Chapter 68

The Court of Conquerors

Their expansive journey was one of snowcapped mountains and winding shallow rivers, dusty hills and bright sand dunes, fields of rocky outcroppings and tiny farming villages scattered throughout. The scattered ruins of empire come before and fallen away to the sands of time, returned to the dust from whence they came. Some were the remains of cities and fortresses, ruins of that which the Marengols had crushed beneath their combined feet and hooves, ground down and destroyed like so many before them. Others had been abandoned by the fear of approaching Marengols, left to wither and die or be retaken at later dates by passing survivors. A few of these had already been claimed by the hordes, many of the more ostentatious buildings being torn apart and reused for far more utilitarian needs and services.

Yet as time went on, the emptier the land became, rocky desert and sparse grasses replacing all else, the mountains growing further behind in the distance. They came across no settlements, few rivers, and the ever-present layers of dust coated everything, soldiers and carriages alike. Even in what was undoubtedly the early onset of winter, the heat from direct sunlight remained oppressive, relieved by the deeper chill of the night air. Spike had never experienced cold like those nights, whenever he remained perched on the carriage rooftop, looking up at stars never seen by Equestrian eyes.

The region had a strange effect on them all, this seemingly barren wasteland, where the only signs of life were the sparse regions of grass and the occasional small riverbed, likely only flowing from the snowmelt of spring in more distant lands. His spell breath was becoming more and more difficult to conjure, messages sometimes needing great concentration to send or receive, and thus communications with Equestria fell by the wayside.

The others could sense it too, much of their magic no longer as powerful as it had once been, even that of Chrysalis. Perhaps it was the lack of life in the area that drove it, or the great vastness sapping their energy in some way. Even Spike’s inner fire, that which gave him abilities others could scarcely imagine, dimmed somewhat, as if he were experiencing a mildly debilitating chill to his very core, a plight he downplayed to the others. This place, it was clear as to why none had conquered the land with spells and potions, as had so many others in such similarly inhospitable locales. Or, perhaps it was due to the long shadows of the great mountain range to the south, the vast Himarelayas, scraping the sky with their magnificent peaks and casting figurative shadows over the vast empty wastes?

Yet, soon enough, the grass became less sparse, more abundant, though the days grew colder, as did the nights. Soon, grass was found in abundance, short yes but still in greater quantity, and this was where they met their first signs of habitation.

Small huts, domiciles built from whatever materials could be harvested from the Marengolian steppes or traded from neighbors, easily collapsible yet sturdy when erected. Either individually or in small groups, they would find these gers accompanied by those who dwelt in them, as well as the herds of goats and occasional sheep they cared for. Marengolians had a fondness for them, for every ger had such creatures around it, watched with great care by the family that cared for them, always on the lookout for threats.

For danger on these steppes may not always be predators, nor the cold, which continued to increase as they entered what had been far greener lands. Here, snow rarely fell, according to the locals amongst the returning soldiers, but the storms were the worst sort of danger. Much like the Everfree Forest, and indeed the rest of the world, there was no controlling the winds and rain here, nor directing the lightning and thunder. Though rain was minimal, the thunderstorms themselves inspired fear in all who dwelt upon the steppe.

When all you had for protection was your ger, out amidst high winds and rumbling thunder and the great flashes of lightning, your protection was minimal at best. Being the tallest object on an open area was not a source of comfort either, for it made you as much a target as a witness to the might of the storm.

Spike was not sure what to make of it. Magic seemed weaker here, as if something drained it from this land, and the land itself could not support a great number of, well, anything or anyone, yet those living here carried on, seemingly without a whisper of complaint. Then again, the weak did not last long here, according to those same guides.

It reminded him of his guides through the Samarea Desert, and the lands outside of the palace of Saddla Arabia. To think, only the most remote or desolate of places like these existed in Equestria, and many remained unexplored or uninhabited, deemed unfit for those who had no adaptions capable of taming or living in harmony with the land. Even the superficially-barren lands of the bison were inhabitable, rich in bounty for those who were able to work the land and utilize its resources to their fullest.

After weeks more, where the daytime temperatures never rose above freezing, and Spike himself had taken to wearing thicker clothes, lined with fine wool from the herds of sheep found further in these lands, they came to the crest of a hill, and in the distance, there it lay.

The city of Karakorum, the capital of the Marengolian Empire. A vast, sprawling expanse of gers, surrounded by roaming bands of shepherds tending to their flocks. At the very center lay what would have been a small town in another realm, but it was likely the only true collection of permanent buildings out here in the steppes, the cost of moving building materials such as this likely incredibly expensive, but for all their conquests, Marengols had coin to spare for such projects.

