The sun was high by the time their tonnage was done with morning drills. Their superiors ordered them to perform various athletic tasks–press-ups, sprints, rope climbs, boulder carrying and throwing–and made the promise that more intense training was to come. As Skippii understood it, they were afraid of the legion growing too idle outside the walls of Nerithon, and too unfit once time came to scale the walls. It seemed that, with the degradation and low morale of Legion V, Legion IX would have to do most of the heavy lifting.

Despite being coated in sweat, their companeight did not return to camp to rest, but headed straight for the camp's exit. Skippii had briefed them on his intentions the night before, and all had been eager to follow him. Cliae came with them, but they had left Oionos behind; the young slave was quiet and kept to himself, and Skippii respected that about him–he didn't need to get wrapped up in their quest too, and besides, there was the mule to water and groom and plenty of chores around camp to attend.

Once outside the outermost palisade, their unit headed north, passing through the lumbered forest and into the treeline, out of sight of Legion V's camp and Nerithon's walls, but not so far that they were beyond the purview of Legion IX.

"Shouldn't we go further?" Kaesii asked as Skippii came to a stop. "There's all sorts of auxiliaries around here. I think that's one of their tents right there in the trees."

"I don't want to be secretive," he said. "Why should we?"

"Will the arcanus mind?" Fulmin added.

"I think she'd mind more if we tried to hide it," Skippii said. "Because then, she'd be at fault for not alerting others. This way, we make a statement: We don't care who watches, as long as it's not the enemy."

Arius scanned through the trees at Nerithon's concealed walls beyond. "Let us go a little further into the trees to be sure."

"I'm ready to get going," Drusilla said excitedly.

"As am I," Tenoris beamed. "Explain to us again the drills which you have devised while we decide upon our spot. I did not sleep but to dream of them last night."

"I know," Kaesii said. "You kept rolling into me, you big bastard."

Following Arius' lead, Skippii recalled the three drills he had envisioned. "Firstly, Blazing Fist. The idea is, if the enemy's ranks are great–if they possess shields or barricades–our first rank will part and I will attack from the second, and assault them in a flurry. I won't aim to kill, but to startle the enemy, cause panic and fear while smashing their defences. Anything I set fire to is a bonus, but the purpose is to stun the enemy."

"Burning Ram," Cliae said from the rear of their group. "You should assign it a different name when it comes to group tactics, legio."

"Yeah, good idea," Skippii said. "Once the enemy are stunned by my Burning Ram, the rest of you rush in and execute them. I'll let you overtake me, and I'll contain my wrath, so as not to burn you. That's something I need to work on, for sure. But if we get it right, I imagine it will prove very effective for fighting in close quarters."

"Such as the walls," Orsin reflected thoughtfully.

"Burning ram?" Drusilla said. "Sounds like something you contract off the fornicaria."

Nobody laughed, except Kaesii, who seemed embarrassed after the fact. "How vulgar," they recovered.

"Come on," Cur said, slouching against a tree. "Get started. Go without me first, so I can watch."

"And rest your feet?" Orsin said.

Cur slid to the ground. "You know it."

"Good idea." Orsin joined him.

"Are you sure this is far enough?" Cliae asked nervously.

"What are you worried about?" Drusilla asked boisterously.

"The heretic," Skippii answered. "Our arcanus can detect when magia is present. I've no idea how, don't ask. Apparently, magi have that power too. I don't know if that goes for heretics, but if we train right now, there's a chance that he will learn of it." Skippii pointed back towards the city, concealed behind the trees.

"Is that wise?" Arius asked.

"I don't know how far away is far enough," he said. "And I won't live in fear. I won't be made to hesitate. The quicker that we can become stronger as a unit, the better."

"Let them feel the tremors of our wrath," Tenoris said. "Let them fear the storm that comes their way."

Resolutely, their companeight formed into two ranks, Drusilla, Kaesii and Fulmin on the frontline; Skippii chose Tenoris' shield to be at his right and Arius' keen spear at his left.

"That tree shall be our target," Skippii said, drawing a fraction of his power from the ground, coating his fists to glow like orange embers.

"Lock ranks," he ordered, just as a superior would during battle. The legionnaires responded regimentally, locking shields and raising spears. The three at the front row held their weapons underhand, aiming at their imaginary foe's legs, whereas those in the second rank held their spears aloft, poised to strike at weaknesses above their shields at their faces and necks. Skippii, however, planted his spear in the ground and slung his shield over his back.

"Engage," Skippii said, and their rank shifted forwards, spearheads trained on the tree's trunk. "Wall," he steadied them. "Wall… Wall… Break!"

His companions fanned out, creating space in the centre for Skippii to charge. He struck the tree with a barrage, but pulled his punches. Embers sparked upon impact, denting and stripping its outer bark. After a flurry, he jumped backwards, and his companions closed around him, stabbing their mock foe with killing blows.

