zaranov has mentioned you in his letters to my father. Truly Her Highness could not wish for a finer soldier at her side.” Zsaryna's tone is warm and conversational as she speaks, yet there's a gleam to her eyes. Dash isn't quite sure what that could possibly mean, but she knows better than to speculate as she feels the Val looking her up and down, before Zsaryna's gaze turns back to Twilight.

“So, Your Highness, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about, regarding your agent in country. I've come to ask you to consider securing his release. He is a very competent agent, and a dear friend of mine. I would be most grateful-”

“Lady Ambassador,” Twilight interrupts the Ambassador, a smile spreading across her face as Dash tenses up. “I am not in the habit of leaving my friends to languish at the Shah's pleasure. Indeed, that is my next objective, barring any… further problems.”

Dash has never seen a Val look shocked before. Zsaryna's mouth opens very slightly, as if she's unsure of what she's just heard, although that might just be because Twilight's dared to interrupt her. However given the way the smile upon the Val’s face widens, Dash is fairly sure that Zsaryna's not going to reach down Twilight's throat and rip her spine out any time soon.

“That is... most welcome news, Princess.”

“Please, if anything, I should be thanking you,” Twilight replies cheerfully. “Prophet had told me of your generous offer to post watchers over Diplomatic Incident to ensure he does not come to harm. That being said, if you will excuse me, I need to get cleaned up before we visit the prison where Diplomatic Incident is interned. I will not present myself to representatives of the Shah smelling like a charnel house.” Twilight turns to Dash, who straightens up slightly and frowns faintly. Wait, what? Dash asks herself, bewildered.

“Caporal, you have forty five minutes to get yourself and your men changed into new uniforms and get yourselves combat capable, I'm not expecting trouble but...” Twilight trails off suddenly and clutches her right hand. “Excuse me,” she says, turning on her heel and mumbling to herself as she walks away, clutching her hand to her belly.

Dash watches Twilight walk away towards the offices, and she exhales explosively. There's a lot of stress on her shoulders.

“Caporal Bolt.” Dash hears a voice behind her, and she turns to see Zsaryna Adrelana standing behind her.

“Yes... uh, ma'am,” Dash says quietly, clicking her heels as she comes to attention. She hasn't had much by way of diplomatic training, but what she has had has taught her that being polite, particularly to Valorossiyans is a wise move.

“Your princess is very stupid coming here. Things are falling apart at the seams, and the Shah is trying to put sticking plasters on a sucking chest-wound.”

“She's good at fixing sucking chest-wounds, ma'am. I saw her putting one of my men back together just today after he got shot through the lung.”

“Impressive,” Zsaryna says softly. “I have heard good things about her. I look forward to seeing her in action.”

“It's a sight to behold. She's stared down dragons, sylphs, manticores...” Dash trails off, as Zsaryna's brow climbs suspiciously.

“Or- uh, so I've heard,” she trails off, hoping that the ambassador doesn't notice her sweaty palms.

“Riiiight,” Zsaryna says slowly, her tone making it clear that she doesn't believe Dash for a moment. “Anyway we both have places to be, Caporal. Excuse me.” The Val then turns away, leaving Dash alone with her thoughts for a moment.

Shit shit shit. Dash curses herself in her head. She'd left that part of her past far behind and she was really hoping it would stay buried. The last thing she needs is to complicate matters for Princess Twilight. Their past would certainly complicate matters, not least as far as diplomacy goes in a country which takes an even dimmer view of questionable relationships than Equestria.

Dash watches Zsaryna's retreating back for a moment, before turning on her heel. She cannot afford to make things worse for Twilight right now, so the unspoken desires that burn in her heart will temporarily have to be put to bed. She is the element of Loyalty after all, and it wouldn't be a very loyal thing to do to sabotage the peace process. Muttering darkly, Dash turns to find her squad. She has plans to make, now that her boss has apparently gone insane.

______

Capitane Belial does not hang around after the Princess has finished making her speech. He turns on his heel and heads straight for the quarters that have been assigned to him.

Hopefully if I keep my head down, they won't know I'm here, he thinks to himself, trying to keep his cool. Whilst most of the Legionnaires around him are humans or Equestrians, and thus unused to reading Khan body language, Capitane Adrelana is one of Belial's close friends, and thus can read him like a book. Other Khans would likewise pick up on his twitching tail and his whiskers. They'd know, or manage to find out in short order, that Belial is in fact utterly terrified.

Men, Vals and Khans join the Legion for any number of reasons after all. Some join because they're running to something, to a life of adventure and freedom. Others join because they're running from something, and the Legion offers an effective escape route. Be it a criminal background, ethnic turmoil in their country of origin, or even an angry spouse, the Legion offers sanctuary to those seeking to undo the mistakes of their past in exchange for a hard life serving the Crown. In Belial's case, it was gambling debts.

Mishi Belilanda was not born to a lower class family, nor was he born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His family did reasonably well, his father was an architect and his mother was a nanny, the highest paid job that a woman could attain back then. Notably however, she was Equestrian, and that alone was enough to draw the ire of the other kits at his school, who would take to stealing his lunch money or roughing him up. In those days, you fought back or you went under, and Belilanda fought back, thus earning the respect of the other kits, but the disappointment of his parents.

