• Published 8th Mar 2015
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A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies - Sigur024



Two brothers, separated by cruel circumstance, shall face a great war apart and be forever changed.

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The Revolt pt 1

Theod flew at the head of his century, near a hundred legionaries armed and armoured for battle. Behind him, the other centuries spread into a great V-formation, their armour shining orange in the setting sun. Ahead, Pruina and his staff flew in their own century, charting their course through the heartland of Cirra.

They had flown most of the way, leaving most of their supplies in favour of speed. Each griffon only carried their armour, weapons and mess kit. Food, tents, tools and other encumbrances abandoned in the pursuit of speed. They were largely unnecessary in the heartland of Cirra, the inhabitants relinquishing barns and sheds to quarter the strange griffons who flocked through their land.

They had been at mess when the news arrived. A slave revolt in Viridis, and so close to the Day of the Empire parade too. The Emperor had decided that the day was too important to pull any of the true legions out of the parade and so the fledgeling Auxillia was called upon to put down the revolt.

Aella and the other Canii had been bitterly disappointed, robbed of her opportunity to parade before the emperor. Others were eager at the prospect of putting their training into practice. Theod just felt worried.

Up ahead, the legate tipped his wing and dove towards the highway, the Auxillia following as one to land in formation by the sides of the road. Theod broke off from his century and trotted between the piles of debris left by fleeing ponies to where Pruina stood, Aella, Gretus and Tapfer following suit.

The Legate doffed his helmet as they approached, waving Barley away to inspect the Auxillia one more time.

“That, down there, is Viridis.” Pruina began, waving a hoof down towards the ruined town. “The Frumentarii have confirmed that the slaves have mostly kept to the town and the surrounding hamlets, and they do not think that there are any bands roaming elsewhere at last check. They have fortified the town, blocked streets, barred windows and spikes placed everywhere.” Pruina said, uncapping his canteen and taking a deep drink.

“When do we attack Legatus?” Theod asked.

The Legate wiped his mouth with a forelock and returned his flask to its pouch. “Immediately.” He said. “Any time to rest may lose us the element of surprise.”

“Legate, there is an advantage to be had if we attack from the air.” Aella pointed out.

Pruina shook his head. “If the slaves have fortified the streets, they intend to defend the town. They will not come out in the open to meet us, and we will be forced to land in scattered groups, too easy to pick off. We have the advantage by hoof. Or paw, as the case may be.”

“You speak as if they have a strategy, Legatus.” Theod said, adjusting the strap that held his Gladius.

The stallion pursed his lips and paused a moment, staring off at the town. “I know Legate Oak. If he drilled and ruled his slaves as thoroughly as he did his soldiers, it is unlikely they revolted without some interference. Interference this deep in Cirra requires a lot of skill and influence.”

Gretus snorted, making Theod jump. He could almost forget that the tercel could speak from time to time. “More than slaves?”

Pruina nodded. “Quite likely I think, but we have four hundred of Cirras finest here, plus my staff. We can handle whatever else has come to Viridis.”

The legate pointed down towards the main street, leading through the abandoned town to the market square, then up towards the stately villa that dominated the top of the settlement. “We will march down through the road, Auxillia first and Cirrans second. I will march at the front with Theods century. Keep your troops together and follow any orders I give exactly. With luck, this will all be over before sunset.”

---

The centuries marched down into the valley in an extended line, drums and shouted commands announcing their presence. Theod felt his chest tighten as the white-washed walls of the town approached, dread overwhelming any excitement he felt at the prospect of a fight.

The town of Viridis was in ruins. The streets were filled with all manner of possessions, food and clothes and furniture scattered about by panicked residents or the slaves who set upon them. Spatters and pools of blood lay on the ground here and there along with chunks of fur and feathers. There were few bodies, brightly coloured pegasus coats marred by their torn and ruined flesh.

The smell was what troubled Theod the most. Rotting blood, foul and metallic, much different to when the butchers bled game that his father hunted. As they passed a burned out store the smell of burned hair joined the mix, causing some of the auxillia to gag.

