A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies

by Sigur024

Auxillia

Theod awoke with a jolt, everything around him shaking and rattling as the sky-wagon rolled to a stop. He groaned and rubbed at a sore spot on his back. He had been cooped up in the wagon for three days, let out to eat, drink and relieve himself only when the pegasi briefly stopped to change puller teams.

He wished once more that he had been put in the carriage with the pegasi. They had seats and windows, and the possibility of something more interesting to do than sleep. Unfortunately, they had decided that he was to ride with their travelling chests and bags.

Theod heard the lock be removed from the door and the wall that he rested upon swung outwards. He tumbled out onto the dirt, into the blinding sunlight and swore. The legionary who had released him chuckled, and set about unloading the bags and chests that had been Theod’s traveling companions.

Groaning, the tercel sat up and rubbed at his eyes, waiting for his vision to return to him. It was hot wherever they were, the compacted dirt around him baking in the sun. He was at the end of a long dirt track, surrounded by low, square-ended buildings with wood shingle roofs. They were arranged in orderly lines with well-trodden dirt paths between, each one marked with cirran words that Theod could not understand.

The legionaries’ carriage sat next to the wagon, Pruina and his troops climbing out and heading towards the largest of the wooden buildings. Theod moved to follow, but the pegasus unloading the wagon stopped him.

“Go that way, to the parade ground. Wait with the others,” he growled in accented gryphic, pointing in the opposite direction with his wing. “No dawdling.”

Theod did as he was told, walking stiffly around the corner of one of the buildings and along the street.

Rounding the corner, he laid eyes upon the parade ground. It was much larger than the markets in Darkwood, perfectly square and flat, and surrounded on three sides by buildings that ran almost the entire length of the field. Banners planted in the ground at the corners of the field stirred in the light breeze, each embroidered with a talon and the words Legio Auxillia. At the bare end of the field there was a raised platform with a long bar held above it by stout pillars. A gallows most likely. Theod hoped he didn't have to see it used.

A large mass of griffons milled about before the platform, some talking to each other in hushed tones, others standing alone. Theod could see the clan and tribe divisions amongst them, each trying to keep to their own kind. Decoratively scarred northerners stood apart from the small and scrawny coast-dwellers, while the “civilised” western tribes segregated themselves from the griffons of the heartland. Only a few tribes seemed to have more than one candidate for the auxilia present. Those without kin either stood alone and wary, or tried to form their own groups for mutual protection.

Griffons had a hard time trusting each other beyond the bonds of shared blood and blood spilled. Some scholars lamented that their race was doomed to be fractured into a thousand petty kingdoms forever. Theod found it hard to disagree.

He scanned the crowd, hoping to see someone, anyone from a tribe that he knew, when his eyes fell upon a certain white hen. She had forgone the cirran-style dress she had worn at the feast, and stood conversing amongst a few other Canii. Her coat remained spotless despite the dusty surroundings, and not a single scar marred its surface. Theod could not help but notice how lean and shapely she was compared to the hens of his own tribe. Clearly she was more used to physical activity than most.

One of her companions motioned in Theod’s direction and he hurriedly looked away as the hen turned towards him. He could feel his cheeks flushing red under his feathers as he tried to disappear into the crowd, and he cursed himself internally. He was a tercel now, a warrior, but he was drooling over a hen like a fledgeling on his first spring. A Canii hen at that.

Theod tried to sidle into the crowd, but walked into something solid. He looked up just in time to catch a talon on the side of his face. He snarled and reared up as blood trickled from the small gashes that it left.

The tercel who had struck him laughed. He was shorter than Theod, but looked twice as strong. His coat was blonde and marked with a pattern of blue dye. The tribe of Verstecktholm. Eboric had fought a short and brutal war with them shortly after becoming chieftain for control of the seams of iron in the pass between their respective valleys. They had not forgiven that insult.

“Darkwood pig! You bastards never were good at watching where you are going.” The blonde tercel sneered, rearing up and meeting Theod’s glare.

The tercels cronies moved up beside him, laughing dutifully at his insult.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Theod said lamely.

The blonde griffon scowled. “Did you just call me short?”

