Snapshots From My Imagination: Rebels

   Emperor Titus Atticus II cradled his son's head in his arms, his face stony and hard as he stared down at the boy's strong, youthful features. At a mere nineteen years old, he had been challenged by Cynric, the king of Jarlheim. The duel hadn't lasted long.

“Sir,” general Cyprian said quietly, “the people are waiting.”

“Aye, Cyprian, and they will wait a little longer,” the emperor murmured, his hand brushing the short brown hair on his son's scalp. “I have served the Empire for thirty years. Leave me time to serve myself.”

The general pressed his right fist to his heart in the Legion salute, then about-faced and walked away from the funeral pyre to the balcony edge, below which flickered the light of thousands of candles, showing the gathered masses of people in the growing dark.

A dark day, a dead day, and so the night begins.

Aidan peeked fearfully through his hands from his spot in the corner, concealed by a few sacks of grain. The thunder of horses' hooves sounded throughout the village square, and the cries and shouts of the villagers rose in the air. Occasionally a sword clanged harshly in the night, two souls doing their deadly duel...but it never lasted long.

His father, Balder, stood by the door, his iron club held by his side. “Legionnaires,” he whispered. Haelga, his mother, shuddered. She looked over at Aidan and put her finger to her lips.

Suddenly, the door crashed open and a man rushed in, dressed in the brown armor of the Legion. Seeing Balder with his club held ready by his side, he yelled and ran forward, swiping viciously with his sword. Balder canted the blow off his weapon and instinctively smashed the club into the man's helmet, caving his skull in. He gritted his teeth.

“Run, Haelga. Take Aidan and run like the devil. We don't have a chance of being left alone now.”

As he spoke the words, two more Legionnaires burst through the entrance.

“Compatriots!” one yelled at the sight of their fallen comrade.

“Kill 'em!”

They advanced, attacking with the fury of bloodthirsty men; Balder desperately warded off their blows, defending with the strength born of fear.

“I said RUN, Haelga-”

His words were cut off as one of the Legionnaires' blades sliced into his forearm. The club in his hand clattered to the ground. Then Aidan saw something appear through his back...

The sword withdrew and he tottered to the ground, a dark stain spreading across the floorboards. Haelga screamed and snatched the first Legionnaires' sword up, swiping at the soldiers wildly. The first soldier warded off her blows with ease while the second thrust in from the side, impaling Haelga under the arm. She too fell, the sword clattering from her hands to the wooden floor.

Aidan watched in horror as his parents were cut down, fear paralyzing his body and squelching the scream that so desperately wanted to come. The soldiers wiped their blades on the bodies dispassionately.

Another man in the armor of the Legion appeared at the doorway. “Orders are, torch the place and leave,” he said, “come on.”

The soldiers took brands from the stone fireplace and tossed them around the house, then grabbed their fallen companion and left. Aidan's fear was crushed by desperation, and his limbs began to move; he ran to the fallen bodies of his parents.

“Papa? Mama?” He shook them by the shoulder. “Papa! Mama! Come on, there's a fire!”

Tears began to stream down his cheeks. The heat from the growing flames around him permeated the air. He looked desperately at the frozen features of his mother, his father. “Stop, mama...papa...we need to go...”

The flames drove him out onto the street, amidst the inferno of the now-burning village. The roar of the crackling fires rose over the neighs of the Imperial horses.

Papa...Mama...

...where are you?

Aidan jerked up from his bedroll, gasping for air. The night was calm, and he couldn't hear anything beyond the snores of his comrades in the tents next to his. He jerked on his boots and headed outside, feeling the cool breeze of the mountains wash across his bare chest. Running a hand through his hair, he walked to the edge of the shelf they were camped on and sat down, letting his legs dangle over the side of the cliff.

“Nightmares again, huh?”

Aidan looked over to see his friend Cuyler standing by his side, leaning on his long spear.

“Something like that.”

Cuyler grunted as he sat down next to him, looking over the expanse of the hills and valleys below, lit by the shining full moon and stars. “Antium is rather beautiful at night, is it not?”

“What beauty there is is marred by its occupants.” Aidan returned. “When the Empire is destroyed and the remnants of its cursed rule vanquished – aye, Antium will be beautiful.”

“Methinks I can see the Imperial City from here.” commented Cuyler after a long moment of silence. “See the glisten of its towers on the horizon?”

“My thoughts turn to our country of Jarlheim, not the home of the Empire.”

