Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

Legionnaires of the First Cohort stood guard over the entrance to the inner palisade. Silver-tipped pikes and purple cloaks created a corridor to the Imperator's pavilion. They watched Skippii unsecretively as he strode between them, and a murmur followed him like the wings of a moth.

"This is quite the greeting," Tenoris said. He wore the wolf-hide cowl over his mighty shoulders. He carried no spear, but his brawn was more imposing than iron. Shadows were cast beneath his helmet, darkening his eyes. But Skippii knew of the kindness hidden therein.

"A display of power," he said. "We must have guests. Allies. Philoxenians maybe."

Washing his hands in a basin, he stepped inside the Imperator's pavilion. More legionnaires of the First Cohort lined the walls, their pikes lowered so that their sharp tips did not catch the ceiling fabric. The room was crammed full of seniors and staff. Slaves squeezed through the pack carrying trays to a long table. It was laden with half-eaten cheeses, fruits, breads, and vases of wine. Candles were raised on chains above their heads, and incense was lit to subdue the musk.

Titus Virellix stood atop his dias, speaking quietly with his senatorial advisor, Lucious Cinitus. As with before, the Imperator was armoured in his masculine-formed breastplate and wore a marble-pommelled gladius at his hip. He seemed to Skippii the living embodiment of power and prowess. This was to be no trivial counsel of politics or policy. This was a counsel of war.

The Imperator's gaze scanned the room slowly, then fell upon him. Skippii raised his chin to meet it over the high-plumed helmets, hanging candles and incense smoke. Finally, the Imperator raised his hand. The chatter died down.

"Generals, sages all, welcome. Nerithon is taken. The pantheonos cleanse its waters and rebuild its streets. All thanks to legion arms and blood."

A muted, respectable cheer rose, but the quiet quickly followed.

"Philoxenia's reclamation dawns, and the part we shall play becomes more pressing each day. We have delayed here long enough. Our scouts have returned from neighboring lands, and they have much to tell. Please, eat and wine. I shall talk at length."

Stepping down, the Imperator strode over to one wall, whereupon a large canvas map displayed the nation of Philoxenia–the same map he had asked of Skippii's opinion earlier that week. Attendants took seats before the canvas, and at the table, but for the limited space, Skippii remained at the rear.

The Imperator regarded his map. "The Urkun have developed some tactical sense, because now, finally, they flee."

His audience gave rumbling jeers, and one man burst out with a haughty laugh.

"In every direction, they flee. Their dark champion is dead, and none remain who can face our champions of the pantheon, and the Imperium."

All chatter died. At his mention, was that unease in the air, Skippii wondered?

"North is their goal, and east, to the straits of Ikaros." Drawing his sword, Titus Virellix swung and aimed the tip at a spot on the map: the city of Ikaros. "Here, they shall cross. We do not think they will make a stand. The walls are weak and unrepaired. And legions amass all around. They shall pillage Ikaros. They will leave a smoking ruin in their wake."

His sword lowered into the shadows cast by candles overhead, darkened his words. "We cannot relieve them. It grieves me. But we can still make good of our victory here at Nerithon. Tomorrow, I shall dispatch cohorts to the nearby towns. They shall chase away any heresy that lingers. Speed shall be our greatest weapon, and fear shall fly before us. The enemy now knows the bane of our banners. We shall not find much resistance if we act quickly. Primus, inform your men. You depart tomorrow."

As he spoke, servants took nine ribbons from a box and dipped them in wax, pinning them on the map north of Nerithon. A mountain range ran from the city inland, then curved back around to the northern coastline, forming a bowl-like plane. A name was scrawled into canvas: Karphoros Valley. It was upon this plane that the cohorts were to be spread.

"The Urkun's quickest route will be to stick to the shoreline. Our scouts confirm this, but many stragglers split from the main horde. These venture straight north and west into the mountains, risking the short passes over a long journey. As for the main force, it is unlikely that the Urkun should rally and turn to fight us. But if they do, we shall mount a defence. Build fortifications at each of your stations within marching distance of the next. A network of scouts will monitor the enemy's movements. I have spared ten ships to shadow them down the coast."

He paused. "I can see the uneasiness in your faces. I know, divided we are weaker. But we must cast a wide net and capture these lands while momentum is in our favour. And to this task, I possess two bolts, the first swift, the second aflame."

He paused, assessing his audience. "I speak, of course, about the Coven of Kylin, and the Primordial heres, whose fealty is sworn to me."

Skippii's heart leapt. Many faces turned to regard him. He breathed steadily not to betray his nerves. And there, at the rear of the tent, were twelve cloaked figures. The Coven of Kylin. His peers now. He scanned for Kylinissa's face, not knowing why, and glimpsed her at the rear of their procession.

The Imperator went on. "These two companies shall spear forth, and drive the Urkun back like dogs drive cattle. They shall liberate the townsteads of Chloris and Thyraos, giving us control over the entire area. Our allies, the Kronaians, shall help with this endeavor."

