***

“Roll up! Roll up! See the Great and Powerful Trixie first hand, as she marvels you with her magical might!”
Trixie Lulamoon, The Avatar of Albion: Tales of the War.

***

Griffonspire, The Griffon Empire. January 15th, Year 8 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2032 human calendar).

The city of Griffonspire was surprisingly open to having ponies around, a fact for which Trixie Lulamoon was incredibly grateful. The towering, gothic spires and eyries of the city, overlooking the streets with an oddly predatory air, were not pleasant for her as it was, the unpleasant attitude of the locals certainly didn’t help.

With a (horribly dirty) brown cloak draped over her body, under which was an equally dirty cloth saddlebag, she liked to think she was relatively incognito at present. The city was quiet, though - very few Griffons (or ponies) looked to be around. Not that she was entirely surprised: the war between the Solaminan Empire and the Griffon Empire had drained the Griffons of much of their economic might. That they were still holding on was a testament to their millennia-old war machine and sheer tenacity.

Trixie had only rarely ventured out as far as the Griffon Empire. She had been to Griffon-held lands of course: old provinces like Griffonstone, shared towns like Stalliongrad, or colonies like Aquila Nova, but never a city in the Empire itself. She wouldn't have been here now, except that she didn't really have a choice. Nopony did, anymore. The information - and the repeated request - she carried was too important.

“Go to the Griffons and ask them to send help,” Octavia said grimly.

Trixie frowned. “They'll say no. They always say no.”

“We can't afford to not try,” Octavia retorted. She held up a scroll. “Besides - you'll have something new to show them…”

As much as she didn't like the risks, Trixie was the only pony with the experience of travelling beyond Equestria’s borders that could be spared for the mission.

Turning down a small street labelled ‘Abe Lane’, she approached a small wooden door built into the side of one of the giant buildings. She tapped once.

“Who goes there?” a muffled voice asked.

“A journey, blue,” she replied.

There was a pause on the other side as the other voice registered the phrase. “How far have you come?”

“Through fire and water,” Trixie replied dutifully.

The door opened, and a tan Pegasus mare with a greying mane opened the door, her eyes hard. She wore a leather Griffon-issue military jerkin, and a safari hat was incongruously placed on her head.

“You're late,” Daring Do said sharply.

“You know there's a war on, right?” Trixie said with a scowl. “It's not exactly easy to get out of Equestria unnoticed.”

Daring Do harrumphed. “You'd better come in.”

Their meeting place was a small room, a wooden table at the centre. A proud looking Griffon in a leather military uniform, the symbol of one of their great houses stamped on it, was staring at Trixie with undisguised suspicion and hostility.

“My lord,” Daring Do said to him with a slight bow, “this is Trixie Lulamoon of the Equestrian Resistance.”

The Griffon looked her up and down, a disbelieving expression on his face.

“This is the fabled ringleader of the Blue Channels?” he said haughtily. “I find myself rather unimpressed.”

“And who are you?” Trixie asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Greynar van Gant, son of Garth van Gant of the Sons of Aquilas,” the Griffon replied snootily. “I am here representing the Griffon Empire in our… dealings with your group.”

“Right,” Trixie said with a snort. She turned to Daring. “So - what's new?”

“Nothing good,” Daring said mournfully.

“What's ‘new’ is that we are denying your plea,” Greynar said with a scowl. “We have neither the soldiers nor the resources to spare for the humans: we are beset enough as it is without aiding a war effort across worlds.”

Trixie groaned. “You're kidding. You're bucking kidding.”

Daring Do sighed. “I was hoping to report this myself to Octi via projector. I know it's not what she wants to hear -”

“You're darn right it isn't,” Trixie said. “Especially given the news I’ve come with.”

She pulled a scroll from her saddlebag and gave it to Daring, who frowned as she opened it and read the contents.

“More moles?” she said, passing the scroll to Greynar. “What are they doing?!”

