The very last rays of light were fading when the slaves began to sing. They had been marshalling for a while, gathering up burning torches and scavenged weapons in preparation for the attack. The morale of the Auxillia was holding, discipline or fear of the slaves keeping the centuries together. But it wouldn't be long until the slaves attacked. If the Auxillia panicked, their defence would fail, and they would all die in agony.
Theod walked along the second floor balconies, peering through windows as he went. The warband griffons had spread out amongst the slaves, trying to work them up to the task of attacking the Auxillia. One small band remained together, perched in treetops between the town and the Villa. There were so many slaves. Perhaps as many as six or seven hundred. Enough for a village in their own right.
Tapfer was standing in a richly decorated bedroom turned charnel house at the corner of the building, staring out the window and fiddling nervously with his monstrous Cirran ballista. He looked away as Theod approached, nodding in acknowledgement before turning back to the window.
“I don't like it.” Tapfer said, shifting back and forth on his paws restlessly.
Theod frowned. “Waiting for it?”
“No, no, not that” Tapfer said. “It's just… can't we ask them to surrender? Do we have to just come here to kill them?”
Theod was taken aback. “They rebelled, we have to. We were ordered too.”
“Can you blame them?” Tapfer said, rounding on Theod. “Made to work every day, treated like livestock, no choice in how they live their lives!”
Theod took a step back, concern crossing his features. “Tapfer…”
Tapfers expression softened, casting his gaze to the gore-soaked rug on the floor. “You’re a noble, it must just seem natural to you to have griffons bowing and scraping and doing anything you ask. But I know what it's like to be on the other side of the lash.”
“So those scars, on your back…” Theod said softly.
“All from my owner. I tried to pull his attention away from the others, got most of their punishments for them. I belonged to Aellas family, as did my parents, and their parents before them. Can't be a proper Cirran family without a few slaves to do your dirty work.” He spat.
“I would look out of my window at night and wonder what it was to be free, to have some choice in how my life went. There were times when I wanted to risk everything just for a taste.” Tapfer sighed, sitting back on his haunches. “When Pruina came around looking for volunteers, I was mucking out gutters near where he was speaking. All those highborn, signing up to make their families proud. He said that they would take anyone who came to them-
“I hopped down from the roof, walked over and no sooner than I signed my name to the scribes roll then Gervas showed up. Started screaming in my face, demanding to know why I had left my task unfinished. Promised me the thrashing of a lifetime. Then Pruina just… stepped in front of me. Said that I had given myself to Cirra, even if I was not my own to give, and as such my slavery was null and void.” Tapfer laughed sadly. “The look on his face… gods he was furious. Didn't want to spoil his daughters chances in the legion by making a scene of it though, even if he could have probably taken me back.”
Theod was quiet for a while, looking out the window with Tapfer. “Was it worth it? Drawing your masters ire?”
Tapfer gave a hollow laugh and nodded. “Any pain I took saved another. It was worth it. I can't help but feel that I abandoned them though… the ones I left behind. I just left them to him.”
Theod hesitated, then placed a talon on Tapfers shoulder, not knowing what to say.
“We should get back to the others. Not long now.” Tapfer said, shouldering his oversized crossbow and walking back to the Auxillia’s defences, Theod following close behind.
Behind the barricade the griffons sat in near-silence, some sleeping fitfully or reading things scavenged from the library below. Theod could tell they were nervous, but they were at least trying to hide it from each other.
Leaving Tapfer to inspect his Century, Theod went down the stairs to the former library. Aella sat atop a bookshelf, her armour stripped off to free her injured arm. The shoulder was badly swollen, and her arm hung in a sling that Gretus had devised. Seeing Theod’s questioning look she spoke up. “Gretus is tending to the Legate, making sure he is comfortable.”
“I meant to ask about your arm.” Theod said.
Aella shrugged, and winced at the pain in her broken shoulder. “It will heal quickly. The God’s Gift has always been strong in me.”
Theod nodded, averting his gaze from the injury. His father had the Gift strongly as well, and never seemed to be hurt for more than a few days. He had told the legend after he was wounded in a duel. The god of creation had made griffons last, and liked them most of all, for they fought and quarreled constantly with even their closest kin. But he had despaired when he saw his favourites dying out from their love of war. Resolving to fix this, he gave them a spark of his divine vitality. Because of this Griffons rarely fell ill, and injuries that would kill or cripple a lesser race being would heal in time. In some it made them stronger too, but in a tercel like Eboric it was hard to tell whether that was the Gift or his sheer bulk.