He motioned to three men, who rose from their seats to face the audience. Short, by legionnaire's standards, but brawny, they each possessed thick grey beards and heavy brows. Their cloaks were blue, and their silver chainmail swam with a sapphire sheen. Rings adorned their thick knuckles, and medallions hung from their necks.

"Hail Auctoria," the eldest said, a man in his fifties. "Kronaia welcomes your spears to its lands. It sings your valour in Nerithon. Long, we have kept Urkun at bay. Long, we have weathered the siege in our lands. No more. You open the gates. Now, they flee every corner of Philoxenia. And we, sons of Kronaia, shall make equal their debts of blood."

Aucotria's superiors returned the salutation. "Hail Kronaia."

"Before long, these lands will be rid of the heretic scourge," the Imperator's voice rose above the attendants. "The westerly legions march now to accompany us north in strength. Like a tide, we shall sweep all of Philoxania. It will be the task of the Ninth to reclaim Ikaros, and there build an impenetrable fortification–a bastion that will keep the barbarians at bay for centuries to come."

A voice rose from the audience. "Can we not prevent Ikaros' demise? The city is ancient. A gem."

The Imperator's expression was iron. "No, we cannot. Not without risking the advantage we, and the Fifth Legion, have paid so dearly to gain. Ikaros will fall.

"Will the Gryphonians not sally to their aid?" the man asked again.

Skippii peered at the map. A large island rose from the eastern sea, not far from where Ikaros lay. The land of Gryphonis–a Philoxenian peoples by race and creed.

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"No. Our diplomats have advised them against it. Gryphonis' navy is powerful, but their infantry light. It would be folly for them to throw their lives away for Ikaros. Instead, they entrench upon their island, and wait to give naval aid to our ships in the re-claiming of Ikaros from its ashes."

More questions were raised–logistical and the like–but Skippii's attention was trained on the map. He marvelled at the land already reclaimed by the Imperium Auctoritas… all but a final few spots in the north. And they too would soon be painted red. And he and his company were to be at the bold tip of the spear's thrust. The town of Thyraos, which he was to liberate, sat at the foot of a mountain beside a lake. Northward through the mountains was an almost direct route to Ikaros itself. But the Urkun had chosen not to take that way, and instead marched for leagues east around the mountains. If there were passes through the peaks, there must be a reason why they were circumvented. Monsters, likely. But he had faced their likes now, and was not afraid to come close to their dens.

"Glory Auctoria. Divide et Pantheon. You are all dismissed to your duties." The Imperator caught his eye. "Heres Altay, remain please."

The audience filtered out, revealing the midnight-blue gemstone cloaks of the Coven. The twelve warmagi faced him from across the pavilion. He recognised most of their faces from their encounter in the arena. Three were gone, killed or injured beyond healing by Cosmipox's magus. Three replaced them. There was no longer any fury in their leader's eyes. Aetheria approached him and extended a delicate hand. Skippii shook it lightly.

He peered into her eyes, wondering if their connection would deepen as before, and her mind would again be revealed to him. But a thick mist lingered behind her dark pupils. She raised her chin to assess him. Then the hand was released.

"I have not yet had the chance to thank you for your assistance on the day of battle," she said. "I had good reason to mistrust priestess Clarivoxa's divination of your bond with Oyaltun. But now all fog has been dispelled. Her Sentiescence wove our minds together, her hand in Kylin's, and united us. For her wisdom, I give prayer and thanks."

But not my wisdom, Skippii thought. "Thank you, as well, for your assistance. If you had not come to my aid, I would have perished on those temple steps battling the heretic magus."

"Yes, well." Aetheria's mouth twitched as though she was fighting back a snarl. Her voice came sharp and terse. "I think further clarity would be appreciated amongst allies. If such information were not withheld in the days preceding, all confusion and weakness could have been avoided."

She smiled bitterly, and Skippii returned it.

"Oh, I agree. I shan't withhold any information from you any longer. I have no reason to. I have revealed my strength and demonstrated my allegiances, and you have revealed yours. I know now that I have nothing to fear in the Coven of Kylin."

Aetheria's smile sank as her eyes hardened. "Only the heretic do."

"Absolutely, as decreed by your own judgement. Clouded or otherwise."

"Friends, masters, champions." The Imperator waved them over to his table. "Sit and eat. Drink. Nutriate yourselves. Soon, the road arrives and hard rations await. But come now, let us discuss your quests."

Skippii sat at one end with Tenoris and Cliae on his flanks. The Imperator was seated next, and after him the twelve warmagi. The three Kronaian warriors lounged nearby, attended by slaves, and scribes listened eagerly to proceedings, notating anything of importance for the records. And finally, the senator from Vestia–Lucious Cinitus–lingered by the Imperator's dias like a hawk in the tree branches, observing their meeting shrewdly.

Skippii sought Kylinissa, but her eyes remained averted, seemingly more concerned with the fancies on her platter. His heart ached. He had not meant to offend her by speaking critically of the pantheon, he had only meant to speak plainly. And now their friendship–or alliance–or whatever they could call themselves, was fractured.