Cur clapped sarcastically as their demonstration quieted down. "Very good. You killed the tree."

"If it were an enemy, he too would be dead," said Tenoris.

"Yeah, well… it looked good until you broke," Cur said, pushing himself to his feet with a groan.

"What do you mean?" Skippii asked.

"When you parted, your formation slipped," the old legionnaire said, coming over. "It was messy. Come on, show me again. I don't need the theatrics. You don't need to stab the poor tree. Focus on your footwork. Watch Arius if you need to. He's the only one who got it right."

Orsin joined their ranks, and the eight of them trained together all afternoon. When Cliae wasn't jotting down notes in their wax tablet, they were attending to the legionnaires, fetching water and provisions. Before long, a few onlookers had gathered at a distance–a hunting party who had strayed upon their spot. But by the evening, the spectators had grown to around thirty men, mostly auxiliaries from nearby tents distracted by their companeight's display.

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Skippii recognised two amongst the crowd: Clarivoxa Kylinissa watched from beneath her dark blue hood, but the arcanus did not step forward to intervene. For now, there was a truce between the two of them. However, beside her was a more foreboding presence. The Octio of their Tonnage–Spurius Altivus–straightened like a crane watching over a pond. Ever since Legion IX's Imperator had lent Skippii the grace of his leniency, and permission to go about freely, their tonnage's disciplinary superior had remained at a cautious distance. Yet Skippii sensed the man's resentment. His lip curled and a shadow clung to his brow like the wings of a bat. However, he did not yet possess the nerve to intervene.

"Last time for Seismic Trap," Skippii said, turning his back on their audience. The light was quickly dimming as the early sun laid its crown over the northern hillside. "But this time, I'm going to go all-out. Everyone ready?"

His companions nodded, though Fulmin and Kaesii seemed nervous. After training the Burning Ram synergised attack, he had moved onto a more ambitious integration of his Seismic Quake evocation. The manoeuvre involved his companeight spreading out in a single line with just him and Arius at the rear. Then, they moved backwards at the centre, positioning their most hardy warriors–Tenoris and Drusilla–on either of the exposed flanks. Upon forming an inverted bow shape, it was intended that the enemy would rush forward into the gap. Skippii had seen such a manoeuvre performed on the battlefield many years before, and the beauty of it had stuck in his mind.

"The enemy are gaining ground," Skippii said, pretending. "They feel that they have won. They are pressing further than they should. Break!"

His companions parted and Skippii leapt forwards, shield in hand. Flames burst over his body as he drew his power into a fist, then kneeling, slammed it back into the ground.

The earth shook and split as his magia thrust through the ground. The large tre, which had been the unfortunate subject of their practice, creaked as its roots were severed and unearthed, then it came crashing to the ground.

His companions cheered. The Seismic Quake was not as powerful as he could muster, but it needn't be; by luring the enemy into the centre of their ranks, the concentration of its power would be devastating without him being required to go all-out. Rising steadily, Skippii took a quick check of his faculties. His legs wobbled with exertion, but were quickly returned their strength, feeding off the energy that flowed underfoot. He was dehydrated, but not dizzy, and not falling unconscious.

A grin crossed his lips. Behind them, their spectators were aghast, or else fleeing back to Legion IX's camp with news of what they had witnessed. However, two figures remained unflinching, watching Skippii with keen eyes: The arcanus and the Octio.

Tenoris punched him merrily in the arm as Kaesii grasped him tightly by the shoulder.

"Skippii the Fireball."

"Nerithon is ours for the taking," Tenoris hummed.

"Got a little close for my liking," Cur said. "Make sure you aim it right."

"Yeah," Skippii said, grinning bashfully. His brothers surrounded him, each patting him on the back, and in a moment of jubilation, Skippii was sure his rising pride would pick him off his feet and he would go floating all the way up to the sky. All of the anxieties–which had clung to him like leeches and ticks in recent weeks–now fell from him, shriveled and dead. He may still be antagonised by some who feared him, or hated him, but they were few, and he had strong allies.

He had weathered the storm, and now a crystal breeze flowed through him, cleansing all fatigue and foreboding from his mind. The sky was clear. The horizons opened up to him, and his heart bound towards them unafraid. He and his companeight would conquer the walls, emancipate the city and dispatch the foul heretic at its core.

Grinning like a fool with all his companions merry around him, he returned to camp. Later that night, as they sat around their campfire savouring the meagre rations, Arius drew a needle and a vial from his carrysack. "Come close, Skip. It is time to brand ourselves Companeight Four, and you will be our first."

Skippii held his arm out as the veteran seared the needle in the campfire's flames, then washed it with clean water and dipped it into a vial of expensive ink. Piercing the muscle between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, Arius dotted a pattern, which he repeated, looping it around to form a ring. It looked to Skippii like braided twines of a thorn branch, yet more simple and geometric in style. At its centre, he inscribed 'IV'.