Theod tried to respond. “No, I-”

“Shut up, you dog! I don't know why the Cirrans bothered to bring your pathetic mangy hide all the way over here when they could have picked someone who was stronger than a hen. Your brother for a start.” The tercel growled. “Why did they send you?” he pondered, an evil smile crossing his face. “Perhaps... your father sent you away because he just didn't want you?”

Theod snarled, seeing red. He raised his talon to return the insult, but a grey and white tercel stepped between. “Come on Verstohlen, you know that fighting before they tell us to will get you both flogged. You don't want that, it’d ruin your pretty makeup.”

Verstohlen was momentarily gobsmacked, but found himself again swiftly. “If you call my Woad makeup again I will gut you, lowborn sack of crap!”

The grey-bodied tercel laughed. “Easy, easy! You’re still pretty!” He nimbly dodged the blow the blonde griffon threw at him and laughed again.

Someone took Theods arm from behind. He spun, ready to strike and found himself face to face with the white Canii hen. His snarl died in his throat, and he was suddenly extremely aware of just how hot it was on the field.

“C’mon. Tapfer won't be able to play the jester for long without drawing the guards.” She said, dropping onto all fours and motioning for Theod to follow her.

He did, numbly, as she lead him to the comparative safety of the Canii griffons. There were at least two dozen of the distinctively pale-coloured hybrids there, far more than could reasonably be taken as hostages by the Cirrans.

“Just got here and already picking fights? Let it not be said that you don't have the warrior spirit.” The white hen said. “We met before, at the feast in Darkwood. I am Aella if you don't remember me”

“Theod.” He said numbly.

The tercel Aella had called Tapfer trotted over, holding a smug grin on his face. “No need to thank me, just saving your hide out of nothing more than my magnanimous goodwill.”

Aella ignored the grey tercel, remaining uncomfortably focused on Theod. “So, do you have a history with mister blueswirl over there?”

“Our tribes fought a war not long ago, and mine won. My brother and I must have drawn their interest if he knows of me-”

Aella elbowed Theod in the ribs, cutting him short. Legionaries landed all around the mob of griffons, taking up position in flawless formation. One swooped around the perimeter and landed upon the stage. He removed his crested helmet and passed it to an aide who stuck close by his side. The stallion was oddly dull coloured for a pegasus, with a light brown coat showing underneath his armour. His mane, once black, was shot through with grey and white hair. His face was neutral, but his eyes were filled with contempt as he scanned the crowd

“Silencio!” he commanded, his voice ringing around the square.

The whispered conversations of the mob died out, falling into silence under the stallion’s withering glare. All save one. A hen whispered something to her companion. The Centurion pointed her out, and a pair of legionaries detached from their formation and moved towards her.

The hen opened her beak to question, but was struck across the face by a legionary’s hoof. They stood over her, kicking and stomping while she cried out in pain. The rest of the congregation looked on in stunned silence until the stallion upon the stage motioned for them to return to their places. The beaten hen staggered to her feet, bleeding from splits upon her face.

“Discipline!” The stallion shouted. “A foreign word to all of you, I am sure. But it is what is expected of you in the Legion. My name is Septimus Pilus Prior Barley, and it is my job to turn you stinking barbarians into something worth the emperor’s investment of time and legionaries into training you!”

Barley scanned the crowd, seeming to note how the griffons were clustered together. “Know this! Here there are no tribes, no nobles and no peasants, there are only Auxillia! You will all act the part, or you will suffer, starting now. Move into four lines, now!” he bellowed.

The griffons were shocked into action, moving quickly to form into rough lines across the parade ground. Legionaries moved amongst them, checking whom was standing near whom and shuffling a few around.

“The Emperor demands your service as subjects of Cirra, in the name of our great empire.” Barley began while his legionaries worked. “When you are trained, you will serve alongside legionaries in the borderlands and beyond in pacifying your kin and bringing the peace and prosperity of Cirra to them. Serve faithfully and live out your term, and you will be settled in the borderlands with a villa and slaves to work it. You will also be released as a hostage and considered Citizens by Cirra- though the thought of the current rabble diluting that station disgusts me.”

There was a murmur from the crowd at the mention of land and property. The Canii were rewarded in a similar manner after the dawn war, and all the tribes envied the wealth that their treachery brought.

“Where are the slaves going to come from?” A heartlander near Theod grumbled.

“Why the fuck are you looking around?!” Barley screamed, turning red in the face. “Stand straight, eyes forward, don't even twitch without my say-so!”

