To Emir Malik,
Your instructions are as follows: Pull out all Janissaries on the Zebra Confederacy's border and send them to the capitol for redeployment north. Replace them with Turkais troops and the levies, as over five thousand (5,000) of the latter are being raised around the locality of Ragreb. Orders are effective immediately. God protects.
Sultan Tahir.

The Zebra-Arabian border was a harsh, raw land.

Junayd Mussa had endured here for almost half a decade now. It had none of the cruel beauty of the Arabian desert to the west, nor the lush tangle of the Zebra savannas to the east. Ragged hills towered out of the unflinchingly dry, cracked ground, as if they had been thrust up by a great collision. Scrawny grasses were the extent of the vegetation here, although a few dead trees of an ancient time still stood, as hard as iron from processes no one understood nor cared about.

The only break from the spectrum of dull browns were anachronistically bright, gaudy banners flying from the hilltops in roughly parallel lines, marking the border between Saddle Arabia and the Zebra Confederacy. The Zebra flags were starkly black, with the white emblem of the sun. Around them seemed to be mere dirt and brush; well hidden were the defenses, albeit ones unused for almost a century.

The Arabian side of the border was another matter altogether, bleached fortifications jutting proudly into the skylines of the hills. The green banner with flowing white Arabic script of Saddle Arabia flew from them; the scimitar sewn in boasted this position was occupied by the Janissaries.

But the flag was coming down.

Junayd watched it stop flapping in the fierce winds and sag limply as it was lowered into the courtyard of Asaf Fort, a literal cornerstone in the defense; it jutted out into a bulge in the border line. It wasn't his problem, though, not anymore. The 37-year veteran of the Janissaries had bigger worries than the friendly Zebras.

He shifted in his rich green cloak, a symbol of status not only as the Çorbacı of the 73rd Ortas, but also merely by being a Janissary. Not that he took the same pride in that fact as he had when he was 24 and freshly inducted.

God above, things have changed, he thought morosely, watching his stallions and mares packing up for the trip west. Damn it all, I have 17 year olds under my command! No longer were the Janissaries the iron elite of Arabia, with unshakable discipline that proved the rock their enemies smashed themselves against time and time again. Now they were only trained, admittedly well-trained, soldiers. Even political favoritism that landed younger Arabians below him hadn't changed the training, thank God. The mystique and legend of the Janissaries still held true in other lands and even in Arabia, but Junayd knew better.

He knew he was being a little harsh, though. Other Ortas, especially those on the Northern Border to the griffons, were as good as any other unit back in his youth. His situation was just a side effect of being on a peaceful border, where the presence of the Janissaries was more an issue of prestige than deadly necessity. Often, Junayd felt like a glorified instructor, hardening his troops with marches and the terrain around them only to see them get shipped off to other areas later on.

That's why his orders so disturbed him. Emir Malik had been explicit; pull off now, damn the Zebras' reactions. They'd be replaced by Turkais and levies. Levies. Strike one.

His mares and stallions were good, but hardly in the condition to be sent North. Unused to the climate, and certainly not ready to fight the griffons, the fear in the back of every smart Janissary commander's mind. Discipline was a little shaky too, and he had been clear on that in reports; he patted his yatagan sword affectionately, a relic of another era. Once a symbol of the Janissaries as much as the sword-embellished flags, the rank and file now carried long pikes and moved in unblinking formation. He'd been moving up the ranks during the reforms, and knew that while the tactic was brilliant if the troops stood fast, if discipline broke the results were catastrophic.

His troops were not ready. Strike two.

And finally, he looked behind him, where the deserts of Arabia shimmered on the horizon; a thin black line marred the sands, ending in a little station down at the bottom of the hill Asaf Fort stood on. An squat, ugly train sat there, belching a rope of smoke into the sky. The rail line had been put in barely three years ago, a result of technology from far of Equestria, from Celestia. Junayd had his doubts of the great metal monsters like many Arabians, but he held no illusions about the military value of speeding large bodies of troops and supplies around. The rail lines were limited, but expanding slowly; the industrial base of Arabia couldn't match the Sultan's plan as of now.

His thoughts were drifting; age was catching up. Still, the fact he'd been ordered to make the trip to the capitol with his troops on the train . . . Junayd knew under normal circumstances, or anything short of an emergency, Janissaries marched to their destinations. It toughened them, disciplined them, forced them to rely on each other. It was a fact of life, as old as the Janissaries themselves.

Strike three.

Only one reason for the haste, for using his troops going north.

He shook his head, watching his young soldiers marching down the hill. He was once one of them, during the border clashes with Redclain many years ago.

"God save us." he muttered, his words lost in the wind. "How many this time?"

Author's Notes:

Hey, have a chapter. Finally getting back into the groove, and the next few will be about Shores and the main plot. Finally.

Couple of notes: Çorbacı is the equivalent of the rank of Colonel, and the leader of an Ortas - roughly a battalion. A yatagan is a type of Turkish sword - we'll be learning more about Arabian culture in the future. And finally, just to clarify, in my world none-nobility Arabians (aka not the ones seen as dignitaries in the actual show) more resemble earth ponies, with a couple of minor cosmetic differences.

Anyway, enjoy. School restarted with a vengeance on Monday, so I'm finally finding some time to write.

Maybe this will be the chapter to get another like. Or favorite. Or break 20 views that aren't my own.