Yet around all of this lay more gers, but these were not those of a simple civilian population. These were those of armies, their tents and troops intermingled in all manner in a great swath around the area, with large alleys between them for flocks to move out further towards fresher pasture. If not for the ground being fairly frozen, Spike was certain this many beings out and walking around would have surely ground the short grasses into dust, sending up clouds of the stuff at all times of day.

A loud horn signaled their arrival, and in the distance, he could see a troupe of soldiers move away from the group, coming up to intercept them. On the open plains, there were few that could beat a Marengolian in a footrace, so the general had told him, and Spike believed that. Like Equestria’s trains at full speed, their gait was as fast as it was relentless, seeming to almost glide over the ground despite the odd bump or hill.

Even more impressive, they were barely short of breath when they came to a halt at the front of the army, where Spike’s carriage and the general had managed to advance to.

“General Sukhbataar,” one at the front said, his armor matching with Spike’s host, giving a salute of sorts. A Marengolian, grizzled and clearly a veteran, yet no slower in his age than any of the younger stallions by his side, and curiously without a weapon at his side.

“General Batzorig, it is good to see you again,” Sukhbataar replied, saluting as well. “Have the other generals arrived?”

“You are believed to be the last, though only by a few hours. General Qadan arrived earlier this morning, and made good time for a Naga, I might add.”

“Considering he might perish if he stays in one place too long, where the cold of winter may claim him, I cannot fault him for such haste. Where will my troops be stationed? The journey from the land of the Persians has been long and there is much that needs to be done.”

“They are to be on the far side, opposite the great fields cleared for the celebrations. The Khan-to-be has announced that upon the completion of his coronation, there will be a great series of games to honor the Marengolian people, with contests of all kinds, including favors, riches, supplies, and appointments in his growing circle, though as to when this will happen remains uncertain at this time. Word has it your brother has already earned his favor and joined his council, as he had before the death of the last Khan.”

At this, Sukhbataar seemed, to Spike, a little startled, though he quickly recovered. “When is the ceremony? I should like to give my troops a good rest before anything else should arise.”

“The beginning will be tonight, after sundown, and will continue through the night amidst a vigil, one of the newer traditions he intends to establish. After that, it will be in the morning, throughout the entire day, with feasting and entertainment for all,” Batzorig said, turning to the others as the troops passed by. “Who is this?”

“This would be a guest of ours, along with others,” the dog replied. “They are with diplomats from the Persian king, likely trying to attempt a peace with the new Khan. They are from Equestria, and have, by all accounts, traveled many months and leagues to Karakorum.”

“Equestria?” Batzorig asked. “I’ve only heard rumors of such a place, it is much like Shambala according to some, a place long believed to be nothing more than myth.”

“I assure you, it is real,” Spike said, removing his woolen hood and hat enough to reveal his face. The cold had made it necessary to cover up during the colder periods, but thankfully once the sun arose he was comfortable enough to dress far more plainly. “I go by Spike, General Batzorig.”

“A dragon?” To Spike’s surprise, the general had none, only a mild curiosity as he glanced at the folded wings slightly sticking out from his clothes. “A sky dragon as well. Interesting, I am certain the Khan-to-be will wish to meet with you soon.”

“Where shall we be staying?” the dragon asked. “We’ve room in our carriage but we’re not sure it’d be the best place to stretch our legs after being cooped up for so long.”

“We? Are there more of you?”

“The dragon has been travelling with his family,” Sukhbataar said, motioning to the carriage. “They have been in this enchanted wheelhouse for their protection, as well as secrecy. My soldiers have had a long, tiresome campaign, and would likely have found little restraint within them had their unknown guests revealed themselves.”

“Indeed, they will require lodgings, along with such a distinguished guest,” Batzorig said. “See to your troops, general, I shall take these visitors off your paws. Remember, your weapons are to be put under guard, for Karakorum will brook none disturbing this glorious gathering. Be sure to get some rest, and maybe cleaned up, you look like dried shit, old friend.”

The diamond dog smiled at that with a friendly growl, giving another salute before bellowing an order, his previously-halted troops now moving towards the city.

“Come, the day may still be young, but the sun will set sooner than later at this time of year,” the stallion replied, motioning for them to follow. “Your lodgings will be in the palace proper, where other dignitaries dwell. How many are in your party?”

The carriage lurched, as if knowing the way, as Spike followed the Marengolian. “Well, including myself, there are six of us. What of the diplomats?”

“They shall have separate quarters, in a different portion of the surrounding buildings. Best that they do, as they will require more guards to keep them safe from potential adversaries within the Khan’s expansive retinue.”