Theod and the others did as they were told. The centurion finally nodded, seemingly satisfied but holding his scowl. “The lines in which you now stand will be your Contubernium. You will sleep next to these legionaries, eat next to them, fight next to them, and die next to them if and when we demand it.

“Your training will begin immediately,” he continued. “Collect your equipment from the warehouse over there then report to the Decurion outside for your barracks assignment!”

With that, Barley turned and marched off, leaving his underlings to deal with the hybrids. They sent each row of four off one by one to the warehouse, leaving the others standing in the baking sun while they waited.

Theod had ended up standing behind Tapfer, still mixed in with the Canii. As he waited, his eyes wandered, eventually falling upon the scars that covered the tercel’s back between his wings. They were thin individually, but so numerous that some areas of his coat were completely bald. Before he could ponder that further, Theod’s contemplation was broken by one of the legionaries.

“Next line, move it!” he yelled inches from Theod’s head.

The tercel turned and paused, trying to figure out which building was the warehouse. The delay earned him a clip across the back of the head from the soldier.

“The big one! Move it!” he shouted as Theod retreated towards the indicated building. The others followed behind him, seemingly content to let him take the fall for all of them.

The inside of the warehouse was blessedly cool compared to outside. It was filled with long lines of shelves down which a dozen or so unarmoured legionaries moved, fetching and carrying stacks of parchment, bags of flour and all manner of military equipment. Griffons approached, were handed a sack of equipment, and then shooed away so those waiting behind them could take their place.

One of Theod’s of new “Contubernium” shoved past him. He growled and turned to protest, meeting Aella’s cold blue eyes. His words died in his throat and the hen chuckled, strutting around him and over towards a desk where a legionary sat pouring over a large ledger. A tall, ash-grey Canii moved by in her wake, not even sparing Theod a glance as he went to collect his own equipment.

“Nobody’s gonna invite you in if that’s what you’re waiting for,” Tapfer called from behind.

Theod muttered an apology and moved, letting the tercel into the building.

“C’mon, let’s get moving. I’ve already had my fill of watching other griffons get disciplined for the day.” Tapfer said, leading the way towards the counter where the pegasus sat, carefully matching bags with their intended recipients.

Aella and the other Canii had already moved on, and were digging through their bags on a bench near the wall. As they approached the stallion at the counter he looked over a list, matching them to a bag of thick canvas each.

Tapfer lead the way to the benches against the wall and began digging through his bag as if it were full of gifts at Yule. Theod shook his head and opened his own bag. A thick tunic with a belt of plaited cloth sat at the top, left undyed and roughly stitched. Pulling it out, Theod rifled through the rest of the contents: A bowl, a spoon, and a few other small tools for grooming and cleaning. He put the bag down and pulled the tunic over his head. Aella and the tall Canii had moved on to another counter by the time he managed it, leaving him and Tapfer alone near the wall.

“Why are there hens here?” Theod whispered to the tercel.

Tapfer raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“This is supposed to be some kind of warband right? Why are the hens here?”

“Because they are Auxillia. Warriors.”

“Hens… as warriors.” Theod said, turning the sentence over in his mouth. “Do they really expect hens to fight in the shield wall with us?”

“Cirrans don't fight in a shield wall, and neither will we—and yes, we will be fighting together. We’re supposed to fight like the pegasi,” Tapfer said, putting his tunic on and tying the cord around his waist, “and the pegasi like having their mares with them when they fight.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Theod remarked, delving deeper into his bag to find a necklace with a pewter amulet upon it. One side bore the crest of the legion, the other his name spelled out in Cirran text.

“I volunteered, along with a few others. Didn’t stand to inherit anything, so I thought this might be a way to make something better of myself,” Tapfer said matter-of-factly. He reached for his bag but accidentally clipped the side, spilling the contents upon the floor. He cursed and set about retrieving the rogue items before they could roll too far away.

“Get moving, we don't have all day!” the stallion behind the counter called out, making the two tercels jump and hurriedly recoil.

Leaving Tapfer behind at the mercy of the swearing legionary, Theod moved on to the next counter. The tall tercel had already moved on, but Aella remained, exchanging a bundle of equipment for a slightly different one with the mare behind the desk.

