Party Favor had been traveling along the road with Starlight for quite a few days now. The tremors and the numbing in his legs had mostly subsided. He could now recover his energy and refill his canteen at the various rest stops dotted along the road, and the muscles, themselves, had adapted to the weight on his back just as his skin had to the blistering heat from the sun above. Not only that, but the advice the Wanderer gave him actually worked. "Don't speak until spoken to." It'd taken him a bit of time to get used to keeping himself quiet unless it was absolutely necessary for him to talk, but once he'd mastered it, he suddenly found himself with fewer scars and bruises on his hide. Still, the memories haunted him, and the nightmares made his rest uneasy. Misery still weighed him down.

“Brustworth is just a few hours away,” the Wanderer told Starlight and Party Favor as they exited the last rest area.

“Wanderer, there's something I've been wondering for a while now,” said Starlight.

“Ask away.”

“Your Empire has its citizens serve in the army for sixty years, right?”

“That is true. Is there something peculiar you find about that?”

“Well, yeah. How is that even sustainable? How can you have everyone who's not a senior citizen be in the army and still have a functioning economy? And how can anyone over forty even be fit to be a soldier? It seems like you'd have a huge chunk of your Legionaries being too racked with ailments like arthritis and whatnot to be effective at all. In fact, I'm surprised YOU aren't affected by that kind of thing.”

“The answers to those questions are quite simple. Firstly, all of the mundane labors essential to maintain a functioning economy are done by slaves that are carefully bred and raised for their station. Secondly, we Imperials do not age in the same way as you Equestrians.”

“What do you mean 'not age in the same way'?”

“You Equestrians, even with your easygoing lifestyles, normally expire before ninety, am I correct?”

Starlight nodded. “Yeah.”

“Through thousands of years of constantly sculpting ourselves into better beings through ever-evolving quality standards for members of our own population, we have, among other things, extended our life expectancies by more than double compared to yours. As those of your ilk are lucky to make ninety, it is common for an Imperial to live for over two-hundred years, and we suffer age-related ailments much later as well.”

Starlight pursed her lips as her eyelids dropped down halfway. “...you're joking.”

“I am not. As a wild animal can be selectively bred to fill a specific purpose, so too can a sapient being. The Lord commands us, as a nation, to be the most fit to carry out His will on the battlefield; eugenics has been a valuable part of that from the very beginning. You may even consider us a different sub-species entirely.”

“This place gets weirder the more I hear about it. So, what else should I know about your 'sub-species'?”

“In addition to living longer, we also heal at a faster rate, can continue fighting through wounds that would prove fatal to any Equestrian, are less sensitive to pain, can live without food or water for longer periods of time, have denser skeletons and tougher skins, and muscles that are both denser and greater in size.”

“Wow. Life isn't very fun for you guys, is it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Just curious: how old are you?”

“One hundred and four.”

“So you'd been out of the army for four years before you started wandering the wastes?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“I was a Centurion. I was paid better than the vast majority of civilians. And by the time I turned sixty, the Empire was on Crusade. The Saracens were preparing for an invasion of Ruusonia, and the Kaiser thought it in our best interest to launch a preemptive strike to catch them off guard. Many citizens of the Empire were conscripted back into the Legions for this.”

“Saracens?”

“Saddle Arabians, as you call them. The Empire's animosity towards them goes back quite a long time.”

“How did your Crusade go?”

“It was going splendidly. At least, it was at first. As you may have already guessed, a significant drawback of our extreme focus on quality means that we are unable to field a large number of troops. This is why we keep client states. They give us auxiliaries of lesser quality to fill the battle lines so that the Legions can win glory without having to worry about being enveloped or cut off from supply lines.”

“Well, what happened?”

“What often happens in extended campaigns. Morale suffered, mostly among the auxiliaries, who were never too reliable to begin with. The Saracens whittled our numbers down by attrition, harassing our supply lines and chipping away at our ranks with hit-and-run skirmishing. They dared not engage us in pitched battle. Many auxiliaries deserted. The more the lines thinned, the more we had to shrink them to ensure reasonable depth. After years of campaign, the Saracens came down on us from the hills. The great Saracen horde surrounded us, their arrows blotting out the sun and their ranks reaching as far as the eye could see. We fought valiantly, and had slain a great many of them, but it was not enough.”