The Auxillia sat to attention one by one, then Theod noticed it too. The chanting had risen to fever pitch, and warhorns were blaring.
“Good luck, Theod.” Aella said, taking up her spear in her good talon.
Theod nodded in reply, mouth suddenly dry. He rushed upstairs, meeting Gretus coming the other way with the Legate draped over his broad shoulders. He was right to bring him, it was unlikely the bedroom would stay clear for long, and the wounded Cirran would die there.
Upstairs, Tapfer was urging the Auxillia into ready positions. He barged his way to the fore, and peered out over the tops of the barricade. The armoured griffons were standing atop the roof of the Villa, looking down into the courtyard.
They motioned to the slaves outside, urging them in, and so they came. The slaves rushed the Villa in an unruly mob. Barricades left over from the first assault were bowled over as the sickly looking griffons swarmed into the courtyard from windows and doors every side of the building.
Shouts arose from the ground floor as the first slaves tried to force their way into the building. Theod could hear barricades creaking and protesting beneath the yells of desperation and pain from the first wounded. On the second floor the slaves were more cautious, emerging from the apartments and rooms that backed onto the balcony and staying out of arm's reach of the Auxillia. Their faces showed a fiendish glee that made Theod’s stomach turn.
A few of the armoured griffons dropped down to the balcony, opening bags strapped to their bodies and removing clay jars. They came close to the Auxillia’s fortifications, touching burning matches or torches to these jars while staying safely out of reach. Then the closest warrior let fly.
The pot flew through the window past Theods head and shattered against the far wall, lamp oil instantly catching ablaze. They intended to burn the Auxillia. More pots were tossed into the room, breaking on the shields of Auxillia or finding their mark in furniture and barricades. The air began to fill with cloying smoke and the armoured warriors stood back with the slaves, laughing and taunting the Auxillia.
“Aella! Tapfer!” Theod shouted. “Push out into the courtyard, now!”
Not waiting for a response, Theod pushed between the coughing, spluttering griffons under his command and wrenched the barricaded door open. The slave on the other side showed his shock for the moment before Theod struck him full in the face with his Gladius. The other slaves recoiled, forgetting their bravado for a moment. The armoured warriors amongst them did not.
The first to reach Theod bellowed, froth clinging to his beak as he swung a sword almost as tall as himself. Theod raised his sword to parry, but the force of the blow knocked him off balance. He moved with the impact to stay on his feet, barging into another warrior who tried to drive an iron spike into his throat.
Tapfer was the next out, leveling his grotesque crossbow at the brute with the greatsword. He fired, the bolt caving in the warriors breastplate and causing him to tumble from the balcony. He stepped towards Theod and swung his weapon as a club, belting the warrior trying to stab Theod across his helmeted head.
The Auxillia followed Tapfer out, pouring from the burning building and putting the slaves to flight or the sword. The armoured warriors withdrew back to the rooftops, stalking along the tiles and glaring daggers from helmets fashioned into the snarling maws of beasts and monsters.
Down in the courtyard Aella and Gretus’ centuries had pushed through to the centre, trying to get away from the burning section of the Villa. Gretus stood over the form of the Legate in the heart of the mass to prevent him from being trampled, feet planted and unmoving. Aella was stuck in the crush on the gateward side, spear almost useless in the claustrophobic conditions.
The slaves harried the Auxillia from all sides, shrieking and attacking wildly with spears, hammers and knives. The Auxillia were stronger, armoured, and their discipline was holding despite the lack of formation. But they could not step out of line without being dragged down and butchered by the mobs of slaves. Time would see them worn away to nothing.
Theod glanced down at the dead warrior at his feet, blood leaking from his beak. In a bag tied to his chest were a half-dozen of the oil pots and a pair of greasy matches.
“Tapfer, take the Centuries down to the main gate, cut off escape from there” Theod ordered.
Tapfer paused in the middle of winding his crossbow. “The slaves will just go through the other sides of the Villa, and we’ll be surrounded again.”
“I know. I’m counting on it actually.” Theod replied, cutting the bag from its fastenings. “Go, before the actual warriors think to counter us.”
Tapfer nodded and motioned to the Auxillia, directing them towards the staircases that sat where each wing of the building met the entranceway. The griffons filed off quickly, the few slaves left on the upper floor fleeing before them.
