Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

Skippii and Orsin were ushered forth inside the tent and a slave closed the flap. The Octio remained standing behind them, cane in hand, breathing down their necks. Custos Maritor leaned back in his chair and wove his fingers together over his lap.

"Four rescued?"

"That's right," Orsin said, and Skippii was thankful for not being the only one speaking.

"Two captured?"

"We left them outside the surgeon's tent," Orsin explained. "Bound. One Ürkün, one Nodreos."

Custos Maritor raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the Octio. "See that the interrogators are informed, and light a brazier on the parade ground. I'd like all the Consortium to witness what happens when you betray the legion."

"Yes, Primus."

"You're aware?" Skippii asked as the Octio departed.

"We've learned from a few sources, and expected that the tribe had some part to play in the ambush. This confirms it. Perhaps a hot brand will teach us more."

Custos Maritor rose and paced behind his desk, hands clasped before him. At his waist hung his gladius–an iron short-sword with an ornate guard and pommel, shaped like a ram's head. Upon his forearm were five medallions, three bronze and two silver. A scar cut his chin, and his brow was deep and grave.

"Let me understand this more clearly," he said. "One of your companeight's slaves was captured during the ambush. And you, Skippii, rallied the spirits of your battle-weary comrades to go rescue them?"

"That's correct," Skippii said. "My Primus."

"I watched you rally your company," Maritor said. "And face the Aperatrox's charge. I witnessed Orsin load the ballista and release the killing shot." One of his fingers escaped their weave and pointed at Skippii. "I watched you get carried away in the siege cart, injured. No doubt exhausted. But now you're telling me that, after all of that, you returned to the hills last night and sought out the enemy again in their own camp?"

Skippii bowed his head and licked his lips. "When I discovered that our companion–the slave, Clidensis–had been captured, I thought of the tonnage's standard… our sigil, and couldn't help myself."

"And you all followed him?" Maritor asked Orsin.

There was a prolonged silence, then the veteran legionnaire sighed. "He raised our spirits, what can I say? We couldn't let him go alone, it would bring shame. I know, we're idiots. I'm sorry for disobeying orders, and abandoning camp…" Orsin's voice grew quiet as he trailed off.

"Insolence is a detriment to all of the Imperium Auctoritas." Their Primus unravelled his hands and pressed on one end of a scale upon his desk. "But bravery is its virtue. It seems that you acted in equal parts of both." He let go of the scale, and it bobbed back to its original level position. "Plus, there's the prisoners and captives you rescued." His finger rested on the opposite end, then he lifted his hand.

"Do not make a habit of it," he said. "Inform me if one of yours goes missing, and I may organise a sortie. But it is for me to decide, as it is written in your oaths: I surrendered my will to my superior."

"Yes, superior," Skippii said. "Yes, Primus."

"What strikes me is that you would do all of this for a slave."

"He may be a slave, but he is a man of the Ninth Legion," Skippii said. "His heart is true, just as any legionnaire's, yet his talents differ. He's one of our companeight. I would not be able to think of myself as a legionnaire if I had left him behind. You should see the state they were in, and what they would suffer before the night was up…"

"One day, I may have to give the order to leave one of yours behind," Maritor said. "May the Gods ward such dark days from our palisade. Would you follow orders then, Skippii, or turn back for a slave, or for a brother?"

Skippii knew what answer was expected of him, but he struggled to form the words.

"I do not know, my superior," Skippii said. "I would, of course, follow orders."

"But perhaps also invent your own," Maritor said.

Skippii bowed his head, ashamed. It felt as though his pride were being torn in two, pulled between a sense of duty and a sense of honour. He hadn't known that the two were inseparable until that very moment. It felt as though he were being stretched out on a rack, ripping like a branch split down the middle. Each compulsion had threads tied around his heart, demanding his allegiance. Each was fundamental to being a man.

Exhausted as he was, the sensation defeated him. His shoulders sagged, his head bent low. But quietly at his core, a gem of certainty remained, immovable and undamaged: he had rescued Cliae. The slave was safe and being tended to in the surgeon's tent, recovering from what torment they had experienced, and spared of more. No matter the bleakness of his shame, that fact remained unblemished.