“What did you do?”

The Wanderer drawed a deep, long breath, then sighed. “I committed a sin most vile, and one that the Empire would surely put me to death for if she still remembered it after all these years. My comrades' ranks broken, and my spirits weary, I fled the field, rather than face death valiantly with my sons and brothers in arms. I casted my armor aside in shame and dishonor, and I'd exiled myself to the uninhabited Wasteland ever since.”

“When we first met, you told me you were seeking redemption. Is this why? Is this what you want to redeem yourself for?”

“Yes.”

“And you do this by helping me wage war against your own country?”

“That is how it must be done.”

“Can I confide in you now, Wanderer? It's only fair.”

“Of course.”

“I envy you, you know. Unlike you, I was, at least among my peers... unexceptional.” She winced at that last word, as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “I wanted to have a career in academics that I could be proud of. That everyone else in Canterlot would look upon throughout the ages in awe and majesty. But that just didn't pan out.” Her eyes began to well with tears. “I never made it into the Academy for Gifted Unicorns. I never got Celestia to notice me. I never got to be special. So I got my Master's in Alteration Magic and founded my own community where nobody would be special. It was only then that I felt friendship and harmony. But even then, I still felt like something was missing.”

“Your mark on history.”

“Yeah.”

“That is the thing about history. Without struggle, history remains stagnant. All history is the history of struggle, and perseverance in the face of adversity is what makes us worthy of history's memory.”

“So what are you saying?”

“There is no movement without contradiction, and history is no exception. Scripture tells us this. Each iteration of all pony society is sublated by a more harmonious one, which, necessarily, means a more authoritarian one. First we lived as tribes, then as confederations of tribes, then as city-states, then as oligarchies, and now as autocracies. Given the presence of conflict – a necessarily inharmonious phenomenon – within our society, this overarching conflict between order and chaos has yet to reach its final conclusion. It is a historical inevitability that we will one day destroy this old system of autocracy, and replace it with a revolutionary new system that will be fundamentally more harmonious than any of those before it. Perhaps the removal of these marks, these brands that are burned on our flesh by Destiny, is the first step towards this new system.

"What that means for you is this: be grateful for this opportunity that you have been given. Your failure in the past has put you on the path to a far more glorious future. Should we succeed, your mark on history will be greater than you ever thought possible.”

Starlight stopped walking, and paused for a moment to ponder the thought. Party Favor's mind being dense, it was numb throughout the conversation, as shown by the glazed look in his eyes as he and the Wanderer stopped at the same time. Starlight then put on a smile beaming with joy, and she embraced the Wanderer in a hug.

“I hadn't thought about it that way. Thank you, Wanderer. You made me feel a lot better.”

The Wanderer pulled his head back slightly. “What is this?” he asked. He turned his head to Party Favor. “Tell me what she's doing.”

Party Favor snapped himself out of his numb state of mind, surprised that the Wanderer, of anyone, would ask him a question like that. “She's hugging you,” he replied.

“Hugging? Is this another strange Equestrian custom?”

“Um, you're supposed to hug her back.”

He looked back at Starlight, who was still latched onto him. He raised a reluctant armor-clad hoof, wrapped it around Starlight's back, and gave it a weak rub. “Like this?” asked the Wanderer.

“It's a good start,” answered Starlight before releasing him. She let out a puff, then tensed her face into a stern expression. “We better keep going. We've been sentimental for far too long already.”

“Agreed. We should get to Brustworth before nightfall.” The three continued their trek north.

After some time of walking, a familiar stench hit Party Favor like a hammer on a nail. It was the same stench that he encountered outside the walls of the Jackals' fort. The memories he'd been trying to repress came rushing back to him, and fear consumed him. In a panic, he screamed, and ducked his head into the ground while covering his eyes with both front hooves.

“What is it now?” the Wanderer snapped.

The simpering mess that he was, Party Favor could only point forward in the hope that he would see something.

“Get up, you idiot. The smell of corpses is something you will have to get used to. Have you forgotten where you are, and why you are here?”

