A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies

by Sigur024

Unchained

The Heartlands of Cirra were very different to the deep forests and mountains of the Griffon lands. Plains and fields stretched as far as the eye could see, criss-crossed with low walls and hedges. The roads had worn down over centuries into low ditches and covered over by trees, forming tunnels of green that granted relief from the heat of midsummer.

Viridis was only a day's march from the river, and the lonely roads the Herald lead the warband down were empty. Now as the shadows stretched out and night grew near Vigild could see the town before him.

It lay in the depression between two hills, white-walled houses in neat rows around a market square filling the valley floor. Orchards and vines climbed the gentle slopes on either side of the town, wrapping around to the head of the town where a great villa stood vigil. Surrounding this villa were dozens of lesser wooden buildings, partially hidden amongst the edges of the orchards. If he looked carefully Vigild could pick out figures moving about the town or relaxing outside their homes. It looked peaceful, tamed. A perfect Cirran town.

Vigild sneered. It would not be peaceful for long.

He turned and walked back into the thicket where the warband was resting. The warriors spoke in hushed tones and fidgeted. The excitement of the coming raid put new energy into weary limbs and minds.

The Herald reappeared from the shadows, sheathing his sword as he walked. “There is no garrison in the town, or beyond it. We may proceed as you wish, children of Magnus.” He purred. “This will not be easy, but the living god would not give his sons a task they could not overcome. Our captive kin serve the old legate who owns the great villa.”

Grigori spoke first. “We should leave most of our warriors here, go and get a closer look at these slaves.”

Vigild and Aurel agreed silently and the Herald smiled. “I shall remain here, and bring help if you call.”

Without another word Vigild, Grigori and Aurel walked from the woods and took to the air. They flew low over the orchards towards the great villa, trusting the gloom of dusk to keep them hidden.

The tercels set down a short distance from the wooden huts and moved in as quietly as they could in their armour to an overgrown garden plot that hid them from view.

Peering over the weeds Vigild was struck by the size and grandeur of the villa. It was easily twice as tall as his father's hall, and built not from whitewashed bricks but pure white stone. But it was not a fortress like the homes of Angenholt. The open balconies and windows filled with billowing cloth spoke of a gentle life free of cares that would see walls thrown high and windows barred.

Vigild pulled his eyes away from the villa and down towards the squat wooden huts that surrounded it. Dozens of griffons were lined up outside the huts, each being shackled at the door and ushered inside by a pair of pegasus overseers who stood flanking the doors. Vigild could make out rings of shiny keys around these stallions necks. Surely the keys to the slaves’ shackles.

The slaves were a pitiful sight. They were thin and small, seeming to struggle to hold themselves up after a day of labour at their master's command. Their plumage was rough and dirty, and the older ones amongst them bore the scars of many beatings. Only the few hens seemed to have any weight on them at all, and they sat with fettered fledgelings by their sides.

“They are almost as scrawny as you, Vigild.” Aurel teased.

“They are in no state to fight.” Grigori whispered. “And there are fledglings amongst them! We cannot march them back to safer lands.”

Vigild felt his ire rise. “Magnus gave us this task. I will not fail him. We will find a way.” Vigild hissed, removing his chain coat and dropping it on the ground. “I will go and find some way to release the slaves. Then we attack.” With that Vigild pushed through the hedge and hurried to where the slaves were congregating

The tercel slunk over to the very end of the line, thinking feverishly of some way to get a hold of one of those sets of keys without raising the alarm.

“You!” A mare snapped in gryphic, pointing at Vigild with her hoof.

He froze. Was he discovered?

“Y-yes mistress?” Vigild said, putting on the air of the broken slave and facing the pegasus without meeting her gaze. She was tall for a pegasus, and wore a white silk dress that complimented her stormy coat. A set of keys like those the overseers wore hung from a cord around her slender neck.

“Where is Alem? I need my preener.” The mare demanded.