Silence prevailed save for the sound of shifting armour and Theod had to resist the temptation to peer into every window he passed. His sense of dread grew with each step. Surely the slaves had to be somewhere up ahead.

Suddenly the space opened up into the market square Pruina had pointed out. It was mostly empty, the carts and stalls that had once filled the space had been shoved aside and piled into the side street exits of the plaza. On the rooftops Theod could see the sharpened poles intended to keep airborne troops out scattered haphazardly around.

Pruina halted the line with a raised hoof and spoke briefly with Barley, motioning up the main street and towards the villa. The centurion nodded and led his century off to one side, allowing the rest of the Auxillia to file into the square in their line. Pruina marched over to Theod and pointed up the main road again. “Barley’s century will form the rearguard. Lead the line up the road towards the villa. If they aren’t here in the town, the slaves are probably up there.” He said.

Theod nodded, his mouth dry. Pruina gave the tercel an encouraging smile and moved to the rear of the century to join Aellas unit.

“Auxillia, forward march!” Theod shouted, setting the formation of hybrids in motion again, forward into the upper end of the town.

Here the character seemed different to Theod. Perhaps it was his nervousness getting to him, but it seemed more menacing. The buildings leaned in over the street, leaving only a thin line of bright daylight running down the centre, and all the garishly coloured signs dangling from yardarms felt like forest boughs cutting off escape. The side streets here were also barricaded, filled with piles of furniture and lashed with ropes.

“Sir! Above!” One of Theod’s auxillia called out. Theod looked up in time to see a thin griffon silhouetted against the sky hurl something down towards him. He sidestepped and with a crack a ceramic tile shattered where he had been standing.

From above there arose a desperate, angry cry and more projectiles began falling, followed by animal howls and condemnation of the traitors in cirran armour. The Auxillia were surprised by the sudden appearance of the slaves, and holding their shields above their heads they began to push backwards blindly and against Theods shouted orders.

From the rear arose a feral noise and shouts of alarm. Amongst the clash of weapons, the Auxilla at the rear began to push forwards into the street. In the middle a terrible crush formed, shields pinned down in the midst of the mass leaving helmeted heads open to the assault from above.

From the rear there were more urgent shouts of panic. Theod spun and craned his neck to try and see over the mass of Auxillia. The pegasi were fleeing, taking to the air and disappearing over the rooftops.

Pruina appeared from the crush, pushing his way between the Auxilla. He turned before them, ignoring the rain from above and drawing breath as if to speak. He did not get the chance. A ceramic tile burst upon his helmet, driving a great dent into the polished steel. The Legate staggered a few steps and fell silently, blood running from his eyes and nose.

Theod baulked and ran forwards towards the legate, holding his shield up to ward off the falling masonry. The pegasus was moaning lowly and twitching in his legs. Theod scooped him up and turned back towards the mass of panicking griffons.

They were trapped, surrounded sides, behind and above. The only way was forwards.

“Auxillia!” He barked with all the authority he could muster. “Forward! Up towards the villa!”

The Auxillia seemed to be shocked out of their panic and began to charge up the street, shields held high and all pretense of formation abandoned as they dragged themselves out of the ambush.

Theod ran with the mob, unable to stop or slow lest he and the legate be trampled underfoot. As they exited the confines of the street Theod lead the Auxillia up through the great doors of the old legates villa, where hopefully there was some safety.

Away from the slaves the flight of the Auxillia began to lose momentum, terminating in the open courtyard of the Villa. They stood panting heavily, some bleeding from wounds on their heads or arms.

Theod looked down at Pruina. His helmet had fallen off somewhere in the mad dash. The dent in the steel was mirrored by another in the stallions skull. He yet lived though, a low moan escaping his lips with each breath.

“Aella! Tapfer! Gretus! Where are you?” Theod called into the crowd, and was answered by the appearance of the snow white hen. Her left arm dangled uselessly by her side, shoulder shattered. Gretus followed in her wake, fretting in rapid fire Cirran that Theod could not understand and trying to fashion a sling out of his tunic.