He collected himself to the best of his ability. He was in the Wasteland, the worst place he'd ever known, and he was there for Our Town.

“Now that you mention it, I do notice something peculiar. Those look like crosses up ahead, but I do not know why there would be so many in one place.”

“Crosses?” Starlight asked.

“Keep moving. You will see what I mean.”

As the three moved farther up north, the stench grew more pungent, and the figures ahead became more clear to Party Favor. They were even more decomposing bodies, this time lashed and nailed to wooden crosses, laid out in a neat rank and file. He looked left, he looked right, and he looked forward, but no matter where he turned his head, he saw no end to them. He shut himself down once again, which by this point, had become his usual modus operandi for dealing with the more terrible sights that the Wasteland had to offer. In front of the crosses, to the right side of the road, was a sign with a written letter protected by a glass screen and a polished wooden frame. It bore a red seal which featured the head of a growling, sharp-toothed wolf, facing right and upwards.

Starlight flew up a hoof. “Now what the hell is this?”

“The most popular method of execution in the Empire is to nail an offender to a cross and suspend him from it," the Wanderer replied. "Further, this letter is marked with the seal of the Kaiser.”

“Read that sign. Tell me what it says.”

The Wanderer walked up to face the sign. His throat rumbled as he cleared his throat to prepare to read. “By decree of the undisputed master of the Holy Empire of Styx, our Glorious Kaiser Shattered Dreams; as of the Seventh of June, in the Year of Our Lord four-thousand-fourteen; these three-hundred thousand slaves have been sentenced to death due to food shortages. The owners of these slaves have each been duly compensated in monetary value equal to the condemned slaves from the public treasury, under due process, in accordance with Our Lord's Holy Law, hallowed be His name, and our Glorious Kaiser's Secular Law. Before their execution, these slaves underwent necessary ritual so that their pitiful souls were prepared for Our Lord's consumption, a privilege they very likely did not deserve. Our Glorious Kaiser hopes that His Divine Majesty is satisfied with this offering, and reverses our bad fortune. Duty. Honor. Courage. Everlasting loyalty.”

Starlight rolled her eyes. “You know what? I'm not even surprised.” The three continued along the road.

“This is it,” the Wanderer said, “the Imperial City of Brustworth. The Empire's foremost trade hub, and her foothold on the south side of the River Styx.”

“It's about time,” Starlight grumbled.

The city was surrounded by a colossal granite wall, twelve feet thick and dotted with towers. The city gate was double-layered, the front layer being an iron grate, and the rear layer being large granite doors. In front of the gate stood three Imperial regular Legionaries, one in the center and two in each respective flank.

“Why are this city's doors the same material as the wall?” Starlight asked.

“They are opened by slaves specifically bred and trained to open city gates,” he replied.

“Halt!” barked the center guard, in a similar deep and harsh tone to the Wanderer's. “By order of the Mayor of Brustworth, and regional commander of the Fifth and Sixth Legions, a fee of forty schillings is required for entry into the city.”

“Preposterous,” the Wanderer barked back, “demanding an entry fee into an Imperial settlement under any circumstance is strictly against Imperial protocol. Let me speak to your supervisor.”

“Negative. Centurion Steel Warhammer is in command of the gate guard. Nobody is to interrupt the Centurion without proper authorization.”

“Can you not tell that you are speaking to a Legionary First Cohort?”

“Your manner of dress does not conform with Legionary First Cohort uniform protocol.”

“And your manner of performance does not conform with Imperial City Garrison protocol.”

“Considering your precarious position in the matter, you are advised to take your grievances and insert them firmly into your anal cavity.”

The Wanderer stuck out his chest and raised his voice. “I will thrust the pointy end of my horn into your own anal cavity if you do not allow me conference with your supervisor.”

The guard growled, then mirrored the Wanderer's gestures. "Come try it, degenerate. See how far it gets you."

Suddenly, a purple light flashed just beside the two arguing Imperials, and an aged Legionary whose armor was draped in honorific metals and whose helmet was adorned with curled devil's horns appeared. His bloodshot yellow eyes and red coat was visible behind his visored stahlhelm. “By the Kaiser,” he shouted, “what the hell is going on here!?”