Alone on the top floor, Theod took the matches to the burning curtains, setting the greasy cord smouldering and spitting. He held them in his beak, doing his best to ignore the taste of rancid tallow. The armoured warriors noticed his isolation and took their opportunity, dropping back down onto the balcony and advancing on Theod.
Theod broke left and sprinted towards the first warrior, counting on speed to get his first hit in. He collided with the tercel, bashing him across his helmeted face with the edge of his gladius. As the warrior recoiled, head tipping back, Theod rammed the sword up under his chin and dropped him in a spasming heap on the floor. Another warrior was on Theod in a moment, rushing at him and wailing in fury at the death of his comrade.
Theod felt a hard blow to his stomach before he could react, shattered scales pinging off his armour. Winded, the next blow crashed down on his helmet, dazing him and forcing him to his haunches. Through his spinning vision, Theod spotted the bag of oil pots carried by this warrior, its fastening open.
He took one of the matches from his beak and jabbed it into the bag, then rose and grabbed the warrior around his armpits. Theod grunted with effort and heaved, and the warrior tipped to his side towards one of the open windows. As the tercel fell, talons outstretched to try and grab the window frame, Theod punched the bag of pots.
The warrior erupted into flame, screaming and clawing at his armour as oil from the now shattered pots soaked him. Theod gave him one last shove into the building where his burning plumage immediately set light to the wooden floor.
Theod could not stop to catch his breath. He ran down the balcony, lighting and tossing jars through windows until he reached the entrance wing. Smoke seeped through the tiled roof and out of windows behind him as the flames took hold, and Theod could see the slaves shying away from the burning building.
Down in the courtyard Tapfer had led his Auxillia through the mob of slaves to cover the entranceway in a pincer movement from both staircases. Some slaves were breaking off from the far side of the courtyard at the urging of the armoured warriors, moving through the building to encircle Tapfers troops from the other side.
Theod glanced to his sides. A few armoured warriors on each, advancing warilly after seeing the fate of their predecessors. Theod mounted the railing and leaped out over the courtyard, beating his wings to let him cross the gap and land on the other side. He grabbed the last few pots and lit them, tossing one into the open door before him.
As Theod turned to see to the others, an armoured warrior swooped down from the sky above the courtyard at reckless speed. They collided, tumbled through the door and into a dining hall that filled the second floor of this wing.
The warrior clawed wildly at Theods face, talons squealing as they raked his helmet. Theod grabbed him by the wrists and kicked him off.
Theod pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his remaining jar and searching frantically for his sword. The armoured warrior also rose, slowly, growling like an animal. His helmet was of a different make to the others, spiked and cruel where the others wore bestail fanged things.
Theod hurled his last pot at the warrior, who swatted it aside with his free talon, the vessel shattering and igniting on the wall behind him.
“Traitor.” the armoured warrior spat, his voice strangely familiar. “Slave of our enemies and murderer of our kin. You shall not see Valhalla!”
The warrior leaped at Theod, swinging his longsword in killer arcs. With no sword of his own Theod was forced back, trying to dodge the blows as they came. More than a few found their mark and scales broke off Theods armour to fall like golden hail.
No way to win this fight. Theod turned and ran, leaping out of a window. He heard the warriors howl of delight at having his quarry flee as he hit the ground and ran, hoping to make it to the entranceway.
Theod glanced over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. The tercel was swooping down and almost upon him, sword held out to spit his prey. Theod threw himself to the ground to avoid the point and was battered as the tercels outstretched wing struck his helmet, sending it clattering across the ground. The warrior landed roughly, kicking up a puff of dust. He snarled and rounded on Theod, sword raised to deliver a killing blow. Theod closed his eyes.
But the blow did not come.
Slowly opening them again, Theod saw the warrior stood frozen, hesitating. His sword hand was shaking, and his breathing was suddenly ragged. Without a word the warrior turned and took to the air, disappearing into the cloud of smoke that enveloped the Villa.
Theod pulled himself to his feet and looked around. Three of the wings of the Villa were burning furiously now. The armoured tercels and slaves that were outside the structure had scattered to the treetops and huts that surrounded the building, seemingly unsure what to do.
Theod limped towards the entrance, only now noticing the injuries his pursuer had inflicted upon him. The few Auxillia that stood in the doorway recognised Theod and waved him over, voices lost in the din of the ongoing battle in the courtyard. Tapfer stepped out of the mob and met Theod, looking him over.