After that, the trip was silent, Spike taking time to take in as much of the surroundings as he could. The fields of goats and sheep stunk, piles of dung being collected by various species in large carts. The gers were as varied as those living in them, with some clearly designed for a small family circling larger ones that could likely hold several families, perhaps even a small tribe itself. Colors ranged from black to white to brown, with some of the more ostentatious gers featuring varying symbols and decorations, many of them clearly of some sort of significance to their dwellers.

Yet, after the trampled grass and cold dust departed, the buildings of stone before them were of stark contrast to the field of gers. Dark buildings, with sloped roofs and thick walls, stood in neat rows in outward arcs, surrounding the palace proper like so many followers kneeling before a mighty ruler. The palace, from the outside, was stout, not very tall but more than tall enough to likely be the largest structure for hundreds of miles. Small walls, gatehouses, what had to be military barracks and a great deal of statues depicting all manner of creatures and beings both civilized and wild encircled it all, some of it decorative and some clearly defensive in nature.

This was not an old landmark, having been erected merely a generation or two before, if Spike recalled correctly. It bore little weathering, the stones likely inlaid with what little magic could be called in strength in this wild place. Or perhaps the spells upon these stones were cast where magic remained stronger, and then brought in for construction?

He would need to ask Chrysalis about such magic in more depth before they settled in for the night. He was not as Twilight was, skilled and well-studied in such arcane arts. Most of his magical studies had focused entirely on draconic magic, which sadly there was often little o in the libraries of Equestria.

“Here we are,” Batzorig replied, bringing them to one of the largest of the stone structures outside of the palace itself. “There is no basement, due to the ice that digs deep into our dusty earth, but you should find it suitable enough for you and your companions.”

“My family,” Spike corrected.

“Family? Ah, I see,” the general replied, giving a nod. “I will inform the Khan-to-be of your arrival. In the meantime, I will have guards posted to your door.”

As soon as the Marengolian left, the two guards assumed attention at the door, clearly trained for such a purpose. Spike led his family out of the carriage, settling it as close to the building as possible, under a portion of the overhanging roof off to the side.

All shivered in the chill air, even at midday, and soon found themselves inside the foyer of what could only be described as a cozy, if rather rugged, cottage. There was only one window, over towards the kitchen, complete with an open pantry stocked with a variety of goods, and the glass of the window was so thick that one could barely see out of it. A small staircase off to the side ran up to a loft, open to view from below, and the ceiling above the loft was incredibly low, likely thick to preserve the hot air in such cold times. The fireplace was strange, a large open pile of burning something that sat below a large flume, up through which the smoke gently wafted.

The floor was packed dirt, almost like stone in its firmness, and all around lay rugs of varying designs, some clearly decorative and others of a more utilitarian design to cover up the dust and grime that would surely accumulate, as well as to cushion the feet from the cold ground. All in all, it seemed rather homey, if not a bit cramped in places.

“At least there’s a fire,” Chrysalis muttered, wrinkling her nose a bit as they explored their new abode, pausing to peruse the pantry. Within, a variety of dried vegetables, hay and varied ceramic pots greeted them, containing who-knows-what within their dry shells. “What is that smell?”

“I think it’s whatever is burning,” Maria said, pointing to the fireplace. “Dried dung, from the sheep and goats, if I’m not mistaken. Portions of the grass they eat will go through relatively devoid of nutrients, but still rich enough to be dried and used for fires. Shepherds out in the fields near my home will often use much the same to keep warm in the cooler climates up in the mountains.”

“Why not use wood?”

“What wood is there out here?” Trixie asked. “This place is as desolate as they come in this part of the world. Only the great deserts and the arctic circles are likely less suitable for habitation, and at least they have magic out there. I swear I can’t feel my horn half the time.”

“Yet the Marengolians call this home all the same, and we should be all the more appreciative of this,” Maria replied. “It was likely neither cheap nor easy to build in such a place. If things are not to our liking, I am sure we could stay in the carriage.”

“First of all, our winter clothes might need fixing,” Eutropia said, Asalah right behind her. “The Khan will likely want to meet more than just Spike, or at least his family will, and we can’t risk any of us catching a cold out in this kind of weather. Spike, you’re the best equipped for the cold, aren’t you?”

“Well, normally, yeah,” Spike said. “But lately I’ve felt sort of… I don’t want to say ill, but I think it’s the steppes themselves. Magic…”

“Seems to be rare here, or at least in short supply,” Chrysalis finished. “Almost as if something were blocking the winds of magic from reaching this place.”

“Whatever the case, let’s get settled in before-,”

There was a knock at their door, which upon opening, Spike found himself facing a pair of little old Marengolian mares, staring up at him with bright if rather toothless smile. He was sure neither could even reach his chest, had they not been so hunchbacked with age, but they stood as resolutely as statues, seemingly ignoring both cold and wind.

“Greetings,” one said, carrying a pair of baskets, her mane braided down to her shoulders.