The Wanderer glared at the Centurion. "Are you aware that your subordinates are extorting money from those wishing to enter the town?”

The Centurion sighed. “I'm afraid I am, brother. It's an epidemic.”

“Explain, please.”

“Have you been living under a rock all this time, brother?”

“It is complicated. It is a story I would rather not bother you with.”

“Considering the peculiar state of your uniform, it must be very complicated. I'll let you spare me the details, and give you the gist of what's going on. Ever since we lost the Fourteenth Crusade some decades ago, things have been going downhill throughout the Empire. The Praetorians mutinied and killed the Kaiser that led the failed Crusade, and ever since, the Imperial Palace Throne has had no less than seven different asses plop down on it. The Imperial coffers grew empty as dignitaries had to be bribed and gladiatorial games had to be funded to keep them in power. Our current Kaiser is a young stallion barely out of the service, and only got in because the Praetorians held a bid for the throne, and he just happened to have the most cash for being sponsored by the Dreams family, who happen to own both the Goldberg Mining Guild and Sterling Arms and Armor Guild.

"Which led to the food shortages. Slaves throughout the Empire are starving, and even Imperial citizens need to pay for food at a premium, which is why extortion and robbery have been allowed to run rampant. The Kaiser intentionally put a cap on how much food could actually go to the Empire; he forced food producers to sell any surplus to the Byzuntonians at a price they practically couldn't refuse, to get just enough schillings from tariffs in the coffers to fund a fifteenth Crusade to take mining settlements from the Saracens and for the Dreams family. Because our pool of labor is shrinking, and food has become scarce, the entire economy is going down the sewer pipe.

"As much as I like seeing Saracens dying and bleeding out on the desert sand, this premature Crusade is only going to destabilize the Empire further, wouldn't you agree?”

The Wanderer nodded. “Of course. It is only common sense that we make sure our own home turf is stable before we worry about wars abroad.”

“So you understand. Look, I can't reprimand this Legionary for violating protocol, but I can tell him to make an exception for you and your companions.”

“Thank you, Centurion.”

“Anytime, brother.” He turned his head to the gatekeeper. “Open the gate, soldier.”

The gatekeeper gave his Centurion the Imperial salute. “Sir!” he exclaimed.

The Centurion turned back to the Wanderer. “Be safe, brother.” He lit his horn, then disappeared in a flash.

With the clattering of mechanisms opening the iron gate and the audible dragging of the rock doors opening into the city filling the air, the way for the three adventurers into Brustworth was made.

The city introduced itself with its extravagant marble buildings that had nonetheless been allowed to become stained with the sand and cracked from ill maintenance. From those buildings hung the tattered Imperial banners, horizontal tricolors of red, white, and black, with the tan desert hawk in the center, spread and clutching axes in its talons. In the center of the main square stood proudly a bronze statue of a robed and hooded unicorn gripping a very thick book, still glistening with polish despite everything else falling into neglect.

“Who's that on the statue?” asked Starlight.

“That is our Prophet, founder of the Empire, and common ancestor of all Imperials, Planetvoid. It is he, slayer of a hundred traitorous soldiers of the usurpers Celestia and Luna, who was blessed by the Lord after our exile into the Wasteland for his outstanding valor and skill at arms, and who sits at the right hand of God in the Hall of the Fallen.”

Starlight cocked an eyebrow. “Usurpers? I was told that Celestia and Luna came to power peacefully.”

“You were told wrong, Miss Glimmer. Do you recall the story of the Gem of Mount Athon?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“I am sure you know that Equestria was once ruled by the Three Councils.”

“Yes. The Earth Pony, Pegasus, and Unicorn councils, thousands of years ago. Then the Diarchs came down from the sky and showed us Harmony, albeit in the primitive and backward-thinking manner that is still employed today. How are they usurpers?”

“Do you know that there was no unanimous decision to submit to the Diarchs?”

“So that's what the war was about? Regime change?”

“Correct.”

“Who would have opposed Celestia and Luna?”

“Those righteous few of the Unicorn Council who believed in and fought for the natural order of the world.”

“Natural order?”