"Accompanying you will be skirmishers–the Brenti–and some cavalry. Only troops who move swiftly." The Imperator motioned and a young slave poured fresh sweet wine for them. "They will be your scouts, your hunters, your muscle, if you should need it."

"What provisions?" Aetheria asked bluntly. She sat upright at the table, her delicate frame as stern as a sabre.

"Take what you can carry, but travel at speed. Levy from farmsteads. Expect that it will take three months from today to establish a supply network to each town.

"How should we communicate?" Aetheria asked.

"The word will be stretched thin. I will send a messenger each week, but that is all I can spare."

"And how should we respond if the Urkun turn about?"

The Imperator leaned heavily on the table, stroking his sand-stubbled chin. "Then abandon the towns and reconnect with the legion. Our strategy here relies on speed and terror, not strength. We do not want to face the enemy on twelve different battlefields. We wish to conquer the battlefield of their minds, to demonstrate that this land is ours now." He turned his head to address the Kronaians. "For Philoxenia."

"What about farmlands surrounding?" Skippii said. "Should we post watchmen and intercept raids?"

"The priority are these two towns," the Imperator said. "They will receive refugees to their walls, once Imperial banners are raised."

"And the main Urkun force," he pressed. "Should we not harry them?"

The Imperator considered. "To what end?"

"To make sure they flee," he said. "And to impede their efforts. Perhaps, if they were slowed, we could reinforce Ikaros before they arrived and prevent disaster."

The Imperator blinked slowly and looked down at the pommel of his sword. Behind him, Lucious Cinitus shifted, gaze suddenly focussed on the back of his neck. The thin senator strode over to the table and accepted wine from the slave. The Imperator did not acknowledge him, but his hesitation was distinct.

"To harry them would be to rile them into response," he said finally. "Attack them with too few, and they shall become emboldened. Attack with too many, and our plan here fails. Besides, such efforts may only hasten their flight to Ikaros. I have considered diversions, but the city is the quickest and easiest route across the straits."

"Burn their ships then," Skippii said eagerly. "The Ikarosians. Empty their harbour. Evacuate the civilians. Arm the defenders."

"You would find Ikaros a very different city to Nerithon this day," the Imperator said. "They are a people conquered many times over. Little native resistance remains in their hearts. The city is ruled by an Urkun khan, and their despot cultists. We cannot aid them now. They have made their fight, and dwelt in defeat. I grieve that soon, their death will be final. But not in vain. Once the Ukrun are gone, we shall remodel Ikaros into a bastion, and for a millenia, defend the straits."

"Send me," Skippii said. "I will usurp this khan and stage a defence. I could hold the city until the legions arrive."

A few among the coven laughed coldly, but Aetheria's expression was ice. Then, he spotted Kylinissa's eyes on him. They were keen, bright, and perplexed. A strand of oak-brown hair escaped her deep hood and sprung before her face. She brushed it away.

Skippii cleared his throat, and mind. "My Imperator, I can accomplish this task. Send me and my men to this deed. We shall not fail you."

The old, venerable man took a sip from his wine and gazed up towards the roof where candlelight played shadows in the windswept canvas. He sighed deeply, and slowly, his eyes fell back to Skippii's. In them was a depth immeasurable, and the wisdom of a hundred lifetimes. But also, a tremor. A crack, as in the foundations of a marble temple. An uncertainty. A fear.

Titus Virellix opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He gave thought to his words, and proceeded in a low tone. "You will follow the path that I have laid for you. Strong as you are, I would not see your gifts torn and scattered on a sea of spears. In war, we must place our pieces precisely. Even in loss, there is an advantage to be gained. Ikaros will fall. The Urkun will exodus these lands. Our war will be won, and the legions will remain at strength for what war should come next."

"We are to invade the Urkunlands?" Tenoris asked eagerly, then bit his lip, unsure of his place.

But the Imperator grinned thinly. "That we shall, master legionnaire, assuming the senate give their decree."

Now, he turned to the senator. Lucious Cinitus returned his gaze placidly, and smiled. "You know I cannot give you an answer, Virellix. Not until the will of the people has been determined."

"But, it must be done," Skippii said. "This war… It goes beyond Philoxenia. We know that now, don't we?"

"We shall see, Heres Altay," Cinitus said. "When the time comes to decide, I invite you to speak at the imperial forum."

"But for now, your task is an important one. The town of Thyraos has become a mire for heretics. That is why I send you, and the Coven. You are their poison, and I wish to kill them swiftly before they have a chance to recover in this region."

Skippii lowered his gaze to hide his displeasure. "Yes, my Imperator."

Though he wanted to say more, he held his tongue. Skippii had never met a senator before. Though, technically the Imperator was one himself, he had the soul of a veteran legionnaire. This Lucious Cinitus was all-politician. Trading words made the hairs stand on the back of his neck.

Skippii sat back in his chair and listened intently as the details of their quest were arranged. At times, the Imperator's eyes would flicker to the pavilion's flap, where stood the pikemen on guard, and his hand would venture to the sword at his waist. A habit of wartime, perhaps? Or something else?