“He is away on an errand mistress.” Vigild lied, eyes fixed on the keys.

The mare sighed theatrically. “Fine. You will do. Come!” She said.

Vigild hesitated for a moment and the mare stomped her hoof impatiently. “Come! Do not fret, I will make sure you get back into your proper place. But first, I must look my best for tonight!” She said, trotting off with a spring in her step.

Vigild followed behind her, keeping his posture hunched and his eyes low. She led him through the villa and up to the second floor, passing the rooms where pegasus servants laboured over cooking pots or relaxed in the cool of the evening. None paid him any notice.

The mare shouldered open the double doors to what Vigild presumed to be her bedchamber, richly decorated and filled with finely made furnishings and expensive draperies. A pair of jewellery boxes sat open on the floor, filled with enough gold and stones to buy the whole darkwood tribe, and the silk dresses carelessly thrown about the room were doubtless just as expensive.

The pegasus sat before a bronze mirror and took a brush in her hoof, beginning work upon her mane to untangle the sky-blue locks. She opened her left wing and look back at Vigild reproachfully. “Well? Get to work!” She snapped.

Vigild took her wing in his talons and began to preen her flight feathers. He ran his beak down the length of each feather, carefully grooming each one. The dust upon them tasted sweet, as if she had rolled in icing sugar.

As he moved his head to reach each feather properly, Vigild searched the room until his eyes settled upon an iron ring full of keys sitting amongst slender bottles of perfumes.

Vigild continued to preen, playing the docile slave. He felt his ire rise as the mare prattled on about the mundane affairs of her socialite friends. The struggles of her life amounted to who was trying to bed who, while all around her Vigilds people suffered. It disgusted him.

He reached her shoulder and opened his beak, savouring the moment.

He bit down on the joint. Hard. A talon clamped over the pegasus’ mouth muffled her scream as bone cracked and ligaments tore. The blood in Vigilds mouth was sweeter than her feathers. He pulled the mare against his chest and looked down into her tear-streaked eyes, licking the blood from his beak. She would never be able to fly again. If she lived, that was.

The mare went limp and fell from Vigilds grasp onto the the rug, staining it with her blood. The young warlord stepped over her unconscious body and took the keys from the table. Turning back, he regarded the twitching mare. She had a fine figure for a pegasus. Vigilds eye traced the line down her neck, her back, her rump. There were so many ways that she could pay for humiliating Vigilds kin.

A knock at the door made Vigild jump. A voice calling out in Cirran. Vigild jumped onto the table and scrambled through the window, sending bottles of perfume clattering to the floor. As he jumped out into the gloom, Vigild heard the scream of a maidservant. He was discovered.

Gliding on his outstretched wings, he landed heavily on the roof of one of the slave shacks. He dropped down and slipped inside as shouts rose up all around the villa, overseers swarming out in search of the murderous griffon.

Vigild leaned his back against the door, letting his eyes adjust. There were a dozen slaves in the room, all shackled by their talons to stout posts that were surrounded by hay bedding. Of their faces, Vigild could only make out their fearful eyes. Their hushed whispers almost drowned out by the shouts of overseers storming between the huts. They would betray him in an instant if the pegasi asked where he was.

Vigild reached out to take the shackled talon of the nearest tercel, but the slave snatched it back as if burned.

“Easy brother. I am Vigild, chosen of Magnus. I am here to free you.” Vigild whispered. The slave did not move, holding his shackled talon against his chest.

“Do you not want to be free?” Vigild hissed, glaring at the shaking excuse for a griffon before him. “All of you! You have suffered long, endured indignities that would make your ancestors weep, and you would refuse liberty at the threat of another beating?”

The slaves exchanged silent glances. One amongst them spoke, his voice hushed and trembling. “We cannot be free. Our master here flays ten alive when one tries to escape. There is no hope, no victory against Cirra.”

“And so you die in here, broken and shameful? How will the gods judge you, your honour when you come before them?” Vigild snarled.