“Even within ponykind, there is a racial hierarchy. As you already know, we unicorns are blessed with horns that allow us to, through our own wills, manipulate the material world through the aether that binds all matter together, and commit feats of miraculousness. This has driven us to be the foremost scholars, the foremost craftsmen, and the foremost warriors, of ponykind. This monopoly of force and knowledge allowed the Council of Unicorns to be the de facto ruling class of all ponykind, with the two other Councils subservient to it. Our creator made the earth pony and the pegasus to be our servants.”

“But wait. Most unicorns can hardly do anything with their horns. Lifting small objects is about all they can muster. Unicorns like us are a rarity. An exception to the rule. How does that make unicorns superior to the physically strong earth ponies, or the pegasi who are capable of flight?”

“A rather unfortunate side effect of dilution of the pure unicorn blood. After coming to power, the Diarchy permitted and encouraged miscegenation, the purpose of which was to destroy the racial consciousness in order to better dominate all three. You see, there is a reason why the two of us are more powerful than most unicorns.”

“Because most unicorns actually have very little unicorn blood left in them, and this dilution of the blood also caused a reduction in their power over the aether.”

“Clever mare. Again, you are correct. You see, although the more dissolute of the unicorns bent to this lesser part of the Diarchy's agenda, a few did not. The male portion of this few opted to sire children from the Diarchs so that their family lines would be in positions of wealth and privilege. The Diarchs, recognizing the need for a vanguard nobility at their behest, agreed. Those few became what is today the Canterlot nobility. You, Miss Glimmer, are a direct descendant of those few of pure blood.”

Starlight cocked an eyebrow. “Pure blood? But Celestia and Luna are alicorns. How can I be a pure-blooded unicorn when I have alicorns in my family tree?”

“One cannot be an alicorn from birth. Or at least, it has never happened before in recorded history. Any pony from any of the three races can become an alicorn through powerful enough magic. Celestia and Luna were powerful unicorns in their own right, but then they found the Alicorn Amulet.”

“I've heard of the Alicorn Amulet. Some bitter stage actress wore it to get revenge or something. At least, that's what I've read on the newspaper. Quite the trinket, but it doesn't sound like anything of their caliber.”

“The Alicorn Amulet today is a shell of what it was thousands of years ago, stripped of its former glory and corrupted by evil spirits. It was forged of an ancient metal alloy that has been lost to history, and enchanted with runes by the most skilled artisans of the Council. This Amulet was of such power that any unicorn who wore it could destroy the planet with a single thought, given he was of strong enough will to wield that power without it disintegrating his brain.”

“Wouldn't that kind of power be incredibly well-protected?”

“On paper, yes. But the Council had devolved into a state of complacency. Corruption and nepotism were abundant. There were times when the Amulet was left completely unguarded. It was a historical inevitability that the Council would come into direct conflict with its subjects, and the Amulet was the prime tool to resolve this conflict into its synthesis. Unfortunately, is was the Council's enemies that got to it before they did. The sisters got to the Amulet with great ease, and with it, gave themselves godlike powers to which the only answer the Council had was to summon another god from the plane of Tartarus. That god is our Lord.”

“Oh. Him. You've mentioned Him before. I hear you pray to Him every night, and every morning when I get up early enough. Tell me about Him.”

“Our Lord, His Divine Majesty, the Ever Most Mighty and Powerful, whose holy name must not be spoken without proper rank nor without proper context, gave us a fighting chance against the Diarchs. Summoning Him was not easy: the Council had to secretly gather one thousand virgins in secret so that the grand ritual could begin. Our Lord requires blood sacrifice, you see. It fuels him and grants him power. For this, adherence to His law, and the highest respect, loyalty, and obedience; our Lord grants us His blessings, so that we may forever be victorious in battle. Upon His arrival from Tartarus, Our Lord rose the dead up from the earth to assist us in overthrowing the Diarchy and establishing our righteous rule over ponykind. Unfortunately, this army of the undead proved too feeble, and although the war was long and bloody, we lost, and were banished to the Wasteland.”

“And the Empire is made up of their descendants.”

