Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

No arrow of the enemy's, nor blade, could harm him. He felt invincible like a God. Beneath him, the enemy cowered, their backs to the hillock's wall, pinned between him and his companeight.

Many of the Ukrun threw down their weapons and fled desperately into the dark, but a dozen brave men amongst them gathered and rallied a defence, screaming in defiance.

Skippii floated over the hillock's edge, preparing to leap. Below, blades were raised to catch his fall. Though he did not fear the bite of bronze, an odd apprehension held him back–a vestige of his mind still clinging to cold reason–and watched in horror as he stepped over the edge upon his prey.

A hand grasped his shoulder and he was dragged backwards. Rounding on the attacker, Skippii was about to strike when he recognised the red legionnaire's cloak and saw Tenoris' face. The big man recoiled his hand in pain, blowing on it and shoving it under his armpit. "Whoa, stallion of light. Do not jump so briskly to your death."

Upon hearing his companion's words, Skippii's mind cleared, and he dashed away from their exposed position on the hillock's edge.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Do not worry about me until the battle is over," Tenoris said, handing Skippii his shield which he had left behind.

Taking up their arms, the two of them rounded the hillock and flanked the trapped Ürkün, numbering roughly twenty. Their companions had formed a loose line, enclosing them against the rock. Drusilla, Kaesii and Cur held the centre, stalwart behind their shields, stabbing and pushing any of the Ürkün who opposed them. Some tried to flee out from their flanks, but Arius and Orsin pounced on them, catching their legs with the tips of their spears. Some made it to their horses, but none had the wits to rally a counter attack.

With a cry, Skippii and Tenoris charged the enemy's flank. At once, his companions did the same. At the last moment, the Ürkün counter-charged, swinging their swords and axes wildly. Burning with power, Skippii slammed his shield into the foremost barbarian, throwing him backwards. He felt stronger than ever, and quicker.

With Tenoris at his side, the two of them bore the brunt of their counter-charge, blocking and stabbing–swaying and dancing around the enemy until finally, the two flanks of legionnaires met, and the Ürkün were put to death all at once by a flurry of lances.

The last three of the enemy threw their arms down in despair. Drusilla drew his knife and executed one without mercy, while Kaesii set upon the others.

"Wait!" Orsin yelled, getting between them. "Don't kill them."

The sounds of the dying lay at their feet–mournful souls sinking into the underworld.

"What?" Drusilla said. "More mercy?"

"No," he panted. "Prisoners. They're more useful alive."

Somebody yelled from the shadows of the treeline. A horseman bolted into the night. More shapes moved in the dark, diminishing as the enemy fled into the woods. Tenoris stepped after them, but Arius struck an arm out to block the way.

"The battle is over, little giant. Let us discover our friend's fate."

"Cliae," Skippii blurted. In the heat of battle, he had entirely forgotten their purpose for being there. Darting through the Ürkün camp, he threw back the flap of the nearest tent. It was dark inside, so Skippii called the slave's name.

"Be careful," Orsin said, coming after him with Tenoris. "There may still be enemies hiding."

Together, they searched the camp. Upon checking the third tent, they beheld four men, gagged and bound to a post at its centre. Each was stripped naked and bruised, and one bore two deep gashes down his arms. Sitting there, eye swollen and bruised, barely conscious and freezing cold, was their companeight's slave, Cliae.

Frantically, Skippii and the others helped them out of their bounds and wrapped them in their cloaks. While Arius and Cur climbed the hillock to remain on watch, they sat the captives around a campfire. Pressing his foot into the earth, Skippii drew his magia to the surface, reigniting the campfire's coals while Tenoris piled on more wood, building it to a warm glow. Untying his waterskin, he pressed the spout to Cliae's lips. Each of the captives came to life as the water filled their stomachs, and slowly, they began to talk.

"How?" Cliae asked meekly.

"We came back for you," Skippii said, kneeling before his friend. "Everyone is here, everyone who could make it?"

"The legion?" Cliae asked.

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Skippii laughed. "The companeight."

"The best of the legion," Tenoris gleamed.

But Cliae's expression grew grave. They glanced around manically and struggled to stand. Skippii clasped them on the arm to keep them seated.

"What cruel deception is this?" the slave said. "To feed me hope so that you can rob me of life?"

"There's no deception," Skippii said. "We are real."

Cliae's one unswollen eye narrowed as doubt flickered across their face. "How?"

"The slave's concussed," Orsin said. "See that he remains calm."

For a while, they tended to the wounded and rested. Arius and Cur rounded up the horses which had not been freed themselves and bolted during the attack, and brought them into the firelight. Atop them, they tied their two Ürkün captives and their own injured freedmen.

"Wait," one said–the man with gashes down his arms. He was the largest and most muscular of the rescued, but most injured, and least able to walk. Kaesii knelt behind him, propping him upright, or else he would have laid in the dirt.