“Clothes?” the other asked, carrying armfuls of wool and other materials.

Spike looked up at the guards, one of whom gave a nod. Well, unless he could somehow be overcome by two geriatric ponies, he saw no reason to doubt the guard’s acceptance of their presence. “Sure, come in, come in,” he replied, only for the two little mares to practically whiz past him.

“Come, come, clothes,” one said, laying out the materials near the small table in the center of the room, the rest of the supplies taking up its entirety.

“What?” Asalah asked. “What is wrong with our clothes?”

“New clothes needed, yes,” the first grandmare replied. Then again, with how ancient she looked, she might have been a great-grandmare for all they knew. “New clothes for meeting new Khan. Yes, yes, come, we measure now.”

Asalah didn’t have time to react before the second little mare had somehow appeared by her side and began taking measurements with a length of rope, holding her firmly in place despite the zebra giving a small neigh of surprise.

“Come, come, all new clothes, yes,” the first said, pointing at the rest of them in turn. “One after other, yes, new clothes for new Khan.”

General Batzorig had returned not long after the last of their clothes had been finished, the little mares clearly either masters of their work or able to work some sort of magic that the land didn’t block, for while rather plain compared to the various suits and dresses Spike and his family had worn in the past, they were positively snug where needed, and incredibly comfortable. Thick yet not stuffy, they blocked all manner of wind, enshrouding their wearer in a cozy layer of soft comfort that retained a great deal of heat, likely a lifesaver out in colder weather. Thankfully, too, for as sunset approached, and the beginnings of the ceremony were to begin, the air began to chill well past freezing, and would likely grow only colder as the night pressed on.

The interior of the palace, where the beginning of the ceremony was to take place, was far warmer than the outside, the great braziers casting shadows all around the interior from their great flames. The main dais was filled with relatively few beings, though they all seemed to be of great importance, and the majority of the others seemed to be scattered more towards the outside edge. On a great swath of ceremonial rugs knelt numerous officers, leaders of the arvt, zuut and mingghan regiments under the tumens the generals oversaw. Just as well, there were various dignitaries and civilian leaders appointed to the Khan’s cabinet, the diplomats from the Persian kingdom as well as other nearby regions, and amidst the huge number of guards, a number of beings Spike couldn’t quite figure out.

A light brown Marengolian, his yellow mane studded with bright jade rings and his red tail tied in a series of braids, stood by the side of a lit brazier, his amber eyes gazing intensely into the swirling flames.

A diamond dog, woolen coat wrapped around his frame as he stood by an even larger dog, this one bearing armor and a great ax much like Sukhbataar, yet even larger.

A well-dressed Marengolian with a large bundle strung across his back, the hints of shining metal poking from the top, his mane seemingly permanently stained with soot and ash.

The small chatter going around the outermost edges fell as a figure came in, abreast his guards. The Khan-to-be, dressed in heavy robes of incredible quality, bearing no crown, but walking with a purpose as if he were the only one in the world to do so. Even-faced, slightly grim but completely focused, he came to stand in front of the great cushioned throne, ringed by golden statues in the shape of stupas, representing the unique praying chambers for the Hoofist monks. Golden eyes, with a ruddy brown mane and even darker coat, he cut an imposing figure, if not in height than in presence alone, and he wasn’t exactly short either.

“Let us begin,” he said, his voice projecting clearly throughout the throne room. “Tomruulakh, you may begin.”

The fire-captivated pony rose to his hooves, pulling a small bag from his clothes as he did so. With a flourish, he tossed a handful of powder into the main brazier, and in an instant, a flash of bright red light filled the area, casting shadows in all directions, the fire burning higher than before.

“Born of conflict, arises the new dawn,” he began, tossing another handful of dust, the fire now turning a bright shade of white.

“Tempered with memory, begins amidst winter snow.”

More dust, with the fire turning a rather vibrant shade of green. “Come the spring, lush the steppes become.”

Another toss, the flames shrank slightly, their hues reducing to a more garish mix of indigo and violet.

“From the sky, song of creation flows.”

One final toss, the fire reducing to a pale whisper, the flames unnaturally grey, as if mixed evenly with ash and dust.

“Beware the past, secure the future presently.”

The flames, after this, returned to a more normal blend of hues, and the one called Tomruulakh bowed before his ruler.

“The signs be good, mighty one,” he replied, his jade rings sparkling in the light. “Marengolia will prosper under her new Khan, if he remembers the oath to his people, as well as the oaths to himself.”

“A set of oaths many have forgotten, yet not I,” the Khan said with a nod, turning to the others. “Tryeiblazyer, you may begin as well, bring me the selection of your greatest works.”

