//------------------------------// // A Taste of the Lash // Story: A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies // by Sigur024 //------------------------------// Lines of Auxiliaries marched across the rolling hills that surrounded the camp. Each hill was rough with rocks and gullies, and sparsely covered in gorse and low shrubs that were able to withstand the punishing sun of central Cirra. It made marching a hard slog, and every delay crossing a ditch or finding a path seemed to enrage the veteran pegasi sent to mind the griffons. The Auxilla had set off at sunrise, rolled from their bunks by shouting pegasi and made to march armed, armoured, and with their full load of equipment. Now the sun was nearing the horizon again and a mercifully cool wind blew through the passes and along the flanks of the hills. Theod’s feet ached, and the backpack slung over his shoulders seemed to only get heavier as they went. Underneath his armour his plumage was sodden with sweat, and he could feel the beginnings of blisters where the straps rubbed against his hide. His own century had done its time at the front, scouting and outriding for the column. Now it sat somewhere near the middle of the line. Tapfer was in the rank beside him. The march seemed to have taken most of his smart remarks from him. Theod was glad for that. The attention of the Centurion was not something that he craved. They crested the top of yet another hill. The shouting had increased in frequency and volume ahead, and other centuries were being arrayed across the nearly level area that formed the summit. Theod followed the line in front of him, doing his best to stay in step as they veered off to one side at the instruction of their assigned centurion. “Halt!” The pegasus cried. “Set up camp up here! 1st and 3rd contubernium are on palisade construction! Everyone else, get your gear in order, and a fire started! You sleep rough tonight.” A groan from one of the hens of the chosen contubernium drew the centurion’s attention, and his ire, allowing the rest of the century a moment to relax. Theod dropped his pack and fell onto his haunches, rubbing at a spot where a sharp rock had cut the pad of his paw. Tapfer slumped to the ground beside him. “Why did they bother building the barracks if they aren't going to let us use them?” Tapfer grumbled, pulling his helmet from his head and setting it beside him. “Barely half a night’s sleep in a hard cot, then out and marching to this gods-forsaken place.” Aella and the other Canii shuffled over from their spot on the line. The hen slung her pack from her shoulders and began digging through it. “The Legion operates in all conditions. We will probably get beds when they think we have earned them,” she said. Tapfer took a long drink from his bottle, wiping his beak dry on his sleeve. “And how long will that take?” Aella shrugged. “Two, three laps around the basin maybe? On foot of course.” Tapfer grumbled to himself as Aella found what she was looking for. She pulled a small wooden box from her pack with a flourish. “Flint and steel! Plenty of tinder around… if we can find some wood, we can have a fire tonight,” the hen said. “Why is the army so much work?” Tapfer moaned. Tapfer jumped when the other Canii, who had been silent until then, dropped his pack. “It gets cold and windy here at night. No fire, no sleep,” he stated plainly. “Gretus is right, Tapfer, we need the fire.” Aella added. “I’ll get some,” Theod blurted out, finding himself back on his feet. Aella glanced at him and raised her eyebrows, and Theod felt his face turn red. “I will help him,” Gretus rumbled from beside Theod, giving him an excuse to turn his burning face away from the hen. Gretus marched off immediately, Theod following him down the slope of the hill and in amongst the scrub. A few other groups of Auxillia seemed to have had the same idea, and were swiftly gathering whatever they thought would burn. It was not difficult to find dry wood on the hillside, and the pair quickly brought together bundles of dry sticks and branches. Theod stood upon a branch to break it. “So… your name is Gretus?” he asked the tercel beside him. “I was sent to protect her.” Gretus said, ignoring Theod’s question. Theod stopped and frowned, adding the stick to the bundle under his arm. “What?” “Not what. Her. Aella. Fool.” Gretus replied. He dropped his bundle and strode over to Theod, staring him in the eye. “You have an interest in her. It is plain. She is not yours to take. Her duty is to her father, and whoever he chooses as her husband. Not. You.” he growled, punctuating each sentence with a jab from his talon. Theod puffed out his chest and drew himself to his full height, a head taller than the grey Canii. “And what if he chooses me?” “Then he is a fool as well.” Gretus spat. Before Theod could retort, a shout came up from one of the veteran pegasi that circled the camp. "Any Auxiliares not working on the palisade, return to your camp to be counted!" Gretus spun on his heel, picked up his gathered sticks and marched away, leaving Theod standing on the