Greynar narrowed his eyes as he glanced over it. “Not just moles. Griffon and Horse prisoners, Simian political dissidents, Diamond Dogs, Changelings… quite a formidable collection of slaves they've collected at Foal Mountain.” He snorted. “This fortress she’s building must be quite something.”

“Your intelligence services still thinks she’s making a fortress?” Daring asked with a frown of disbelief.

“It's what we would do,” the Griffon replied haughtily. “The Empire’s forces have made fortresses in mountains for years. There are no sturdier places to build a stronghold: height and terrain are both on your side and -”

“Alright, fine, we get it,” Trixie interrupted with a smirk. “You've got a stiffy for forts.”

Greynar snorted and scowled at her. “Don't be so crass. Is not Canterlot built upon a mountain? It is clearly, how you say, ‘her style’. And a fortress built into a mountain, at the scale she is clearly building at, is not something to be sniffed at.”

Daring Do sighed. “You're right about that.”

“Would certainly fit her ego,” Trixie said with a shrug. “But whatever it is, you do realise it means she's just getting more powerful. It's times like this that we need to stand together with our allies, not abandon them.”

Greynar’s expression softened. “I don't wish to be insensitive to the plight of the humans. I pity them their losses, and honour them for their bravery, but they are a world away. They cannot help us, and it is doubtful we can spare the forces to help them. Homos is Equestria’s vassal, and it's conquest of Simos was complete - even now we only have a scant handful of refugees coming from there. The Qilin have spent years rebuilding since Luoyong was attacked, and Yamato is tearing itself apart. The Horses do nothing, the Moles are hiding and the Minotaurs are scattered to the winds. We are losing this war.”

“Then that's all the more reason for is to stand together,” Daring Do said. “I've been telling Emperor Gardell for years now that he needs to speak with the other kingdoms. He can’t keep fighting the empire by himself.”

“His majesty is still grief-stricken and angry,” Greynar said with a sigh. “Simply suggesting he can’t win this war with his own strength could enrage him. He won’t listen to reason and none of the dukes and princes will dare refuse him. The entire empire has been insulted by Solamina: doubly so since Abelard’s fall.”

“But - but fighting alone is suicidal!” Trixie said.

“It’s how Griffons think,” Daring Do said with a groan. “He threw me out of the palace for trying to convince him. I’ve been barred from even approaching the gates.”

Trixie sighed. “How in the name of the white horse does ‘his majesty’ think he can win alone?!”

Greynar shrugged. “He's young and hot-headed. But even were he not, we still could not help your human friends.”

Trixie sighed. “Great. Now Trixie has to walk all the way back to Equestria, and I don't even have good news to bring them.”

Greynar frowned, looking over the scroll again. “Perhaps you might have something.”

“What?” Trixie asked bitterly.

Greynar indicated the scroll. “I will bring this before the Emperor. If the Sun Alicorn is building a new fortress, a stronghold of this kind of scale, this might finally galvanise our Emperor into truly forging alliances, bringing together all who oppose the Empress - or at least, letting his Dukes offer terms to our neighbours for some sort of support.”

“How likely is that?” Daring Do asked.

Greynar smiled wryly. “Gardell is grief stricken. Not an idiot.” He paused, before looking at Trixie. “If there is any consolation to be had for your friends, Trixie Lulamoon, it is that there is hope yet that we will defeat Solamina here before the humans are wiped out.”

“I’m sure that would have made them feel better a few years ago,” Trixie said quietly. “But the way I hear it these days, they're on their last legs as is. By the time you've finished playing politics, they'll be wiped out.”

“Such is the way of things,” Greynar said with a sigh.

Daring Do shrugged, her expression empty. “Life sucks.”

Author's Notes:

Howdy readers :-) Hope you've enjoyed this little glimpse of this version of Solaminan Equus and the conflicts therein. My thanks to RoyalPsycho for helping to flesh out some of the politics stuff.

Cheers,

Jed.