“Only one. Our Lord, angry with defeat at the hands of the Diarchs, killed those of the Council who had survived, and damned them to eternal hellfire. Only one was spared: Planetvoid. Our Lord dictated to him His divine law, and created for him a mare from the sand so that future generations may die and kill for His glory and in His name. That book he carries in the statue is the Holy Scripture, which was dictated to him directly from God from the day of our exile until his death.”

“Hm. You know, I think I'm starting to understand why you Imperials are the way you are.”

“You will have a bit of time to build on that understanding. Please take the rest of the day to tour the town. In the morning, we will be crossing Brustworth Bridge, and making our way to the Byzuntonian city of Cordelphi. The trip should take no more than a week or two.”

“My birthday's coming up in about that time.”

“Is it now? If you do not mind me asking, how old will you be?”

“Thirty.”

“My, you are young.”

“Do you know when you were born, Wanderer?”

“My birthday was not too long ago.”

“Why didn't you tell us? I would've gotten you a gift.”

“The only birthday an Imperial celebrates is the day the Empire was born.”

“I could've guessed. I didn't think it was possible, but your entire country makes a rock farm look fun by comparison. And trust me, that's saying something.”

“I will not dispute that. It is getting dark, after all. It would be wise for you to arrange some lodging for the three of us. I will make some arrangements of my own.”

“Where would I find a hotel?”

“Go to District D, Sub-District 4. That is where foreign merchants and tourists go for lodging.” He leaned closer, to whisper into her ear. “District D is a hotspot for the Imperial Secret Service, so keep constant vigil over your own conduct, and especially of the imbecile's conduct.”

“Secret Service?”

“Do not tell me that you thought that spying on your populace with agents hidden in plain sight was your own original idea.”

“Wha- how could you tell I was doing that?”

“Never mind that. I cannot stress enough the importance of good conduct. Remain soft-spoken, and avoid direct confrontation. You will probably lose any physical altercation you get into with any Imperial, and there is nothing an Imperial likes more than physical altercation.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“There are some things I must tend to alone. I think you will enjoy some of the fine blood sports that are shown in the Amphitheater in District C, Sub-District 1, although you should probably keep Party Favor away from them.”

“What would I see?”

“Duels to the death, team death-matches, and executions designed purely for spectacle are the most common acts showcased in the Amphitheater.”

“Ooh, that does sound fun. I'll take back what I said about this place being less fun than a rock farm. It does have a certain charm to it.”

“Be safe, Miss Glimmer, and do enjoy yourself here.” With that, the Wanderer turned away from Starlight and Party Favor, and went off on his way. Party Favor felt some weight fall off him as he no longer felt the Wanderer's cold, judgmental presence looming over him.

“So what do we do now, Starlight?” Party Favor asked Starlight.

“We should ask around for directions," Starlight replied. "I'd hate to get lost in a town I don't know. Our friend really should have told us how to get to this place.” Party Favor looked around for citizens that might have something to say, but between the stone-faced Legionaries marching single file up and down the city streets, battered and bruised slaves whose stares were entirely null and void and whose ribs stuck out from their chests, and the more elder civilian Imperials who looked nothing short of ancient, there was nobody he thought he'd feel comfortable approaching. Eventually, he did see someone: a pretty blue earth pony mare, whose cutie mark, like those of the rest of the slaves, was superimposed on by a burn scar, this one with a six-pointed star whose lines were all bent at ninety degree angles. He'd noticed this particular brand on many slaves, but it wasn't the only one burned on slaves' flanks. Fighting his fear, Party Favor shuffled to the slave, who was intently stacking an empty barrel onto a cart.

“Um, excuse me, ma'am” he stuttered, “but can you tell me where we can find District D, Sub-District 4?”

The slave grunted in reply.

“District D. Sub-District 4. Tell us how to get there, please.”

The slave grunted harder. She turned around to go get another cart, and Party Favor caught a glimpse at her back; he could've sworn he saw stubs of severed appendages. 'This isn't an earth pony,' he thought to himself, 'this is a pegasus! Why would her wings be clipped like that?' But before he could come up with a guess, he was interrupted by a voice beside him.

“You there!” shouted a guttural, butch-sounding mare's voice beside him, “Get away from my property, unless you want to be a heap of paste!”