“Lost your helmet.” Tapfer said. “And your sword. Barley is going to be furious.”
Theod laughed, perhaps a little too hard. The stress of battle was taking its toll on him.
“I’ll find you a spare.” Tapfer said. He motioned to the burning Villa, the acrid clouds of smoke rising from three of the four sides filling the courtyard and blotting out the sky. “...Why this?”
Theod pulled Tapfer aside, peering over the ranks of the Auxillia.
The slaves and a mob of luckless armoured warriors in the courtyard were well and truly trapped. Flames leaping from windows and clinging to the balconies drove them towards the centre of the courtyard. The only wing not turned into an inferno was the entranceway, and that the Auxillia had pushed into and held. Theod could see Aella and Gretus standing in the heart of their units, having linked up with Tapfer’s troops.
“Most of them are trapped in here, cant fly out with the smoke and fires. the rest are out there.” Theod said, motioning to where the warriors stuck outside the villa had begun to rally into a mob once again. “They will try to break their friends out. We have to hold them or we won't have a chance against these numbers.”
Tapfer sighed and drew his Gladius, passing it to Theod. “Use this, I’ll stick with the crossbow.”
Theod nodded, taking the sword and swinging it experimentally. “Let Aella and Gretus know what is happening. I will help hold the gateway.”
Tapfer acknowledged the instruction with a dip of his head and disappeared into the mass of armoured Auxilla as Theod returned to the gateway. The fighting would be at its worst here, in the open arch, and so that was where he was needed most. The rest of the wing could be held by the Auxillia sheltering within.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with the hens and tercels of the Auxillia, Theod watched the mob of slaves and warriors charge up the hill towards them and braced himself.
Their charge lacked impact thanks to the slope, but the slaves piled up against the Auxillia’s shield all the same, and Theod had to attack to keep himself from being dogpiled. As the first blows were struck the fighting began again in earnest.
Different to the rapid duels he had fought before, Theod had an opportunity to take in what was happening in the crush of the melee. The sickly sweet stink of blood that reminded him far too readily of ripe meat, the screams of the slaves who died on his sword. Their desperate eyes pleaded mercy from already fatal wounds and their grasping claws sought anything to hold as comfort in their final moments. A few bawled openly on the ground, clutching their entrails and screaming for their mothers as they were trampled by heedless comrades.
His heart was racing and each beat was like thunder to the ache that built behind his eyes. The way his sword shook as it passed through skin and sinew and flesh made him sick. The stones beneath his feet became slippery with spilled blood and piss from terrified griffons.
Theod could scarcely tell how long he fought for, muscles aching and protesting, lungs burning with smoke and fatigue. The Auxillia around him began to fall one by one, exhaustion letting the slaves ram knives and spears home in their bodies. More stepped forwards to replace them, but Theod remained. He felt his body finally begin to fail him, vision swimming as he looked up to the clear sky on the other side of the archway.
Not clear.
A dozen trumpets sounded, clear notes cutting through the din of battle, and a dozen flights of armoured pegasi descended from on high. A signal rose from the armoured warriors in response, a horn blow signalling the retreat. The ones outside threw off their armour and took to the sky, scattering in all directions as fast as their wings could take them with breakaway groups of pegasi giving chase.
The slaves inside and out wailed in despair, realising that they were being abandoned. A few tried to flee, but were not strong enough to keep up with the stronger tercels, and were mercilessly cut down. The rest threw down their weapons, or died desperately trying to clamber over the Auxillia or pegasus legionaries that landed to surround the Villa.
As the slaves were herded away by the new arrivals, Theod got a closer look at them. They were old, weathered stallions and mares, in old but obviously well cared for armour. Veterans drawn from the surrounding countryside.
Theod fell back onto his haunches as the Auxillia began to cheer, hefting exhausted arms skywards to give thanks for their deliverance.
A crested helm, sticking out over the top of the mob moved purposefully in the direction of the gateway. Centurion Barley, scowling at the dead and dying griffons that were piled four deep in the archway. He mounted the pile and looked down at Theod, panting and exhausted at the fore of the Auxillia.
The stallion’s sour expression changed as he looked the tercel up and down. Eyes noting the gouges in his scale coat, the blood splattered across his features. The panting, trembling weakness that comes from one's first taste of combat, where death is but a single mistake away.
Barley nodded, just slightly, and marched on.