A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies

by Sigur024

Ideals

“Auxillia! Forward march!” Pruina barked in his accented Gryphic.

As one the assembled griffons stepped off, marching on their hindlegs. Armour polished to near-perfection glinted and shone, and freshly painted shields were held by their sides. Theod marched in the front-right of his century as Aella, Gretus, Tapfer headed their own units.

Theod almost couldn't recall how long he had been at the camp. The training, drill and lectures seemed to have simply become routine, days blurring into weeks in a constant pattern of legion life.

Pruina had made good on his promise of higher-order training. Aside from tactics, language and command, he had personally tutored his chosen few in the things expected of a Cirran officer off the battlefield. Theatre and art, history and politics, wrestling and flying racing.

Standing in a line along the right of the parade route were a series of makeshift banners made from blankets, followed by small idols of Cirra’s gods upon plinths, ending with an icon of Emperor Haysar, gazing placidly into the distance. The centuries marched past, heads turned to face them and arms raised in salute.

Come the day of the Summer parade they would be replaced by the resplendent silk and gilt banners of the imperial legions, senators, priests and finally the Emperor himself.

Aella could scarcely contain her excitement when they were told the news. The honour of parading before the Emperor clearly appealed to the hen and her Canii kin. Others had been less enthusiastic, but discipline kept them from expressing this openly.

Theod was uncertain how he felt about it. Perhaps he would know when he looked into the eyes of the pony who had subjugated his people and taken him so far from his home.

“Auxillia, right turn!” Pruina shouted. Without missing a beat the marching griffons turned and marched away from the banners and into where the marshalling grounds of the imperial palace would be on the day of the parade. There the whole assembled force of Cirras legions would stand for review

“Halt!” Pruina shouted. The Auxillia stopped smartly with a crash of stomping paws. “Cadets, fall out on me! March!”

Theod turned sharply and marched over before the Legate, halting in line with his friends.

Pruina clicked his tongue and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Better. But we only have a few more weeks until the summer festival to get up to standard. Aella, take them around once again.”

Aella snapped to attention and saluted the pegasus. “Ita Legatus.”

Pruina returned the salute and sat back on his haunches to observe.

“Alright.” Aella said. “Cadets, fall in! Auxillia, forward-”

“No!” came a voice from the crowd. “I will not honour their gods again. Never!”

“Who said that?” Aella shouted, marching down the line of assembled griffons, casting a withering glare as she went.

“I did.” Verstohlen spat, taking a few steps out of line. He threw his shield upon the ground and turned back to the assembled Auxillia. “They order us to commit blasphemy! We have betrayed our war-god, and now they order us to grovel before icons of the prey-beasts instead of our ancestors-”

“I did not give you permission to break ranks, legionary!” Aella barked, advancing on the tercel

“Of course you are in favour of this, lapdog!” Verstohlen snarled, rounding on the hen. “You and your traitorous kin would give your own daughters to the Cirrans.” He sneered with a sly smile.

Aella’s noble features twisted into a mask of fury. She reared up to strike the tercel, the demeanor of command forgotten. Theod rushed over and stepped between them, placing a talon upon Aellas shaking fists. They were shaking with rage.

“Touched a nerve have I, lapdog?” Verstohlen laughed. A few of the Auxillia suppressed chuckles. Verstohlen spread his arms. “I am no lapdog- and neither are most of you.” He said with a pointed glare towards the white-coated Canii amongst the Auxillia. “I will not submit now, or ever to those that should be meat on our tables, or their pets! No more!”

There was a rumble of hushed assent amongst the Auxillia. A few of the Canii looked to eachother for support. They were afraid. Theod glanced over at Pruina. His face displayed not a trace of emotion.

“What would you do, Verstohlen?” Theod called out, raising his voice so the rest of the griffons could hear him. “Betray the oaths sworn by you and your father? Bring down the legion on your hearth and home?”

Verstohlen opened his beak to respond, but Theod cut him off.

“You are an idiot.” He said. “Your tribe fight in the shadows. Stealth and ambush and cunning are the tools of your trade, because you are too weak to face your foe in a straight fight.”

Verstohlen snarled, a few of the Auxillia made quiet jests to their fellows.