He looked to the one who shouted at him. It was a young-looking, sky blue, Imperial mare staring down at him with angry red eyes. Despite being a mare, she was still much larger and more muscular than Party Favor. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I was just asking her a question.”

She tilted her head slightly and widened her eyes. “Are you stupid, little boy? Don't you know that slaves can't talk?”

“Why not?” asked Party Favor.

“Haven't you ever heard of a lobotomy, little boy? Doctors cut out parts of the thing's brain so it's dumber. Makes 'em more complacent. Doesn't look like it'd make much of a difference in your case.”

“Is there a problem here?” Starlight interjected.

“Is this thing yours?” the mare asked, pointing to Party Favor.

“He is.”

“You really should consider getting that thing lobotomized. It's way too mouthy to be a good slave.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” The mare rolled her eyes and was about to turn away. “Wait!” Starlight called out.

The mare snapped an annoyed glare to Starlight. “What now?”

“Can you take us to District D, Sub-District 4?”

“Why would I want to waste my time chauffeuring a couple of uppity barbarians who belong in the slave market?”

“We'll pay you. We'll pay you well.”

“Hm...” the mare rubbed her chin as her eyes loosened from irateness to curiosity. “How well are we talking?”

Starlight levitated a pouch of coins off Party Favor's back and in front of the mare. After exchanging magical grips, the mare untied the rope that kept the pouch closed, and looked inside. Her mouth grew a toothy grin, and she chuckled.

“Oh, this is gonna buy some good cuts of beef! Choice! Prime!” she chirped just before she started walking to their destination. “Okay, maybe you aren't so bad after all. Can you tell me your name, barbarian?”

“My name is Starlight Glimmer,” she said, following the mare. “This stallion accompanying me is Party Favor. What's your name?”

“I'm Shattered Bones. I used to have another name, 'till I got into the habit of breaking the bones of stallions attempting to court me.”

Starlight pursed her lips. “What? Why? How does courtship even work in your country?”

“Well, when a stallion takes a fancy to a mare, what he does is he asks her father's permission to wrestle her while he watches. If he succeeds by keeping her pinned or locked for a full ninety seconds, and her father approves of the way he does it, then the stallion pays the mare's father a dowry and they marry.”

“The mare has no say in this at all. Really.”

“She could tell her father that she doesn't fancy the stallion, and if the father is very, very generous, then he might take her wishes into consideration. But most of the time, no, the mare doesn't. It's up to the stallions to determine each others' strength, and having lots of strong foals is the single most important thing a mare can do for the Empire.”

“Hm. Alright. So, do you have your own stallion yet, Bones?”

“Not yet, but there's this one aspiring recruit for the Praetorian Guard that I've had my eyes on for a while. I can hardly believe he only has one wife...”

The two continued to talk on their way to District D. They enjoyed some chit-chat with each other, and Shattered Bones would tell Starlight a little bit about any city landmarks that they happened to pass by. Party Favor remained passive, something to which he'd grown accustomed. He'd grown to tolerate this constant fear that everything and everyone in the Wasteland – and indeed, the very Wasteland, itself – hated him and wanted to watch him suffer. He'd even grown to tolerate the nightmares that haunted him every night. He'd thought about killing himself for a long time now, but even with the hope that things will get better eroding at every second, his undying loyalty to Starlight Glimmer and the ideals of Our Town kept him from doing so.

Some time later, they made it to their destination just as Starlight was finishing telling Bones a funny story. The hotel building was a wide three-story mud-brick building. The building kept its silence, and most of its windows were closed, as if it was asleep.

“...and then I told her, 'those aren't muffins! Those are rocks!'”

Bones had a hearty laugh. “Oh, you Equestrians and your baked goods. I didn't even know you could make sweets from grains. And here I thought it was all just bread and hard-tac!” She paused. “Well, here we are. I'd love to keep chatting with you, but it'll be curfew in a few hours. Father doesn't like me staying out past curfew, and neither does the city guard.”

“Is there still time for me to see shows in the Amphitheater?”

“Oh, the Amphitheater! I love the Amphitheater! Good stuff there, especially at night. It's free, too. Paid out of politicians' pockets. Lucky for us, the Fireball Races are tonight! I might even see you there.”

“Fireball Races? What are those?”