"My oaths are true, Primus," Skippii said earnestly. "I shan't disappoint you again."

"And so are mine," Orsin said.

"All of these new recruits," Maritor said, a lilt in his voice. "Headstrong and hotblooded. It must have gone to your heart, old boy."

"That it did, sir," Orsin said.

"At ease, legionnaires." Custos Maritor dug a bottle out of a chest and three wooden bowls, into which he poured a rich, fruity smelling wine.

"To your valour yesterday upon the march. For the glory of the Ninth Legion," he toasted them. Skippii took his bowl and sipped gratefully.

Maritor returned behind his desk. "I may as well inform you now, as word will spread quickly. We've got two day's travel before we get to the flatlands beyond these hills. There, we'll reconvene with the legion. But without the Nodreos, we're blind. I guess we were blind to begin with, but didn't know it. Anyway…" he poured himself another bowl of wine and sipped.

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"The journey may be treacherous, but we have already proven to have the strength to repel such attacks. The Ürkün like the woodlands, but the Nodreos prefer the plains. We suspect that a pitched battle may commence during Ninth's reformation; they might attack us while we are still divided. A strategy is being put in place to mitigate this, but we can all expect a pitched battle by the end of the week. So I will need you all at your best strength. No more midnight sorties, or else I will have to discipline you gravely, no matter what captives you return or what reasons you possess."

Custos Maritor looked at them from beneath his brow, then sighed, and turned his attention to his ledgers. "Alright then, get gone. Go get your heads down."

"Glory Imperium Auctoritas," they saluted together.

"Dominitus et Pantheonos," their Primus mumbled, dismissing them.

"I'd love to give that guy a smack," said Orsin once they were a ways from the tent.

"What?" Skippii exclaimed? "The Primus?"

"No, of course not," he said. "That sneering Octio. Him and I go back. I think, if he hadn't been sent away, we'd have been lashed. We got lucky."

Upon returning to their camp, their companions stood, awaiting the verdict.

"It's alright," Skippii said. "We've been let off the hook."

"How?" Kaesii asked, stupefied.

"Skip sweet-talked the Primus," Orsin said with a wink. "Talked about honour and the life of a legionnaire."

"Bloody recruits," Cur griped. "What would he know about the life of a legionnaire?"

Skippii was too tired to argue back, falling down beside the cold ashes of their campfire.

"Enough to get me out of the shit," Orsin said.

Cur grinned, and the two shared a knowing glance. "He hasn't forgiven you, has he?"

Orsin grinned back. "No. Would you?"

Cur's belly rumbled with an old, ragged laugh. "It's a wonder you're still a legionnaire, young man."

"You're one to talk," Orsin said.

"What is it?" Kaesii asked. "Who won't forgive who?"

Orsin groaned as he lowered his stiff limbs atop his shield. "I used to share a tent with the Octio before he got his promotion. We rubbed each other the wrong way, I guess. No one liked him, and I was the only other recruit at the time. So, we butted heads."

"You're giving your cruelty a disservice," Cur said.

"Hey, it was all deserved. Well, most of it…"

"What was?" Kaesii asked. "What did you do? Why won't the Octio forgive you?"

"Never mind that story," Fulmin said. "I need to hear what happened last night? I prayed for you until sunrise, I swear I didn't sleep." He wet his lips, looking from one to another. "How many of them were there?"

"Fourty or more," Tenoris said.

"Fourty?" Fulmin said. "And not a scratch on you."

"I must admit," Tenoris said. "We had some help."

The legionnaires all went quiet as it became Skippii's turn to talk.

"There's something I've been keeping from you. I revealed it last night, before the battle."

Fulmin stopped preparing tinder and charcloth for the fire and raised his chin. "You're possessed by an atinuki? I knew it."

"What's that?" Skippii asked.

"A fire spirit, born from the bowels of an everlasting forge. Am I wrong?"

"No, I mean… For all I know, you might be right, actually. What makes you think that?"

"I sensed it while we were both being gored by that giant boar."

"Aperatrox," Kaesii muttered.