"My brother…" he panted, as though merely talking was an exhaustion. "They killed him. We were five. Two, they threw over a cliff; two, they slit the throats. Me, they spared to witness it… and promised an end to my in the morn."

"The morning shall never come for them," Tenoris said. "Yet for you, the sun will rise once again."

"That is so," the freedman relented, closing his eyes. "The tent… atop the hill. In there, our uniform…"

"We don't want to be slowed down by salvage," Cur said, tightening the ropes on one of their captives.

The injured legionnaire shook his head. "Diatus' medal. My brother… his honour. His silver brace. Recover it, please."

"I will look," Orsin said, heading for the hillock.

With that, the legionnaire faded into unconsciousness. Kaesii carried him onto a horse just as Skippii helped Cliae to his feet. The slave had gone quiet, as though breaking his silence would wake him from what he believed was a dream.

"It's okay," Skippii reassured, helping him on a horse. "We've got you. Have faith in your brothers."

Cliae stared at him in dumb disbelief.

"That was hilarious, by the way," Cur said bitterly. His scarred face was close as he adjusted the saddle straps. "Thank you for informing me in advance that you were to set yourself alight. It quite raised my morale to see you burning alive. A shame the flames didn't consume your flesh too, only your tunic."

Skippii stammered, thinking of how to excuse himself for not informing the old Cur. "The others-"

"The others put you up to it. I know. Very funny." He looked Skippii up and down skeptically. "So you have hidden talents, kid? Keeping anything else to yourself?"

"No," Skippii said earnestly, feeling a little guilty for japing the old man.

"If you say so. And I suppose you don't want me blabbing it either?"

Skippii's breath came thickly. "If the arcanus-"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Seen it happen before, kid. A legionnaire can't blaspheme in earshot of one of them Coven without getting whipped. Can't imagine what they'd do to you."

Cur yanked on the strap to secure it, busy with his task as though their conversation was of little importance. "Still astray?"

"Yeah," Skippii said.

"Well, can't be helped. Just, if they do come snooping and find out, I didn't know about it." Cur gave him a wink and walked off. But for a moment, Skippii was stunned. It seemed he had underestimated the old veteran; he had underestimated them all.

After a short time, Orsin returned, carrying the silver bracelet and a sack over his shoulder. Together, they led the six horses and their loads away from the campsite, beginning the long trek back to camp.

Arius, nimble as ever, scouted out a route suitable for their steeds. Three of their party held flaming torches to light the way. Skippii attempted to draw power from the earth to light a flame in his hand–intending it be brighter than the smoking brands–but his magia came to him in a splutter. He sighed, utterly spent. Twice today, he had exerted himself in battle. His wounds were catching up with him, and like never before, he longed for his bedroll.

Still, he smiled tiredly. It was almost a relief to know that there was a limit to his magia. At his core, he sensed the halo of light. It shone dull, but solid, like never before. Without needing to focus his will, the halo kept its shape and integrity. That too, was a relief, and proof he could improve his gift, and perhaps even master it.

"Gift," he murmured to himself, considering the word.

They trekked for hours, following Arius' lead, then stopped to rest. While Skippii helped tend to their injured, something about one of their captives distracted him. The man's beard was scruffy, but not as bushy as the Ürkün warriors normally grew it. Stepping closer, he brushed the long matted hair from the man's face to reveal his eyes.

A shudder ran through Skippii. He had seen that face twice, once in a dream two nights ago, and once upon the march through the hills.

"These are not Ürkün steeds," he announced to his companeight. "This man isn't a barbarian. He isn't our enemy. Or he wasn't, until tonight."

"Chrysat," cursed Cur. "He's Nodreos."

"Our guides?" Kaesii asked. "Our allies?"

Skippii glared at the Nodreos man, tied as he was to what may have been his own horse. The deceiver bit his lip and closed his eyes, a dismal shame darkening his face.

"Not anymore," Skippii said.

"This explains how we were caught in an ambush," Orsin said.

"All the more reason to give haste," Tenoris said. "We must inform our superiors."

"And admit that we left our post in the night?" Kaesii said.

"Shut up, kid," Cur said, silencing them all. "Of course we tell them. We tell them everything, and face what punishment may come our way."

"But…" Kaesii started. "We could say we were captured too, and escaped, and avoid being charged with desertion."

"Desertion," Cur snorted.

"Shut up, kid," Drusilla echoed. "I won't lie to my superiors."

"I, too, shall tell the truth," Kaesii said vigorously. "I merely wished to avoid unnecessary punishment."

"It might be too late for that," Orsin said.

"We've done what we came to do," Skippii said. "Let's be proud of that. Let's announce our victory. Our betters will see it that way too. Don't worry, have faith. And if they seek to punish us, I'll start a bonfire with my bare hands, and they'll forget all about this while they cart me off to an interrogator."

His companions chuckled, even Kaesii, who shook his head in disbelief. "Remind me how I got talked into this again."

"Remind yourself," Cur said. "And when you figure it out, inform me too."