hillside. He recovered and hurried after the tercel, stunned by his sudden hostility out of silence Theod made a mental note to keep an eye on the Canii. His loyalty was to something beyond Theods reach. - - - Theod gulped down the last of the water in his canteen and wiped his brow. The sun was as bad as the day before, and the camp they had created on the hillside had become a cauldron of hot metal and dust as the Auxillia trained. The griffons were gathered into smaller units, either drilling in the use of Cirran weapons, or nervously waiting for their turn to spar against their comrades. Centurion Barley shouted and Theod shuffled forwards and into line with the rest of his team, straining to heft his newly issued shield. He looked to his left where Gretus stood, shield locked to his shoulder and wooden sword held low. The Canii seemed to almost enjoy using the massive, unwieldy shield. Opposite was another team of Auxillia, similarly armed with oversized scutum and undersized swords. Veteran legionaries kept their eyes trained upon the recruits, checking for any faults; and above them all sat Barley upon a raised chair with a slate in his hoof. He raised the other hoof and shouted in Cirran, signalling for the next group of griffons to begin their practice. Both lines rushed toward each other, shields clashing together and threatening to knock Theod off his feet. He dug his claws into the ground and grunted, heaving with everything he had against his opponent, who fell back two paces and no more. Gretus shouted something from behind him, his voice muffled by Theod’s helm and the clatter of wooden weapons on shields. Theod chanced a glance away from his opponent. Where Gretus should have been, there was a heartlander from the other team. He turned to face the new threat, scrambling to get back into line with his fellows. He could hear the hen he had barged back pursuing him, a flap of her wings, the sound of her armours scales clinking. A sudden blow to his ribs knocked Theod to his haunches, and his victorious opponent stepped over him to get at Gretus. Dead from a sword thrust by the rules of the bout, Theod fell out of the melee, and watched resigned as his opponent rolled up the unprotected flank of his team. “I thought you said you were good with swords.” Aella said, moving over next to Theod and leaning on the shaft of her padded training spear. “I am good with swords. It's the shield, it's too damn big, keeps getting in the way,” Theod grumbled, resting his Scutum against his side. “How the Cirrans manage to win fighting like this is beyond me.” Aella smiled and placed her helmet upon her head. “But they do win. That's why we are ruled by them, and not the other way around.” The bout was not going well for Theod’s team. Gretus had been forced back away from the line by the efforts of the hen that Theod had fought, and the rest of the team was being slowly rolled up by their weakened flank. Gretus stood like a wall with his shield, parrying the attacks of those who came at him from his unprotected side with his sword. But not even the sturdiest of defences could hold forever. Theod looked away from the bout, over his shoulder, and scanned the assembled crowd of Auxiliares. “If you are looking for Tapfer, he is down on the other side of the hill.” Aella piped up. She stirred the dusty ground idly with her foot, making her white coat even more dirty. “The Cirrans seem to think he’d make a good Ballistarius.” Seeing Theod’s questioning expression the hen continued. “It's a siege weapon, like a big bow.” A cheer signalled the end of the bout, Gretus falling in a cloud of dust and hit from all sides at once. As the victorious team moved off, Gretus picked himself up and marched past Theod to stand at Aellas side, scowling. Barley made a few notes on his slate, then called out. “Next Decum, form up!” Aella moved off to join up with her team of spear-armed Auxillia, forming a double line as the Cirrans had taught them. The white hen stood in the front rank and faced off against a similarly spear-armed group of Auxillia. At Barley's command both sides advanced, the ordered formation devolving into a melee of thrusting points and fencing parries as soon as contact was made. The Auxillia on the other side seemed to target Aella, their animosity towards the Canii clearly visible. The hen held her own against them. Theod could not take his eyes off Aella as she moved. She was like a dancer, throwing her hips to one side to dodge a thrust, stepping back and returning her own, stepping away with a spin of the shaft to knock another point thrust in her direction. Her armour barely seemed to affect her, the bronze scales glinting in the sunlight adding to the impression of a dancer upon a stage. Two auxillia came at her, one thrusting high and the other sweeping at the hens midsection. She swept her spear in an arc before her, parrying the thrust and catching the swing before it reached her. Continuing the motion, she pushed the spear up the length of her opponent's spear and thrust against his chest. The other thrust again, and the