Fulmin raised his head to the others. "I'm right, aren't I? I knew I sensed something. The heat was so intense, and suddenly there was a flash, and Skippii was alight, like a hammer striking white-hot metal." His voice grew faster and higher pitched as he spoke. "Master blacksmiths perform rituals to appease or trap the atinuki spirits, but you say you've done no such thing. How is that possible?"

"It's not a spirit," Skippii said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no legionnaires from nearby camps were eavesdropping. "It comes from the earth, and I hold it in me." Drawing his magia, he hovered his palm over the campfire and trickled heat over its ashes. Embers burned brighter as the tinder caught fire.

Fulmin's eyes darted like a cat's following a fly. His mouth hung agape.

"See," Skippii said. "No spirit. But don't ask me what it is, because I couldn't tell you."

"Wait-wait. And you used this… magia, last night?"

"I shall tell the tale," Tenoris said, leaning closer to the fire. As he recounted the details of the battle to Fulmin, mentioning each legionnaire's deeds, Skippii stretched before the fire and shut his eyes.

"Cur screamed when he saw Skippii aflame-"

"I did not," Cur said.

"He did," Tenoris urged. "But composed himself and pressed on, submitting the Urkrun with deft stabs to their face and eyes. Drusilla and Kaesii defeated many barbarians who mustered the courage to face them, but it was Arius who slew the most, his spear cracking like a snake's maw, slitting their throats before they could do as much as reach out and touch his shield."

Arius, who was sitting alone some ways away beside their cart, grinned to himself and continued to sharpen his spear's blade.

"Is that how you remember it?" Orsin said to his fellow veteran. "As clean as that?"

"Would Tenoris lie?" Arius said slyly.

"No, I would not," Tenoris said, and continued his tale.

While he spoke, the slave Oionos prepared a pig-millet stew over the fire. Skippii felt his eyes closing against his will, but hadn't the strength to refuse it. Events of the night replayed themselves behind his eyes–memories of the power he had wielded. He had neglected to mention that latent magia to his superiors, but knew that now was not the time. It was best that he lay low and learn more about his abilities before informing them. Perhaps, if he prayed to each God of the pantheon in turn, one might formulate a response, be it in the birds or the stars or a dream… however it was, that the Gods convened with their chosen astral… the method alluded him…

"Skippii." The voice roused him from a shallow sleep. Cliae was kneeling beside him, brow furrowed, a weary smile on their lips. "I wanted to say… I don't think I have yet. Thank you."

"Hey, Cliae." Skippii rose and patted the slave on the back. "You're feeling better?"

The skinny fellow nodded, running a hand over their short-grazed hair. "Nothing I could ever do could…" They breathed shakily. "What I mean is, you… I… Debt is not a strong enough word. I owe my life to you."

"Hey," Skippii said. "It's too bright outside for theatrics. Save it for the wine."

"But there is one thing," Cliae said, excitement in their voice. "I can do something. I was thinking all this morning, after my head had cleared on the journey, and though I am tired as we speak, I remembered some of my father's studies. You see, I learned under him for a time, and shadowed him at work. I mentioned this to you before, but I did not press the issue further. I almost wished I had now."

"What?" he grunted.

"You spoke about discovering the nature of this magia. Testing its limits and depths. Let me help you. Let me guide you, in secrecy. It's the least I could do."

"I tested its limits last night," Skippii murmured. "And they're there, but I can get a lot out of it before I get tired. A whole lot."

A tired smile crept over his face. "And I mastered something. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it clearly now: a halo of light which sustains the power." As he said the words, a trickle of energy warmed his soles, drawing from the ground, pooling in his core. "And it hasn't gone away. And it feels good. Really good."

"Excellent," Cliae said, motioning towards their tent. "Let's start now. Tell me more. As I understand it, we will be resting this morning. I have gathered a wax tablet from a scribe. I had to make up a story, but they believed it. Now we have something to write with, we will transcribe these thoughts and feelings and powers together." The young slave averted their eyes and stammered. "If that's what you desire, legio?"

"Frankly, Cliae," Skippii said, putting his arm over the slave's shoulder. "I think that's precisely what I need, as long as it includes a long lie-down."