The pony behind the counter leaned over and looked at his tag. “Si quidem hisce.” She turned around and pulled a neatly folded mass of leather from the shelf. She hoofed it to Theod. “Posuit super”

At Theod’s helpless look, the hen rolled her eyes. “She wants you to put it on. It's your Lorica,” she said, unfolding her own bundle into a coat and turning it inside out to reveal the bronze scales that protected the outside. She slipped it on easily and strapped it up with the small iron buckles that closed it over her chest, covering her from elbow to neck to rump with golden scales.

She swung her arms experimentally, making sure she could move properly before saying something in Cirran to the pegasus and padding out to the square again. Theod watched the hen leave.

“My, my, my, don't they teach fledgelings not to stare where you come from?” Tapfer piped up. “Not that I can blame you- she is a fine example of noble breeding.”

Theod scowled and Tapfer laughed. “Doorway-blocking, hen-staring, and humourless. You heartlanders are an interesting bunch.” He took his armour from the mare behind the desk and slipped it on. “Blegh, we have to wear this gaudy bronze stuff? I thought they would at least give us chain, or armour like a proper legionary.”

Theod put his own armour on. It hung strangely compared to chainmail, and lacked the padding that was normally worn underneath. “Maybe they will give us better stuff later on?”

Tapfer scoffed. “I doubt it. Unless we are somehow able to buy it ourselves.”

Theod buckled his armour. “They said that they would give us land and slaves, maybe we will be able to.”

Tapfer considered his new armour for a moment. “Maybe they want us to get used to dressing gaudy, like Senators.”

“The only griffons who dress like senators are their slaves,” Theod remarked.

“Isn’t that what we are already?” Tapfer said with a wink.

Theod peered past the tercel, and saw an irritated legionary marching towards them. He elbowed Tapfer and slung his bag across his shoulders, and both tercels hurried from the building. They rejoined Aella and the other Canii, standing in line in the street as a legionary marked each of them down on a slate

“Took you long enough.” Aella whispered as the pegasus moved by.

“Hey, I couldn't leave our poor, delicate little heartlander friend behind, could I?” Tapfer replied.

“I don't think you could even if you tried; he’s in our contubernium now.”

Theod turned away from Aella and Tapfer and looked around. The rows of barracks, the banners around the square, the unit of griffons being drilled by their instructor. “Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all,” he said to himself.

There was a yell from down the line, followed by a yelp as a centurion laid into one of his charges with a thin yew cane.

“Psssh, and I’m the king of Hengstead.” Tapfer said with a chuckle.

Author's Note:

I wish to apologize for the massive, massive gap between the last chapter and this one. Now that my time at university is finally done, I hope to move to a more regular release schedule

Comments

[SIGAWESOME]

Just finally got caught up with this story. Certainly enjoying it thus far.

Just out of curiosity, what did you use for your historical sources? I really find this "day in the life of a legionary as interpreted by griffons and ponies" interesting.

[Sigur024]

6877061

The Romans kept pretty good records on how their military is run, and I believe that 24th based Cirra as closely on them as possible. I'm not certain whether there are any specific resources, but "Legionary: The Roman Soldier's (Unofficial) Manual" is a decent place to start if you can find a copy.

As for sources on the griffons, its mostly based on the rough ideas of how a tribal/feudal germanic society was run

- and thank you, I'm glad you are enjoying it so far. I plan to have the next chapter out within a week or two

[Zevski]

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Theod said lamely.
The blonde griffon scowled. “Did you just call me short?”

Someone's got issues.

I am Aella

Let's hope she doesn't get turned into a blood eagle.

My name is Septimus Pilus Prior Barley

What an unusually non-pony name, although I guess the Barley part fits the bill.

The lines in which you now stand will be your Contubernium. You will sleep next to these legionaries, eat next to them, fight next to them, and die next to them if and when we demand it.

Surprised they aren't chaining them together like some sort of penal battalion, though I guess that'd make flying difficult.

Tapfer lead the way to the benches against the wall and began digging through his bag as if it were full of gifts at Yule.

What did you get?
I got an axe.
I got a spear.
I got a... sock?

Theod put his own armour on. It hung strangely compared to chainmail, and lacked the padding that was normally worn underneath. “Maybe they will give us better stuff later on?”

You guys are too low level for the good stuff.