“Well, it's one of those 'execution sports' that have gotten popular over the last twenty years or so. Really recent. What happens is there are four teams of seven condemned criminals, and each of them wears a tunic covered in a flammable gel. They line up one at a time along the starting line. When the referee gives the signal, the ones along the starting line are lit on fire, and they have to make it past the finishing line before the other three racers. The winner is rewarded with a mercy killing – a quick beheading with one of those cutting spells that the elite Legionaries learn in training – and the rest are dragged aside to slowly burn to death. There's lots of gambling over which team's going to win. I've made quite a bit of money, myself, betting on the Fireball Races.”

“How do you expect them to see past all that fire?”

“That's the fun of it! There's not much that's funnier than watching them run around like headless chickens trying to make it past goalposts that are only fifty meters away. You can tell that it's a comedy act, right?”

“Honestly, I could barely get past the idea of lighting ponies on fire as a state-sanctioned public spectacle.”

Bones let out a thunderous laugh and put a hoof over her chest. “You Equestrians are adorable! You're like those squishy little teddy bears that foreign children play with. Maybe I'll ask dad to take me to the slave market so I can find us an Equestrian in the slave market for a pet. I'll get one that reminds me of you!” She went off on her way, then turned her head back to them. “I'll see you in the Amphitheater, Starlight!”

Starlight smiled and waved goodbye at Shattered Bones, and waited for her to look away before quickly melting her smile away and leaning into Party Favor's ear to whisper. “And they call us barbarians,” she uttered. “Come. We need to get a room for three, and a map of the city. You can go into the bed and rest while I go to the theater, okay?”

Party Favor nodded in agreement, and the two entered the hotel.

A grey lobby of spartan décor awaited them. They were greeted by a bespectacled Imperial mare whose face was wrinkled like a raisin, shuffling through a stack of papers on a dull wooden desk, and a pegasus slave, again, with its wings cut off.

The receptionist looked to Starlight with glazed eyes. “Welcome to Brustworth International Hotel and Lodging," she said in a monotone, "where foreigners are treated almost as if they were our equals. How may I help you?”

“Yes, can I have a room for three, please?”

The receptionist flipped through some more papers like they were drawn animation slides, then slipped one out and skimmed through it. “You want one with a view?”

“Um, no, thank you.”

She nodded and smacked her flaccid lips, showing her toothless gums for just a split second. “Okay, you want room B-20. That's room number twenty on the second floor. Understand?”

“Yes. Thank you. Oh, and if you see a guy in a suit of armor with a lizard skull glued on it, tell him we're here, okay ma'am?”

“One night, room for three, that will be thirty schillings.”

Starlight took a sack of coins off Party Favor's back, and placed it on the receptionist's desk. The receptionist opened the sack with magic, and removed the silver coins one at a time and placed them in a drawer under her desk, until exactly thirty coins were transferred. She grunted and nudged her head in the direction of the staircase, which Starlight and Party Favor walked up to and began climbing after reclaiming the coin sack.

The door to Room B-20 creaked as Starlight opened it with her magic. It was a cramped, musty, and dank place where there laid three mattresses, glorified bales of hay barely big enough for a pig, unceremoniously draped in wool blankets. They could hear the subtle pitter-patter of mice scurrying in the walls, and the room smelled like the hay they were meant to sleep on.

“This is terrible!” Starlight whined, turning to Party Favor. “And here I thought your living quarters back at home sucked. I'm going to go ahead and put a ward on this room to keep out the rats and cockroaches. You... you try your best to get some sleep, okay? Bones told me about a shuttle that'll take us to where we're going next. We're taking that tomorrow.”

He nodded, plopped the load he was carrying on his back onto the ground, then dragged his hooves towards the nearest bed. He threw himself onto the bed, not even bothering to cover himself with the blanket, and closed his eyes. Like every night, he was conflicted: he was happy to have another night of rest, but he dreaded the thought of another one of those nightmares. However, being as exhausted as he was from the day's exertions, it didn't take long for him to drift into his bittersweet slumber to prepare for the day ahead. After all, the smell reminded him of home. Next Chapter: Chapter 6 Estimated time remaining: 7 Hours, 34 Minutes