“You know there is no shame in hiding from an enemy you cannot defeat. We cannot defeat Cirra. The Dawn War proved that. So hide your hearts behind a lapdogs mask, and do as they wish- for now.” Theod pulled himself up to his full height and glared down at Verstohlen. “Now fall back into line, before all of us suffer for your disobedience.”

Vershohlen looked back to the Auxillia for support. None moved. His resolve failed, and he slunk back into line, recovering his shield as he went.

Theod turned back to Aella. She was still shaking, and there was fire in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Theod asked quietly.

Aella scowled at Theod. “That worm! You should have let me gut him!”

“Get a hold of yourself. You are an officer and a noble. You should not be so weak that his words anger you like this.” Theod whispered.

“Enough.” Pruina said, his voice firm and measured. “Gretus, Tapfer, keep things under control here until Barley arrives. Aella, Theod, come with me.”

---

Theod sat outside of Pruinas office, waiting. He hated waiting. The muffled conversation between Aella and the Legate seemed to drag on into eternity. Outside the sun was beginning to set.

The door to Pruinas office suddenly swung open and Aella emerged. She did not pause or acknowledge Theod as she left. Her eyes were red, and the plumage on her face was ruffled strangely.

“Theod.” Pruina called from inside.

The tercel stood and entered the office, closing the door behind him. Pruina sat behind a simple desk, writing a note in a small book which he then slotted back into its place on the shelves behind him.

“Aella,” Theod began “Is she-”

Pruina silenced him with a raised hoof. “We have spoken on the matter. She has explained herself. There will be no more discussion on this.”

The pegasus stood and walked over to one of his cabinets, retrieving a terracotta jug. He placed it on his desk and carefully poured two cups of wine. He sat down on his chair and sighed, rubbing his brow, then taking a sip from his cup. “Sit, please.” He said, motioning at a chair leaned against the wall.

Theod pulled the chair over in front of the desk and settled on it as Pruina began to speak again.

“You handled Verstohlen well.” The stallion began. “You could have let Aella beat him, could have let him be executed for treachery, but you talked him down. Why?”

“Why?” Theod frowned. “If one of us is a traitor, all of us are. Stallions like Barley, they probably wouldn't hesitate for a second to turn on us if they got the chance.”

Pruina pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, staring off into space. “What do you want from the Auxilla, Theod?” He asked.

“I… do not know.” Theod replied.

Pruina raised his eyebrows at the griffon, taking a sip from his cup.

“I was taken from my home with no warning, right on the day I was to become a tercel, and told to decide between captivity and the Auxillia. I didnt really have much time to think about it” Theod said plainly.

Pruina sighed. “Not an ideal circumstance, I understand. If I could have done it on any other day, I would have.”

The stallion ran a hoof through his mane. He looked tired, the lines of early ageing showing plainly on his face.

“My whole life has been dominated by war.” He said softly. “I joined the legion so young I was practically a colt. Spent years posted to border areas trying to keep pegasi and griffons from killing eachother, then the Dawn War. All those years fighting, all those deaths, just to keep things as they are.

-When Haysar closed the doors of the temple of Ofnir, that is when I realised what I wanted most in the world, and what I want from the Auxillia.” Pruina said. “Peace.”

Theod thought as he took a drink from his cup, feeling the warmth of strong wine in his breast. “I… Think I want peace as well.” He said finally.

“And how would you go achieving peace?” Pruina asked.

Theod paused to think, swirling the wine in his cup. “War comes from hate. I had this idea as a fledgeling that as long as you fought honourably there wouldn't be any reason to hate.”

“Go on.” Pruina prompted, leaning forwards in his chair.

“If… if you only fought those that had wronged you, didn't hurt innocent people or lump them in with your enemies then those people wouldn't have a reason to fight you. That somehow if you had a reason, the people who supported your enemies would forgive you.” Theod raised his cup to his beak, draining it.

“It is a shame that the world disagrees.” Pruina sighed.

The stallion steepled his hooves and looked over them at Theod. “In all my time fighting against and working amongst griffons, I noticed something. A difference of mentality. It seems to me that each and every griffon seeks individual glory, each pulling their own way.”

“You say that like it is a bad thing.” Theod said, taking the jug and refilling his cup. The warmth of good drink was rare in the camp, and he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Pruina smiled. “It can spur you on to do great things, but you struggle against your own people as much as your goal. Pegasi were once a lot like your kind. We spent as much time fighting eachother as we spent fighting your people. For a hundred years we were forever on the verge of being pushed into the sea. That all changed with Roamulus. In one lifetime we went from a scattered web of warring cities into an empire.