Aella saw Theods concern and shook her head. “Brick, shield wasn’t in the right place. I can still fight.” Her eyes fell upon Pruina and she gasped. “Gods above!”

Theod laid Pruina down as gently as he could. “We need to get the Legate somewhere safe, and get the legionaries back into fighting order before they try to join up with the slaves.”

Aella looked over her shoulder back towards the town, where the screams of those auxillia too slow or injured to escape echoed up the hill. “I don't think the slaves will let them.”

The beating of wings made Theod jerk his head skywards to see Tapfer dropping into the courtyard, shield discarded and Cirran scorpion in his talons. The tercel looked at Aella, then Theod, then the Legate, noting their grim faces. “Gods above, is he-… Do you think we can talk them into surrendering?”

Theod looked back through the doorway. The slaves were advancing up the hill in a great mob, shouting and waving weapons. On the flanks were griffons that were definitely not slaves. Chain armour and swords shone blood red in the setting sun, and the strength of their frames was apparent compared to the emaciated and sinewy slaves.

“They have a damned warband with them.” Theod said, frantically looking around the courtyard. They were walled in on all sides by quarters for servants and guards, all showing signs of fighting. “We can't make a run for it, even if we get clear we will be decimated for fleeing.” He thought aloud.

“This is just like when Tacitus was trapped in the Nimban arena, during the first civil war.” Aella mused.

“Excellent.” Theod said “How did Tacitus get out of the senate?”

Aella fell silent, her expression grim.

“He died.” Gretus rumbled.

Theod peered over the heads of the Auxillia, inspecting the courtyard more closely. On the sides and the entrance wall all the doors and windows were open, simple barricades tossed aside and spattered with blood. They were simply too open to be defended.

Aella pointed up towards the area opposite the main entrance. The walls were more decorated, and the windows, shuttered and barred, had resisted the slaves. Shattered doorframes had not. “We might be able to hold that place, put the Auxillia inside and on the balconies.”

Theod nodded and stood tall. “Auxillia!” He shouted, getting the attention of the frightened griffons. “Our enemy is stronger than we expected, and we are cut off from our instructors. But we are better armed and better trained than any mob of rebels. We will defend the far side of the courtyard, first and second floor! Follow your centurions and stand firm! We are getting out of this yet!”

The mob began to resolve itself again, the faces of the griffons telling Theod that they were glad to at least have some direction. Tapfer led his and Theod’s centuries up the grand staircase and into the ruined quarters of the villa’s owner, judging by the finery of the decoration, while Theod carried the injured Legate as carefully as he could. The first room was a large dining room that filled most of the second floor, the tables and lounges tossed about and torn by the fighting that had taken place. In the corner there was a staircase that led down into the first floor where Aella and Gretus were turning a sizeable library into a series of chest-high barricades.

Theod ducked into the second room of the top floor, a bedroom with lounges, wardrobes and a large bed ruined with blood and covered in strips of hide. An old stallion, dead and flayed from the neck down was nailed to the headboard, the contortion of his face showing the agony of his demise.

Theod gingerly laid Pruina down on an unsullied corner of the bed and rummaged through a nearby wardrobe, hoping to find something to clean the Legate up with at least.

“I thought as much.” Pruina murmured, making Theod nearly jump out of his skin. The tercel turned and sat beside the pegasus who was blearily looking up at the flayed stallion.

“The old bastard was far too stubborn to cut and run.” Pruina said with some effort. “What is the situation?”

“We are trapped Legatus.” Theod reported, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “Barley has abandoned us, the slaves have a warband with them and our position is not going to be defensible for very long.”

Pruina lifted his head, gritting his teeth in pain. “Barley wouldn't cut and run. He knows the penalty. He will be back as soon as he is able.” The pegasus looked to Theod with bloodshot eyes. “You must hold here as long as you can. That is my order.”