The slave glared back at Vigild. “I was a warrior when the war came. I stood before the walls of Nimbus. I did all I could, and the gods will recognise that.”

“All you could, except die with a fire in your heart and blood in your mouth!” Vigild spat. “My warriors are coming. Enough tercels to turn this town into a charnel house. Your master will certainly see you dead before he sees you free. Will you cower in here like whipped dogs, waiting for the prey-beasts to come and slaughter you? Or will you fight alongside them? Risk an honourable death for a life of freedom?”

They growled in assent. There was a spark in their eyes not entirely drowned out by the dread on their faces. The slaves crowded around, holding their talons out for Vigild to unchain them. In a few moments their shackles were lying in a heap on the floor.

Vigild froze. Voices outside, shouting in Cirran. With a sharp crack the door was flung inwards, a pair of pegasus overseers storming into the room. The slaves retreated to the far wall, heads bowed and talons shaking. Frail resolve broken by the sudden arrival of the pegasi.

The bigger of the two advanced on Vigild, his eyes fixed on the bloody mess on the tercels face and a sword in his teeth. He was not used to griffons fighting back. Vigild struck the pegasus across the face, sending him reeling towards the corner with the cowering slaves.

“Fight! Fight now or die like trapped rabbits!” He yelled.

Vigild’s sudden shout seemed to shock the slaves into action. They attacked in blind panic, wildly lashing out with their claws and snapping with their beaks. The first overseer disappeared screaming into the gloom, set upon by a dozen ravening slaves.
The second pony froze, horror etched across his face. Vigild leaped upon him and tore at his throat with his bare talons, not stopping until the stallion's blood poured out onto the dusty floor.

Shouting for the slaves to follow, Vigild rushed outside and leaped over the heads of a trio of shocked overseers. He heard their shouts turned to screams as the slaves swarmed over them.

Vigild ran from hut to hut, unlocking shackles and rousing the spirits of the slaves, gathering the mob behind him building momentum. Pegasi ran terrified in every direction, not stopping to offer resistance as they sought safety in the villa or in the town below. Vigild found himself carried in the wave of frenzy that possessed the liberated griffons, their voices ringing out in one great howl of righteous fury.

With the shacks empty, the former slaves turned their attentions on the villa. The servants and overseers cowering within tried to barricade the tall doorways and wide open windows, but to no avail. The wave of frenzied griffons swept over them, blood and feathers befouling the pure white stone as the killing began in earnest.

Reluctantly, Vigild reined himself in. He had done his part, and now the slaves could satisfy themselves with those terrified prey-beasts that had so arrogantly perched themselves atop their backs.

The young warlord staggered punch drunk to a windowframe, only now noticing the sword-cuts on his arms and sides. He laughed in spite of the pain. In the town down below, he could see the tercels of his warband rampaging through the streets, pillars of black smoke and lines of fleeing pegasi marking their presence.

Vigild started at the sound of talons striking the tiled floor behind him as the Herald landed. The inky tercel sat down next to Vigild and watched the events below.

“Its beautiful.” Vigild said. “How quickly they reclaim their spirit.”

“It is in their nature, as all the children of Magnus.” The Herald replied.

Vigild idly probed one of the wounds in his arm with a claw. It was not too deep, and would heal well enough in time. The sting helped focus him again.

“So, what now?” He asked the Herald

The black tercel chuckled. “We let the slaves feast, and celebrate. Indulge any impulse that comes to their mind. They have been without good food too long, and need the meat. Grigori and Aurel will ensure that the townsfolk give their share as well.” He purred. “For now, I have no commands for you. Go, walk among your people, and join in their revel.”

Vigild pushed off the window and turned back into the Villa. “Of course, Herald.” He said, moving towards the staircase, and the room of the socialite mare he had mauled. “But first, I have some unfinished business to attend to...”

Comments

[RoboRed]

Behold: the bloody uprising.