The other Marengolian, his strong form rising with careful grace, approached and laid before the stallion his bag, unfurling it to reveal the contents. A series of weapons, all of incredible quality, lay before the pair. Swords aplenty, as well as arrowheads, spear tips, the wood from an unstrung bow, and many others.

“All excellent, but only one may work for the purpose of my time as Khan,” the stallion said, nodding to one sword in particular. With a curve to the blade, it reminded Spike of some of the swords he’d seen further west, but it was somewhere in the middle, not nearly so curved as Saddle Arabian scimitars. Just as well, it was not a very long sword, just shy of a meter, but clearly very sharp along its cutting edge.

“An ild will defend as much as it will attack, and while the bow shall remain the weapon of my people, this ild will be the weapon of my reign.” He turned to the smaller diamond dog. “Khuudas Möngön, you are the last, yet certainly not the least; begin.”

The dog retrieved a simple crown from his clothes, bright jade inlaid into a strip of silver, upon which points of gold and bright rubies topped the circlet. Clearly a work of great time and skill, artfully decorated with small symbols, to Spike’s untrained eye, likely the written script of the Marengol’s complicated native language. Luckily almost all worldwide spoke the common tongue, or else things would be very difficult.

“With this crown, the first of its kind, I do so declare myself Khan of Marengolia, and all her peoples, in every corner of the realm. With them I shall continue to forge a might people, bring an end to the strife that divided us for so long, and under my rule, I shall see the establishment of our way of life onto the steppes, so that it may never be erased by the passage of time nor by force of arms. So proclaims your Khan!”

“So proclaims the Khan!” the three attendants cried.

“So proclaims the Khan!” the captains cried, their generals bowing deeply upon their rugs as they did so.

“So proclaims the Khan!” the rest of the palace echoed, as the lights from the fired blazed brighter for ever a few moments.

“Hear me now, Marengolia and all her people,” the Khan declared. “I, Tömörbaatar, do so claim the title of Khan, as did my forebears, as all have reaching until the founder of our people, Temujin, my ancestor. For now, I am your Khan, and with this, I pledge to protect our people and our way of life. We shall know no yoke of a foreign power on our shoulders, and we shall seek to strengthen our people so that we may know prosperity the likes of which our forefathers only dreamed of.”

“So proclaims Tömörbaatar Khan!”

A resounding cheer came from around the palace, echoed from the surroundings from criers relaying the message to the many gathered around the palace walls. From there, a resounding series of thumps came from the ground, the Marengolian people thumping their approval of their new Khan. With a wave, the Khan seated himself upon his throne, and almost as one, the many gathered within the palace began to disperse, mingling about as the Khan greeted and took oaths of fealty from his gathered generals and their captains. Others waited in line for this, many of them important-looking to Spike’s increasingly politically-seasoned eyes.

“Greetings!” a voice said, causing Spike and his family to turn. “Mr. Dragul, a pleasure to meet you and yours.”

An earth dragon, flanked by a pair of bodyguards. Taller and broader than Spike by a good margin, with a blue body and steely grey spines matching his underside, he carried himself rather regally, yet was hunched over as if carrying a great weight. His features were handsome to an extent, though far more wizened and lined with age, yet not so much as to be declared ancient. No wings adorned his back, but scarring across his scales were evidence enough of a hard life. He spoke with a deep, rich burr, clearly from somewhere outside of Marengolia proper but with a tinge of the same accent that all those of Marengolians culture seemed to share.

“Hello, I’m afraid we’ve never met,” the smaller dragon said, shaking the offered hand.

“Ah, but where are my manners, I go by Tsakhiajin Tsokhikh on a formal basis, but for you, my foreign fellow, simply Tsokhikh. It is the translation to the common tongue for Blaze, or closely, anyway.”

“This is my family, and a friend travelling with us,” Spike replied.

“Trixie,” the unicorn replied sweetly, giving a polite bow.

“Maria,” the other added, mirroring her fellow herd-wife.

Chrysalis gave a light curtsy, more befitting a more royal status. “Your lordship, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, I’m no lord, merely an old dragon whose journey took him into these lands long ago, and as such I’ve watched over more tribes than I care to remember now,” the wizened drake replied. “Your name, miss? I can’t say I’ve seen many zebras in my time in the steppes.”

“Asalah,” she said with a deeper bow than the first two. “I can’t say I’ve seen many dragons either in my time, our husband excluded of course.”

“I imagine not,” Tsokhikh replied. “My lady, you must be the friend of these fine folks. Your name?”

“Eutropia.”

The dragon grinned, the bodyguards beside him making no motion of greeting. “What brings you to the steppes? In times such as these, and at this time of year, I do not believe any of you could be mistaken for merchants or a travelling clan of tradesfolk.”