Cuyler looked back at their encampment, smiling as his eyes settled on the banner of the Compatriots – a bear, its jaws open in a roar of defiance. “We have come a long way from Jarlheim, my friend. I imagine the commanders of the Legion – perhaps even the Emperor himself – are at a loss as to what should be done concerning our band.”

Aidan snorted. “The Compatriots are no band, Cuyler, they are an army. An avenging force. We will crush the Empire between our jaws and break their iron chains of tyranny and terror – no matter the cost, no matter what blood must be shed. As for the Imperials, I have no doubt they are fully bent on destroying us with extreme prejudice.”

Cuyler twirled his spear as they stared together over the Imperial province of Antium. “I have shed much blood myself for our cause. Remember Praestum, when we drove the Imperials like goats from their fortress? And I took an arrow to the knee. Yet at the end of the day, I was still cutting them down like sheep, hobbling around like a hamstrung pig.” he laughed. “Remember?”

Aidan grinned. “Aye, I remember. I also remember I outstripped you by three on our count of kills.”

“Yah, you cheated. I would have won, had you not counted collapsing the wall.”

They laughed together, their merriment loud in the quiet night.

“Silence, you two,” muttered a gruff voice. They looked up to see Bjorn, the commander of their unit, standing behind them with crossed arms over his fur armor. “We may be secure from a surprise attack, but it wouldn't do to have Imperial scouts sniffing out our location.”

“Aye, sir.” Cuyler stood up. “When do we next move out?”

“As soon as our orders from king Cynric arrive.” Bjorn replied. “I expect a message any day now. In the meantime, I suggest you get some sleep, both of you. Erland has next watch.”

Aidan crouched behind a boulder by the road. Their orders had come in a day earlier; they were to intercept an Imperial caravan that was on its way to resupply a fort by the northern border of Antium.

Aayla, one of the few female soldiers in the Compatriots, crouched next to him. “Here they come.” She laid an arrow on her bowstring, testing the draw weight. Her face went blank – focusing her senses for the ambush, no doubt.

“Leave some for me, shield-sister,” he whispered, hefting his sword. “My blade thirsts for blood.”

Her eyes flicked over to Aidan, then back to the road. “Oh, there seems to be enough to go around.”

Aidan looked over at Bjorn, who stood with his back to a tree by the road. His hand went up, preparing to signal, then suddenly chopped down.

Immediately, a prepared tree crashed down onto the road in front of the caravan, crushing the two mounted guards at its head. Another blocked the road behind, cutting off the escape. With a wild yell, the ambush party emerged from the forest and assaulted the caravan. Most of the guards, who were on horseback, immediately fell prey to arrows and spears. The few remaining closed in, fighting in a tight circle around the main wagon.

Aidan found himself facing off against a large, broad-shouldered Legionnaire. The man wielded his shield like a weapon, slamming into Compatriot after Compatriot, his short sword flickering out from behind the large, rectangular barrier like a viper, cutting down soldier after soldier. Then he was standing in front of Aidan.

Aidan twirled his sword, letting rage flow into his limbs and give them power.

The Legionnaires

destroyed my home

destroyed my family

Now I will cut you down like the dog of the Empire you are.

He switched his sword to his left hand as the soldier lashed out with his shield, hoping to stagger Aidan like he had the others. Aidan gave ground as the man pushed, slipping his right hand to the far edge of the shield and pulling, jerking the Legionnaire off balance. His left hand came up and over the shield, slamming the pommel of his sword into the Legionnaire's helmet; again, again, and again.

YOU

WILL

DIE

His mouth formed a silent howl as he bashed the soldier's head in, blood spattering over his hand and face. Finally, the man slumped to the ground, dead.

Aidan looked down at the body and thrust his sword through the man's throat, making certain he was dead.

Good.

He looked around. The battle was done; all the soldiers had been subdued, save for one who had been taken prisoner. Bjorn was already in the wagon, checking its contents and searching for any valuable information. Aayla was examining the bodies as the Compatriots dragged them off the road, looking for any retrievable arrows.

“Did a number on that one, did ye?” Aidan snapped his head to the right to see Cuyler, who was hefting his favored broadsword, the blade of which was red with blood. He gave a fierce grin.

“Aye, he got his just desserts.” Aidan growled, turning his eye to the bodies of the four Compatriots who had fallen to the mysterious Legionnaire. “May the souls of our fellows rest in the glory of Vallheim.”

