Returning to camp, they found the atmosphere dim. Fires crackled with barely a stewpot above them. The auxiliaries had struggled to catch game along the trail, which usually, they had no trouble with. A lack of fresh meat or spring leaves put a dampener on everyone's spirits.

Arius crouched atop his shield playing a quiet tune on his flute. Tenoris' vast form was snoozing by the campfire. Kaesii, Drusilla and Cur were absent; they had taken to venturing among the auxiliaries in search of extra food to barter, or gamble for. Normally, Orsin accompanied them, but now he sat beside Tenoris, polishing his three wrist medallions with the hem of his red cloak.

Suddenly, there was a clamour from a nearby camp, and a Kaesii shouted angrily. Skippii burst into action, drawing energy from the earth to form blazing fists. With it, he cast a Guiding Light across the vale and searched for the enemy. But none were there. Kaesii was up on his feet and moving, and Skippii came to his aid.

"Where-" he began, then stopped and took it all in.

Five Brenti men stood opposite the rotund Vestian legionnaire, staves in hand. Their eyes were hunter-sharp, but Kaesii loomed over them.

"Do you accept?" he shouted.

"I do," one of the Brenti responded, stepping forth. He was young, with little muscle on his bones–an ideal physique for throwing a javelin.

"Then make room," Kaesii demanded. He paraded back and forth like a bull penned in a paddock.

"What's happening?" Skippii said. "What are you doing?"

"This vagabond tried to cheat me," Kaesii said.

"I did not," the young Brenti said, red-faced. "You just can't take a loss."

His Brenti comrades repeated the sentiment in a clamour of rising voices, but Kaesii's voice rose above them all.

"Then let us settle it as men," he declared. "For you are men, are you not?"

"Yeah, let's go," the challenged Brenti huffed. "I'm ready. Let's go. You ready?"

"I am always-"

"Kaesii," Skippii interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me."

Kaesii turned to him. Anger was like smoke before his eyes, but as he paused, it was replaced by a more acrid emotion: betrayal.

"But Skip, this is on my honour."

Nearby, Drusilla and Cur had watched quietly. But now they came forth and surrounded their companion, gently ushering him away at Skippii's behest.

"It's not a big deal," Cur said. "I cheat all the time. Come on now, you can't expect any better from Brenti."

"Do you think I cannot win?" Kaesii blurted.

"I think you'll kill the poor sod," Skippii said through his teeth so that no one overheared. "Come. Now."

They passed through the veil to a spot brushed by campfirelight where they had some privacy.

"What good would hurting him do?" Skippii insisted, a little of his own anger creeping into his voice.

"It is not about hurting," Kaesii said. "It is about pride, and proving I was right."

"Well how does it prove you're right?" Skippii said. "Because you're stronger? Then anyone stronger than you is right all the time too?"

"No…" he stammered. "You are thinking too philosophically, Skippii. This is a legionnaire's code."

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"They're not legionnaires," Drusilla said plainly. "They're just lads. It's not really a fair contest, is it?"

"You would not have had my back?" Kaesii sounded hurt.

"Yeah, I'd have your stupid back," Drusilla said. "Of course. But I'd rather not have to."

"Not everything can be met with violence," Cur said. "You're learn that when you're as old as I am."

It was meant as a joke, but Kaesii's mood did not soften to it.

"How am I to show face now? I will be the talk of the camp, how my allies bustled me away and spoiled my honour. If you had let me sort it quickly-"

"Enough," Skippii said. "You will have to stomach your pride, Kaesii. We have worse enemies ahead, and I would not have you creating more enemies of our own allies. It's foolish."

Skippii tried to bite his tongue, but anger spurred his words. "You're supposed to be a legionnaire. All this bluster and bravado about pride, well what is so prideful about bludgeoning a kid who probably did nothing wrong–probably didn't cheat you. That's prideful? Where is your pride in being selected for this company? Where is your pride for being one in only seven legionnaires on this task to liberate Thylaos? And you would lessen our chances of success by removing one of our own–by weakening our allies, on the eve of the assault? What pride, Kaesii? What pride have you to be such a fool?"

As he spoke, Kaesii's fire quelled, and his expression drooped until his head was bowed, and eyes were overcast.

"Your leave," he groaned, voice lathered with anguish.

Skippii stammered. His anger too had gone out. "What for?"

"Please," Kaesii said. Skippii supposed he heard the choke of tears.

"Dismissed," Skippii said.

Kaesii turned and marched away from their camp at a brisk pace. Skippii watched him in a stunned silence, then swallowed his guilt and turned to the others. "Follow him. Make sure he's alright."

"Aye-aye," Cur said, and the two went after. It was a long time until they returned, but Skippii stayed awake by the campfire, and made sure to greet Kaesii upon his return. The hefty legionnaire gave a meek smile, then went inside their tent. Skippii had not known that he could hurt his companion so badly. His words had never held such weight before. His anger, misplaced, had never caused so much pain.

"I'm their leader now," Skippii reminded himself, though it still hadn't fully sunk in. "Be a leader, Skip. You're a fool yourself."

***

In the afternoon the next day, his cavalry returned with news of a force ahead. They had sighted a company of infantry marching in a valley yonder, and encountered their scouts briefly. They flew white banners with blue trim and a silver-blue sigil: Kronaians. Skippii took his horse and rode ahead with the scouts. Kylinissa accompanied him, and Tenoris insisted on coming too.

"I, the vassal, must be at your side," he said. But few of the Lacustrians' slender stallions could bear him, so he stowed his shield and spear and ran behind on foot.

Skippii stood straight in his saddle and hailed the Kronaians as they came closer. Fifty or so men, he counted, clad in silver-like armour and white cloaks with blue trim. Their shields were small by legion's standards, and each bore a unique sigil and paint. Some depicted fires in yellows, orange and reds; others displayed grape vines of juicy purple and green; many depicted animals–rams, bulls, wolves. Each must be a veteran in his own right–each a venerable warrior.

"Skippii Altay of Legion Nine," he announced, reigning his horse ahead on the trail. "I was told you would be joining us on the assault of Thylaos. I had not expected such a grand host."

The Kronaians did not break pace. Their long spears, like half-pikes, stood erect. At their waists were short swords. They carried no packs, rather, a contingent of mules and slaves marched behind–tripple in number at least. Clearly, they were well provisioned.

With a word, the column halted. Behind, the slaves shuffled to a stop. Their commander stepped forward–a large man with a thick beard, and an ornate silver helmet which possessed a stranded pony's tail of red and purple twine.

"Your timing is good," he spoke with an awkward accent. "The town is near, I hear. Where is your force? How many are you?"

"Seventy," Skippii said, hesitant to reveal what portion of that number was legionnaires. "Do you know the quickest route? These are your lands."

"We do. You may follow."

"How has your journey been?" he asked, walking his horse closer to within range of their spears. "We have found these lands infested with plague."

"They are," he said bluntly. Just then, something turned his gaze. A moment later, Skippii saw what had distracted him. Tenoris came running at a puff over the barren hillside, trampling through weeds and brambles to come standing at Skippii's side.

The Kronian captain watched him sternly.

"My vassal," Skippii explained, hiding his grin. "What is your name?"

"Demakles. Prince to King Petropha, Fylakas of the Southern Pass. And my chosen warriors. The Penínta Tría. The Fifty-Three."

"Good," Skippii said, rounding his horse. "Let us parle once camp is made. I wish to make haste now."

He spared a glance for the panting Tenoris, and winced. "Sorry friend. You don't have to hurry back."

"Why delay," he said with a sigh, and set off at a heavy run ahead.

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