noblehen darted out of the way, swinging her spear all the way around her body in a wide feint, which the tercel dutifully tried to block. She shortened her grip on her spear and thrusted past the clumsy defence, the padded end of her spear striking his helmet. She darted around the flank of the weakened formation, thrusting into unguarded backs and sides, a few Canii watching from the sidelines cheering at her victory as the defeated team slunk away. “Eighth and Fourth Decum, reform!” Barley called out, tearing Theod’s attention from the melee. “And if the Eighth don't win at least one bout before we are through I’ll have you digging latrines until sundown!” Theod sighed and moved back to his place alongside Gretus in the line as Aella’s team finished off their victory, the white hen claiming three of her opponents herself. As the field cleared, Theod looked across the line at his opposition. Verstohlen looked back. The Cirrans had organised him and his cronies into the same unit. The blue-tattooed tercel grinned back evilly. He turned and said something to his neighbour, and laughed, theatrically dragging the edge of his wooden sword across his throat. Barley lifted his hoof, watching the opposing lines carefully. “Begin!” Again both sides rushed towards each other, trying to knock their opponents over with a full tilt charge. Then the sword-work began in earnest. Verstohlen fought like a beast in the middle of the line, opening a gap with a barrage of heavy strokes. The other Decum pushed to exploit the opening, driving a wedge between the separated groups and bringing down the others on Theods flank, save Gretus. Theod could not find an opening in the line across from him. He was too slow, the shield too heavy to move out of the way and strike when opening appeared. Theod growled and tossed his shield aside. Barley’s head snapped around and he screamed at him. “Pick that goddamn shield up right now or I will have you flogged, barbarian!” Theod ignored him as his opponents pushed forwards, eager to attack him while he was unprotected. A heartlander tercel was the first to reach him, swinging his sword wildly at head level. Theod sidestepped deftly and thrust his gladius up against his side. The second was more wary, feinting high and switching to swing at Theod’s leg. Theod stepped into the blow and shouldered the griffon’s shield, pushing him off his feet. A cry from behind Theod made him turn just in time to parry a downward swing at his head from Verstohlen. He stepped back as the tercel advanced towards him, thrusting and cutting and keeping him off balance. Gretus was tangled up with one of Verstohlen’s tribeskin, the Canii beginning to tire under the sustained attack. Theod feinted a dodge to the right and jumped, beating his wings to throw himself further. He sailed over Verstohlen’s head as the heartlander rushed towards the spot Theod had been a moment before. The airborne swing he took to the side of the head caught him completely off guard and sent him sprawling on the ground. Theod landed and rounded on the last tercel, who now stood between him and Gretus. The outnumbered griffon looked back and forth helplessly, trying to decide who to attack. Gretus swung and swept his legs from beneath him. Both tercels turned to where their other flank held their ground against the rest of the Fourth Decum, their backs open to Theod and Gretus. “Halt! Halt goddamnit!” Barley screamed, ending the bout prematurely. He jumped down from his chair and advanced on Theod. “You! You disobeyed a direct order!” “Sir, I-” “Silence!” Barley bellowed. He breathed deeply, composing himself, then turned to the assembled Auxillia. “We train you this way because it is better than what you barbarians learn in your hovels and filthy villages. To ignore our training, our orders, is to defy Cirra.” Barley motioned to one of his legionaries, who brought forwards a more pegasus-sized shield and Gladius. “You are going to fight me in the style of your people. You are going to lose. You will receive thirty lashes, and from then on you will fight like an Auxiliary,” the pegasus spat, taking the shield in his hoof, and the sword in his teeth. The legionary glanced at Barley's side. “Sir, your wingblades are edged, are you sure you want to-” “Yes, I am damn sure. The barbarian will get a taste of his punishment early if he likes,” Barley snarled, cutting his underling off. Barley rounded on Theod and planted his hooves, scowling up at the tercel. Theod swallowed and gripped his sword tightly. The other Auxillia gathered around in a wide ring to watch. Verstohlen muttered something to his neighbour and both laughed, eager to watch Theod be taken apart by the veteran centurion. “Begin.” Barley growled around his Gladius. Theod began circling around the pegasus, making him turn to face him, but he kept his distance. He had the advantage of reach, but the pegasus had his shield, his sword, and his wingblades. He struck out at Barley's head and sidestepped into a lunge at the pegasus’ side. The stallion brushed it aside with a flick of his wingblade. Overbalanced, Theod