“We aren’t, we’ve been making a journey across the world on the behalf of our princesses and kingdom, Equestria. It’s been a long number of months, and we’ve a ways yet to go, yet through these lands our travel was determined to be the most likely for success. We won’t be able to stay for very long, as our timetable couldn’t possibly allow for it.”

“Ah, I can see that,” Tsokhikh replied, glancing across three of Spike’s wives. “Expecting are we? An excellent idea to be in a hurry, travelling with a youngling is often just as difficult as travelling when carrying one in the womb. I take it you also wish for them to be born in your home?”

“Yes, it’d make things a lot easier for everyone, and safer as well.”

“Well then, before you venture out, you must visit sometime, I would certainly wish to hear of your homeland of Equestria. Having never ventured there myself, I would indeed wish to hear which of its rumors are true and which are merely exaggerated. However, before that, you must meet with the Khan, Spike. He has heard news of you and yours from General Sukhbataar, and would undoubtedly wish to hear more from a firsthand experience. What say you and your family join us for a morning feast, as guests of honor?”

“That would be delightful,” Chrysalis replied.

The next morning came all too early. The night before had ended far earlier for Spike and his family, having left the coronation to sleep off the general exhaustion from the journey. Getting dressed was a quick affair that morning, if only because Spike had to restart the fire, the hot coals the only remnant of the dried grass mixed with a few pieces of firewood they’d managed to scrounge up, a rarity in these parts. As such, though still comfortable, the house had cooled considerably, and none of them wished to catch a chill.

As the sunlight continued to filter through the only window, a knock came from the door. Upon answering, Spike was faced with Tsokhikh’s two bodyguards, who silently gestured for him to follow. His wives and Eutropia following closely behind, they left and made their way once more to the palace.

For the first time, Spike was finally able to get a good look at these two bodyguards. Well built, likely as much if not more than he was, yet they were not as short or squat as some of the other Marengolians he’d seen. Indeed, they were tall, one likely just an inch taller than him, and the other likely almost an entire head taller than he was, including his spines. The taller one seemed to be missing a tail, but then again, maybe they kept it short to fit under the armor? He had no idea, and given the amount of clothing on top of the armor they wore, including what could only be described as armored masks, gave them both an intimidating presence and clear sign of skill.

“So, what are your names?” he asked as they entered the palace grounds, guards all around making way for their group to pass. Their lack of response only mildly surprised Spike, but likely given their training and discipline, talking with guests was likely frowned upon, so he let it slide. The open hall, where the coronation had been held last night, was replaced by a large, circular table, set low to the ground and seated with a variety of cushions and decorative rugs of varying thickness.

At the head of the table, atop a large pile of decorated cushions, sat the Khan, alongside a few other noted guests, Tsokhikh included. With a smile and a small wave, the earth dragon bid them to sit by him, atop another pile of cushions, and with a small touch of difficulty, given the tight space, Spike and his family took their seats, the two bodyguards returning to attention behind Tsokhikh.

“Ah, welcome, honored guests, welcome to my halls,” Khan Tömörbaatar declared, nodding in their direction. “Please, the morning is young, let us refresh ourselves before we speak, you must be famished from your long journey. Before the, Tsokhikh may fill you in on any questions you may have, but for now, let us eat!”

So the servants brought out the breakfast, which while small in variety was certainly made up for by its quantity. A wide variety of cheeses, made mostly from goat and sheep milk, were spread in several different dishes, some of them fresh while others were more like curds in a thick soup of milk, topped with fried noodles. Yet others were fried, mixed in small bowls with fried mushrooms and onions, and the last dish seemed to be small cakes filled with dried fruits and served with heavy cream and honey. In several trays there also lay what looked to be cheese curds of varying colors and shapes, and small warm pots filled with softened butter.

For those living on the steppes, everything that could be eaten was clearly eaten. None of the guests were carnivores, though Spike suspected they would likely still be eating cheese and whatever else they could politely if they were here, as he knew most herbivores didn’t relish the sight of meat.

“Why is there so much cheese?” Trixie asked as she grabbed a small cake, with what looked to be filled with blueberries.

“Ah, Marengolians by nature are nomadic, so they cannot afford to farm, and even if they could, the winters are harsh enough to not allow for it, nor is the soil good enough in most locations,” the earth dragon said, enjoying a bowl of heavy cream, drinking much like one would soup. “As such, they must rely off of the herds they tend to, and the milk from sheep and goats is used to form the basis of almost any cheese. In the few more admittedly sheltered regions, towards the mountains, cattle are raised for their milk as well, though they are a rarity. Milk from camels are also used in certain regions, though some of this is more for the making of alcohol or certain drinks, such as an additive for tea.”