“For freedom and for justice.”

Aidan made a fist with his bloody hand, smiling at his battle brother. “For freedom and for justice.”

* * *

Gallus bent over the map of the Empire, spread over the table. His finger traced the border of Antium and Jarlheim.

They've made astonishing progress in only a year. His face remained impassive, but inwardly he cursed. Cynric chose the perfect time to attack, now that the rogue nations to the northeast have begun stirring again. His left hand crept up from Jarlheim in the southwest, his right sliding down from the northeast, clashing in the center of the map: the Imperial City.

“General.”

Gallus looked up from his ruminations to see his second-in-command, Legate Irvel, standing in the doorway of the tent.

“What is it, Legate?”

“A communique from our border scouts. It seems the Compatriots have crossed the border. They recently attacked one of our caravans between forts.”

“Which ones?”

“Fort Angol and fort Bastion.”

Gallus looked down at the map and silently grit his teeth. “Very ambitious.”

Irvel didn't say anything. They both knew what came next.

Gallus heaved a sigh. “Prepare to move out. We'll position ourselves between both forts, so we can be flexible to help or reinforce either should the Compatriots be planning a major offensive.”

“And if this is a distraction tactic to draw our attention away from our western border? The Hallicans may decide to revolt and join Cynric. We'll be weak if they decide to drive straight for the Imperial City.”

“You know as well as I do, Legate, that the Empire is stretched thin defending from the northern barbarians. We only have two available armies in the south, and ours is the closest. We'll have to rely on our diplomats and forts in Hallica to ensure their pasiveness.”

“Politicians.” muttered Irvel contemptuously.

Gallus gave a tired smile. “I want us moving by dawn. Dismissed, Legate.”

* * *

Aidan looked out over the valley, his heart thumping in excitement. A long column of men was emerging onto the plains of Antium, the setting sun glinting off spears, helmets, and armor. At their head rode a proud figure on a chestnut steed, accompanied by several officers on either side and behind.

The Compatriot army had arrived.

Shouldering his way through the crowd, Aidan emerged in the front and stopped, gazing up in awe at the man who stood before them all. He was elevated on a boulder, looking out over his men, a smile on his rugged features, his loose brown hair blowing in the slight breeze.

Cynric was here!

The cheers around him were deafening. While the army itself had set up camp just outside the mountains, tired from their long trek, the advance parties that had been sent out in front to keep the pass clear for the main force were gathered excitedly around King Cynric. Once a mere Jarl of a city, he had rallied troops to his banner and driven the Empire out from Jarlheim, having been declared king by the Council of Jarls. Cynric grinned as he raised a hand in greeting to the men, patting the air in a gesture for calm.

When the cheers finally settled down, Cynric opened his arms wide.

“Well, I'd say well met, but you lot forgot to save some wine and women for me and my boys!” he shouted, his brows coming down in a mock frown. “What's the deal with that, eh? Knew I shouldn't have sent you ahead, you've spilled half the guts and stolen half the glory!”

The men roared with laughter, cheers intermingled with the merriment. After they had quited down again, Cynric smiled.

“Listen, men, you were given the vital task of keeping these passes clear, and you've done your duty well. I couldn't be more honored to stand before you today. Finally, we stand ready to strike at the heart of the Empire!” He raised his fist to emphasize his words. “Let the minions of the Empire feel the wrath of our blades! For freedom and justice!”

“FREEDOM AND JUSTICE!!” The shout echoed down from the mountain across the valley.

Private Donnivan looked out over the valley from his post on the fort wall. While relatively small, fort Angol was situated on a rocky hill, which commanded the ground around it quite well. A central tower rose in the center, on top of which was mounted a ballista, and the rest of the fort was arranged in a star formation around it, giving each wall maximum protection. He was currently stationed on the southern gateway.

The sun was just hovering over the horizon as the guard change arrived. Donnivan nodded to the other man, Vestius.

“I relieve you of your duty.” Vestius pronounced the change phrase, standing at attention.

“The Empire rests on your shoulders.” Donnivan responded with the proper counterphrase. They saluted and Donnivan turned to head back to the barracks for some food and rest.

As his foot hit the steps, his ears suddenly picked up a noise. His eyes widened and he turned back, looking towards the mountains that bordered the region.

It was the sound of voices, many voices, shouting.

The Compatriots...are here.

He turned and ran down the steps, heading for the command tower.

This time it's not games, Donnivan.

This time, it's

WAR.