had barely a moment to bring his sword up to protect against the stallion’s gladius swung hard around the shield. The griffon moved with the blow, moving back along the dusty ground with a sword flourish to keep the pegasus off his back.. Barley smirked around his sword and advanced, backing Theod towards the edge of the circle. The tercel watched Barley carefully, assessing his options. He was old by pegasus standards. Slow, and he would tire quickly. His left hind leg dragged a little in the dirt, an old injury. The top of his shield sat level with his eyes. His helmet open faced to allow for the use of his sword. Theod struck out with a flurry of slashes, each hammer blow of his sword upon Barley’s shield flowing smoothly into the next. The pegasus seemed surprised by the sudden change of pace, slowly shifting backwards and away from the rain of sword strokes. The tercel tracked his hoofsteps. Left, right, left, waiting for the right moment to strike. Right. He punched the top of the shield full force with his off-talon, driving the rim into Barleys eyes. The stallion cried out and lost grip on his gladius, eyes clenched shut. Left. Theod darted around to Barleys left, lunging with his sword. Again, the pegasus brushed it aside with his wing, not needing to see to defend against such an obvious attack. But that was not Theods goal. He dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around the stallion’s midsection, his lame leg stopping him from dodging out of the way and allowing his wing to be pinned against his side. Barley’s other wing flailed uselessly, unable to reach around his shield to get at the griffon. Theod strained and lifted, pulling Barley off his hooves and bringing them both to the ground. Barley lay there stunned for a mere moment before he found Theod’s claws at his throat. “Do you yield, sir?” - - - Theod was dumped unceremoniously on the wooden floor of the barracks. His back was a bloody mess, cut deeply by the whip. Barley had taken the tool for himself. An additional punishment for humiliating the pegasus. The legionaries that carried him retired from the room, leaving him in the half-light that filtered through gaps in the roof. Aella walked over from where she leaned against her bunk, a wet cloth and a bucket in her talons. She winced as she looked his injuries over, holding the rag apprehensively as she tried to figure out where to start cleaning the wounds. “...B-Bad?” The hen swallowed and dipped the cloth in the bucket again. “I do not know, I can't make out where one begins and the other ends…” Tapfer rolled out of his bed and walked over. Taking the rag from Aella, he wordlessly began wiping the clotted blood out of Theod’s feathers. Gretus leered at the injured tercel from his bunk, but remained where he was. Hoofsteps approached, and Aella and Tapfer snapped to attention. Gretus leaped out of bed to do the same before the pegasus was fully in the room. “Ave, Legatus.” Aella said, saluting. Theod groaned as he tried to pull himself to his feet, feeling his wounds splitting open and fresh blood seeping into his coat. “Stay down, Theod.” Pruina said firmly, returning Aella’s salute. “As you were.” The pegasus removed his helmet and rested it in the crook of his foreleg. “Despite your disobedience on the field today Theod, you showed exceptional skill. Each of You. Theod and Aella, your skills at arms are beyond that of your peers. From what I understand, Tapfer has proved himself quite able with mechanical things, and with the ballista. Gretus, your defence is exceptional, vital to holding a formation in battle. “Henceforth you, and the others that I choose, will be tutored personally by the best of my legionaries, and myself. Leadership, reconnaissance, tactics. I learned much the same thing in my time in the ranks, as a Frumentarius. Do you know what that is?” “A Frumentarius is a logistics officer sir, tasked with gathering food, materials and other supplies while the legion is in hostile territory” Aella said automatically. “Almost correct. We started as simply grain-carriers. But after a time, the leadership realised that the skills that we used could be put to work gathering intelligence, sabotaging our enemies, and winning friends. That is the secret part of our role, and one of the things that you will be tasked with.” Tapfer spoke next, half raising his talon uncertainly. “Sir this Frumentarius thing… Will it be dangerous?” Pruina raised an eyebrow. “Is danger and death in battle not the goal of a griffons life? Or is that all bluster? There will be danger, yes, more than serving in the rank and file. This is why I am only selecting those who have the skill necessary to survive. But with that danger comes reward. Chance to take leave, access to the officers mess, perhaps even an early honourable discharge if you serve dutifully.” The assembled griffons were all silent, considering what Purina had said. The stallion donned his helmet again, smiling warmly at the hybrids. “Rest for now. Let your wounds heal. Your training will be hard, and I need you to be ready.”