"What does it mean?" Skippii asked.

"It is one of the ancient runes. A language long forgotten from tongues, but remembered on walls and scriptures. It is the rune of the earth enraged."

"An ancient rune of Summitor?" Tenoris asked as the others leaned in close.

"Older, even," Arius said. "Do you recognise it, slave?"

Cliae examined the rune, but shook their head. "Is it Clidusian?"

"Older," Arius said, finishing the tattoo. "Big man, you are next."

Skippii flexed his hand in the light of the fire as each member of their companeight took it in turns to sit beside Arius and be pricked by his needle. A feeling of passion, like never before, swelled inside his chest. At times in his childhood, he had felt close to one or two of the older soldiers of Legion III; he had felt looked after, but schooled like a child. Never an equal, never fully respected nor relied upon.

Kaesii and Drusilla compare their tattoos in a brief moment of union before one claimed he had a larger handspan, and soon their forearms and biceps were on display. Orsin and Cur took their tattoos on their forearms, as the skin about their hands and wrist was already occupied by a grape-bunch of tattoos from the previous companeights they had served with. Arius allowed Orsin to mark his hand, then began to pack the needle away when Skippii stopped him.

"May I?" he asked. Taking the instruments, he instructed Cliae to sit beside him and marked the slaves hand the same. Cliae flinched with each prick, but they held their hand firm while Skippii finished the job.

"Cliae was the first to know," Skippii explained while he worked. "He kept his word, and didn't tell a soul. At one point, he thought I was going to kill him, and he was just going to let it happen. He's helped me understand myself. Helped me more than a slave should have to. He's one of us."

"Both of them, or just him?" Cur said. "What about the quiet one?"

Skippii searched their small camp for their second slave. As usual, Oionos was tending to the mule. The young boy was shy, often preferring the company of the pack animals, but had his part to play too.

"He makes sure things are in order," Skippii said. "We owe him our thanks as well."

"But not a bond," Cur said inquisitively.

Skippii considered his answer. "No. Cliae is an exception."

"Good to know," Cur said. "I can expect to see your fine friend on the frontlines then, soup ladle in hand to face death with his brothers."

"If that's what you wish," Cliae said quietly, but resolutely.

Cur glared at the slave, but said nothing more.

"What do the rest of your tattoos mean, Cur?" Fulmin asked succinctly, by ways of changing the subject.

Cur turned over his hand, portraying it in the firelight. "Some are old companeights, some are just drunk ideas. This one," he pointed to a ring around his little ring-finger. "Was how I proposed to a whore. Said she was mine."

Kaesii snickered. "Did it work out?"

"The fuck you think it did?" Cur snapped, but after a moment, a twisted grin crept onto his lips. "Oh boys, I've stolen more years and shagged more lovers than you could ever hope. You could learn from me, if you listened closely, instead of doting over our fledgling hero here."

"Thanks, Cur," Fulmin said dryly.

"Words of wisdom," Orsin said. That got a chuckle from the group.

"Same time tomorrow," Skippii announced. "Although, I expect after today, we'll have a much bigger crowd."

"More superiors will come," Orsin said. "Word will have gotten around camp of today. For sure they'll come. Custos Maritor will be there. And the arcanus, maybe more than one."

"They may order us to stop," Arius said thoughtfully. "Then what will you do?"

They each looked at Skippii, awaiting his answer.

"We obliged. We obey orders. But first, we put on a show."

***

That night, bedding beside his companeight, Skippii's heart was the lightest it had been in months. His spirits soared with the memories of the day. There was nothing he could not overcome. His Imperator had given him his trust–his blessing. What greater honour was there for a legionnaire? What greater pride than to express his magia–to sharpen and strengthen his ordinatio–in full purview of the legion? His power, for the Imperator to wield. His power, to usurp the heretic at Nerithon.

Skippii smiled as he thought of the tales he would tell his mother when he finally voyaged to Auctoritas, where she had retired. How would she greet him, a man festooned in medals? How he would look after her, and make her waning years easy and joyous…

Sleep took him into deep waters. But something lurked beneath. Vague at first, but forming shape and intent. A terrible eye. A bludgeoning fist. Somewhere in the distance, in the silence of night, there came screams.

Bolting upright, Skippii opened his eyes. The nightmare cleared, but a sense of dread remained. Rising as though floating, he scrambled out of their tent as his companions awoke after him. Outside, in the dark of night, he searched for the sound of the screams, expecting at any moment for trumpets to blur and sound the defence. But the air was cold and quiet, and the camp was still, all except a looming shadow which drew itself up behind their tent, rising like a tower upon Nerithon's walls, and at its peak, a single glimmering eye.

Fear gripped Skippii as the shadow fell upon him.

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