“I take it the fruits were harvested elsewhere? The surrounding area didn’t look like it could support berry plants,” Chrysalis noted, enjoying a plate of the aforementioned cheese.

Tsokhikh chuckled. “Indeed, wherever they grow, they are harvested. Usually along whatever rivers flow, especially towards mountains or away from the more windswept regions of the steppes. Most are dried to preserve them, and seeing as Marengolians lack the means of making glass, jams and other fruit preserves must be imported. Besides, drying will make it last for a long time, especially in cold such as this, and while fresh may be better, there’s not a lot of berries to harvest at this time of year.”

After that, there were few questions, Spike instead enjoying the food. Even though the larders in the carriage were well-stocked, the chance to try a new culture’s food spoke to him on another level, almost as if he were a true visitor, rather than merely passing through. Besides, how many foreigners could say they had a peaceful breakfast with a Khan?

As soon as they’d finished, the servants retrieved whatever was left over, which to the credit of the Khan’s guests, was not much. Tsokihkh, the night before, had told them to expect to eat a lot of food, as surviving the cold of winter required plenty of calories and other energy-dense foods to be partaken in. Besides, refusing to eat enough would likely be a faux pas, even if the Khan didn’t seem like the kind to notice it, and so after he had eaten his fill, Spike leaned into his cushions, enjoying the feeling of a full belly.

“So tell me, Spike is it? What brings you to Marengolia?” the Khan asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a small handkerchief. “Never in the history of my people have I heard tales of illustrious visitors from the sun and moon kingdom gracing our lands.”

“This is an expedition of sorts from our leaders, originally my task alone but now also that of my family and friends who I have made along the way,” Spike replied. “The princesses wish to collect and catalog a wide variety of items, histories, current events and the like to inform Equestria of the wider world. Much of Equestria remains woefully ignorant of the remainder of the world, content to stay within our borders and often not needing to venture elsewhere. As such, due to Equestria’s relative isolation and the lack of a need to know, there is much about the history and culture of other places we have no true grasp of.”

“Indeed, such an insular and isolated nation that requires neither conquest nor worry about expanding neighbors is truly an idyllic place to envision,” the Khan replied, sipping his tea. “What are some examples of these items?”

“Well, in the past, we’ve sent copies of books, parchment, engraved stones, paintings, rugs and the like. A few places gifted things like extra gold and silver of certain significance or similar valuables, but other than that, as well as maybe a sword or piece of armor or something, not much else. The overall variety has usually been rather small.”

“Indeed,” Tömörbaatar steepled his fingers at this, resting his chin thoughtfully upon them. “Tell me, what of Equestria? Of her common folk, of their lives and struggles? It is easy for a noble to sing praises of their country, but on the steppes, it is rare for something to be earned simply by birthright, and for a worldview to be so tinted by an upbringing with little worry. Many a time in Marengolia, one gains something through luck and determination, hard work and unbreakable resolve.”

Spike nodded. While afforded some of the best of the best in, well, most things in life, he’d lived in Ponyville for years, and been around on enough adventures to see just what life was like outside of the palace. “Most earth ponies are farmers, or making a similar living working the land and using whatever is there. Pegasi control the weather in most places, ensuring rain when needed and sunny days for crops when suitable. Unicorns tend to focus on finer detailed work, such as dressmaking, crafting and the like, where hooves are not dexterous enough to do the finer work. Most live simple, content lives, going about their daily business no matter where their home may lie.”

“Ah, simple but fulfilling lives, worthy of admiration. The magic there, how pervasive? I’m certain you’ve noticed a decline in the amount of magic deep in our heartlands, all across the steppe in fact.”

“Difficult not to, yes, but in Equestria, it’s practically everywhere. The princesses raise and lower the sun and moon, and the pegasi use their magic on the weather. The magic from earth ponies makes things grow far better and faster than it otherwise might, or so I’ve been told, and obviously unicorns have access to a huge range of options for using magic.”

“Indeed, life must certainly be easier where magic may be used to solve many problems. Our situation is an unknown one, for we have no evidence as to why magic is so limited in our lands. It does persist, and we utilize it as best we can, but sparingly, and only in times of great need. As such, what little magic can be done out, can be done very well, many Marengolians spending their entire lives training in a particular school of thought on the matter. Unicorns use it for creating remedies or predicting the future, earth ponies concentrate the magic within themselves to increase their strength and stamina, and the pegasi use it to fly faster than they otherwise might be able to by taking advantage of the winds, much the like the sails on ships.”

They spoke for a short time more, mostly on more mundane items. The Khan seemed particularly interested in Spike’s journey thus far, though more so about the cultures and races he had encountered, from the perspective of a diplomat and a merchant, rather than a conqueror seeking intelligence on the enemy.