-Though my ancestors chafed against the bonds of empire, their descendants realised its potential. They gave up the quest for individual glory and set to work as parts of a greater whole. With no wars between pegasi wasting blood and effort we built our cities, cultivated the land and forced our borders out to where they now lie. Now after four hundred years we have subjugated griffonkind as well.”

Theod rubbed the back of his neck with a talon, casting his eyes across the mementos and books that sat on the legates shelves. “My father said we were lucky, with the subjugation that is. He said that Cirrans live under the worst tyranny. That you could not resolve affairs of honour by battle, or fight against your chieftain no matter how they have wronged you.”

Pruina sighed and nodded. “It is true, we gave must give up some liberties for the sake of the empire.”

“If the empire takes things from you. Your warriors, your weapons. Why support it?” Theod asked.

“Because it makes us safe.” The legate answered. “We do not need to waste time or effort fighting our neighbours over petty slights, or dealing with the upheaval of a warlord claiming rule over some minor patch of land. Our children grow up without the fear of conflict, and our citizens need not arm and train themselves simply to keep a hold on their possessions. You lived the life of a noble, but even your luxurious and comfortable life rested on the edge of your father's sword. Just think of how it is for your simpler tribesmen who dont have the protection of high station.”

Pruina looked up at Theod, holding his gaze. “Your people are where we were four hundred years ago. A hundred petty warlords wasting precious blood in a hundred petty squabbles. If the empire can stand for just a few generations, if just a little of the Cirran mindset can seep into your people, then perhaps we can have peace. Perhaps life could be better for all.”

Theod leaned back in his chair. He could see what Pruina meant. He had no count for the number of squabbles that his father had been forced to quell within and without his tribe. Personal power grabs, brawls between a few dozen warriors over a broken promise, brutes and bandits taking what they wanted by force. Perhaps the docile nature of Cirran life was worth a try.

The Tercel scratched his chin. “I think I see what you mean.”

Pruina rose from his chair. “I want you to trust in me, Theod. In the work that we do. Trust that whatever we do, we do for peace.”

“I… I shall try.” Theod said.

---

Vigild arched his back and stretched his wings as best as he was able, his confinement preventing him from dispelling the ache of inactivity from his limbs.

The Herald had forced this upon him, and the other young warlords who he was supposed to share this glory with. Travelling in a barge along the winding river that carried meltwater from the mountains all the way to the sunset sea in Cirra. The cargo, a tithe of iron and alpine timber, was bound for Stratopolis and the armouries of Cirra. It gave the necessary cover for three warbands of griffons to sneak into the heartland of the empire.

The hold of the barge was small, dark and damp, and had become much more unpleasant since one of Aurels tercels had thrown up from seasickness. Vigild wished that he could beat the lowborn again for it, but all of their warriors were needed for their task.

“Upstart!” he commanded, calling the tercel he had savaged weeks before in Darkwood. He was still bound and bandaged, and Vigild was able to find some satisfaction from making his former rival his personal servant.

“Your bidding, lord?” He mumbled, careful to not disturb his cracked beak. It would heal in time, but scar would be there for life.

“Fetch me wine- and ask the crew how far we are from Viridis.” Vigild ordered. The upstart bowed and backed away, disappearing between the crates of iron ingots.

Vigild could hear Aurel and Grigori talking on the other side of the ship. He had grown tired of their company quickly. They had the airs of a noble living a soft life, granted everything that they desired in the manors of Angenholt. Their voices grated, pale and bland compared to the memory of Magnus.

The young warlord reclined again, recalling the thunder of his voice, the feeling of his presence. He dreamed of returning to him victorious, an army of his liberated kin behind him. The herald had seemed pleased by Vigilds devotion when they spoke. The strange tercel could at least hold a conversation that wasn't gossip or tales of noble hedonism, despite his insistence on holding onto the mystery of his relation to Magnus.

The upstart returned, clutching a carafe which Vigild snatched from his grasp. He took a long draught and wiped his beak, letting the taste of Cirran alcohol wash over him. He turned his gaze back upon his servant. “Go oil my mail again, and my sword. If they get rusty from this damp you will pay dearly.” He spat.

The upstart bowed and disappeared again, leaving Vigild to steep in his thoughts.