Belilanda soon fell in with the wrong crowd, and started hanging out in places out of which no good can come, and it didn't take long before he started to accumulate a criminal record. As if that wasn't bad enough, he started to gamble. At first it was more to piss off his parents, but he rapidly got sucked into a whirlpool of debt, and by the time he realised how deep he was in, it was too late. Threatening letters started appearing at his house, until finally Belilanda cracked and vanished onto the streets, inviting those who were pursuing him to come after him, but leave his family out of it.

They came for him two days later as he was walking down a street. There were five of them, armed with knives. Ordinarily he would not have stood a chance, but Belilanda was desperate. He fought like a Khan possessed, breaking the neck of the first and snapping the knees of a second, however numbers still told and as he was thrown to the ground, Belilanda prepared himself to meet his god... only for the figures to suddenly turn and run as a shot rang out across the street.

Belilanda turned to see a pair of soldiers dressed in the tan uniform and distinctive pith helmets of the Legion Etrangere walking up to him. Belilanda barely had time to thank them before he passed out from blood loss. When he woke up six hours later, he was in the Equestrian embassy sick-bay with a Legionnaire standing over him. The Legion made him an offer, and Belilanda accepted, becoming 'Belial', as the Legionnaires said he fought like a demon.

That was ten years ago, and Belial had hoped never to clap eyes on Tarhen ever again. The Khans he's running from are patient: they will not have forgotten about him, particularly after he left two of their people dead in the street. Belial bites his lip as he stalks up the stairs, his eyes narrowing.

I am a Capitane of the Legionnaires, let them come. I will have their heads mounted upon my wall.

Buoyed by this thought, Belial heads to his room. He is a soldier now, and no matter how powerful these men are, they will not wish to tangle with the Legion. He'd almost take a gleeful pleasure in taking a squad of men into Tarhen to root them out. Belial reaches his room and yanks open the door to find his things are already unpacked, and a Khan is sat on the bed waiting for him, dressed in the long flowing black robes of the Priesthood.

“I didn't ask for a chaplain,” Belial growls as he unhooks his pistol belt from around his waist. He has little time for theology and even less time for Divinity-bothering chaplains. He has a compagnie to run after all.

“Mishi Belilanda,” the priest says, and Belial stiffens. No one in the Legion knows that name. Belial's hand curls into a fist as he unhooks his revolver from his belt.
“What do you want?” he asks, his back to the ‘priest.’

“Look at you, so strong, so proud in that uniform. It's good to see you've turned yourself around.” The voice is familiar, gentle and quavering, and Belial whirls around... only to see his father, standing there before him, dressed in the robes of a High Priest. Belial can see it's his father, his nose has those little pink speckles on it, and his right eye is still slightly misty, though his tawny tortoise-shell fur is liberally streaked with steely grey and he looks to be thinner, more gaunt.

“Baba?” Belial asks, his grip loosening upon his revolver. “What're you doing here, in those clothes?”

“I heard you were coming. After you ran away, a friend of mine offered to keep track of you for me. He's been writing me letters, telling me how you've grown into a fine young man, rather than that callow youth you were when you left.”

Belial bites his lip, feeling shame bloom across his cheeks as he remembers the last shouted conversation he'd had with his father across the dining room.
“Mishi, my son... I'm here to help you.”

“How?”

“You want to return home?” His father asks, his voice plaintive.

“I would if I could, but there are people-”

“I know someone who can help you,” his father says gently, his voice soft and pleading. “Your mother misses you dreadfully, we all do... we can be a family again.”

“Who?” Belial asks softly, his hand curling into a fist. Family has always been a big thing for Mishi Belilanda. Ten years is a long time to go without even a letter or a visit. Whilst he appreciates it’s part of Legion life, it’s also rather unpleasant. His hand unclenches from a fist and he turns his back on his father once more, drumming his fingers upon the desk as he thinks.

“A man in the army. He walks with God. He wants to meet you, he says he can help you.”

Belial nods slowly, taking a deep breath. Abandoning the Legion is the worst form of treachery, particularly with things as they are now. He'd become a deserter, scum to be hunted down and butchered like an animal. However he'd be with his family, in his old city again. He'd be able to reappear, take up a job in the city, or serve in the Khan military. It's all good for the Princess to talk of loyalty to the Crown, but Belial has little loyalty to a country he's never seen. However, Belial is a Legionnaire. He has a Compagnie that relies upon him, men that have fought and bled with him; his battle-brothers. His father could never understand that.

“I will meet him, but I will make no promises, Baba,” Mishi says after a moment.

Outside, Belial can hear the sounds of soldiers getting ready, digging into positions and setting up defensive emplacements. Boots are thundering this way and that as soldiers begin the timeless routines of sentry duties. Belial can hear heavier weapons being lugged into position, and his mind turns away from his father, to the soldiers under his command. To soldiers who will fight for him, kill for him, and die for him.The idea that he will betray such loyalty with such self-serving cowardice makes Belial’s hands shake.
I need to keep my losses down. If this person can help me do that…
A thought, cold and insidious, takes root in Belial’s mind:
It’s not my crown, after all.

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

So, this is Legionnaire book one complete.
Fear not, gentle reader, Legionnaire book two is right now as we speak undergoing final development and testing.
I hope you'll stick around.
You won't be dissapointed, I promise you that.