“I intend to cease as much of our conflicts as can be, thus the day of games,” the Khan replied. “A good exercise to wear off the battlelust still in the veins of my soldiers, and solidly ties between those under my rule.”

“Why only a day though?” Chrysalis asked. “It seems to me that cramming so many events in one day could be disastrous. Why not spread it out more?”

“Our food situation would be the biggest reason,” Tömörbaatar replied, turning to Tsokhikh. “What of our stores?”

“Our current larder is being replenished every few days by merchants and foragers, so if we were to stretch out the games, perhaps adding more contests and revelry in-between, a week would suffice, a we would still have enough for some time after, just in case,” the earth dragon replied.

“An excellent idea, a week of games would be remembered far more than a single day, and it would give my generals and their troops far more time to rest, regain their strength, and send time with their families. They have undoubtedly earned it after marching so far and for so long.”

“Would we be allowed to participate?” Maria asked. “I think I speak for my husband and the rest of us that we would not wish to impose ourselves on the festivities, but surely witnessing the contests, perhaps participating in the first few rounds but withdrawing before prizes may be offered, could be an excellent way to learn of Marengolian culture firsthand? Even if we were to win some prize, such as gold, we’d have little need for it, so we could decline that in favor of something else? Our journey would certainly benefit from cultural artifacts rather than mere gold and silver.”

Tömörbaatar rubbed his chin, looking back to Tsokhikh. “What say you, my old mentor?”

“I see no wrong in it,” the earth dragon replied, turning to Spike. “Though, this would put you and yours in contact with the culture at large, and not all aspects of it may appeal to you or be safe.”

“What do you propose? I can show only so much favoritism to my guests,” the Khan asked.

“Simple, an assignment of a few bodyguards, none too many as to be seen as a political threat or ally, but enough to protect Spike and his companions during their stay here.”

“A week would be more than long enough,” Trixie added. “Any longer and I’d fear we were overstaying our welcome.”

“Our timetable would allow for it,” Asalah added thoughtfully. “I’m perfectly fine with such a suggestion.”

The others, Spike included, agreed with her after a few moments of reflection, Eutropia the first among them. After all, a week in the graces of the Khan, witnessing festivities and experiencing the culture, potentially longer than they had most others outside of Saddle Arabia or Marescow? It was an opportunity they couldn’t afford to pass up.

“Excellent, Tsokhikh will be in charge of you in the time being, as I have many other guests to meet during the next two days,” the Khan said. “The remainder of today shall be one of rest and contemplation, with tomorrow focusing more on celebrations and the reunion of families and friends. Only after that will the contests begin, with the rules and other such formalities being completed the day prior.”

“My thanks, my Khan,” Tsokhikh replied. “If you have little need of me, I will accompany Spike and his family as a guide, with my own bodyguards accompanying us for protection. I daresay we will need little more than that. After all, a guest of the Khan is not one to be trifled with, even if they come in friendship, my Khan.”

Rex didn’t like this “Spike” the moment he’d lain eyes on him. In fact, he hated him without rhyme or reason at first, as he did with every stranger, but merely observing it from a silent corner gave him all the more reason to truly despise the creature. He could see it, the way it looked around, the way its honeyed words slithered into the ears of others, bending them to its will. The bloodlust in his brain told him to strike him down, the furor in his heart screamed to end the threat to the Khan, and end the threat to himself. There were already too many dragons in the council of the Khan, another would undoubtedly take his place if he allowed it.

He could not. He had come so far and made so great a stride to win the Khan’s confidence, to earn his loyalty and trust. The Khan would be the key of his vengeance, the key to his condition. The soothsayers and magi would find a cure, they had to, but he was running out of time. His mind slipped further, memories decaying, his will to control himself slipping ever closer to the edge of a blade, where one slip could mean his death, his duty unfulfilled and all his vengeance lost to time.

The dragon meant to replace him, surely, the reasons for him being here were clearly mere lies, falsehoods to pull the wool over the eyes of others. He seemed strong, of mind and body, and his family supported him. Rex had no family, not anymore. His blood was gone from him, by choice or by actions outside of his control. A dragon would live far longer and bring their influence to the court for generations, as had Tsokhikh, as would their descendants, and he could practically smell the pheromones from the females, signaling the carrying of the dragon’s spawn. This could not be tolerated, the hubris of those that lived so long threatened him and all he had known since his horrid days in the arena.

The Khan would see. He would show them the weakness of dragons, and that only the fleeting would be wise enough to overcome challenges, not these scaly abominations that lingered on, like a blight upon the land. He barely suppressed a growl at the thought. A duel, a chance to prove himself once and for all, one where the innate magic of a dragon would be at its weakest, at its most vulnerable outside of poisons and powders. Yes, at one of the games, that was where it could be. Yes, at the games…