A LEGACY OF LIGHT

TILLA

TILLA

Tilla wasn't sure how she ended up being the standard-bearer.

Arriving in Castra Luna that morning--stars, it seemed like ages ago!--she had wanted to keep a low profile. This was hard enough to do with her height; she towered above the other girls. Now, marching ahead of the Black Rose Phalanx, bearing its standard while shouting out time, she stuck out like, well... like a tall, awkward girl in ill-fitting leather, shouting while waving around a huge banner.

It was night, but even that didn't help conceal her; braziers and torches crackled across the fortress grounds, their light falling upon her. Tilla sighed.

"Three, two, one!" she yelled, marching ahead of the other recruits. Their boots thudded behind hers in unison.

She hefted her standard; the damn thing was damn heavy. The pole rose ten feet tall. Upon its crest rose an iron rose inside a ring--sigil of the Black Rose Phalanx.

And of Nairi's house, Tilla thought sourly as she called cadence. Tilla herself was a commoner, her surname merely her trade, and she had no fine sigil of her own. Yet Nairi Blackrose was the daughter of nobles, and she bore the dark rose upon her breastplate, her sword, and now upon her phalanx.

Tilla looked over at Nairi. The young lanse alternated between marching ahead of the phalanx, leading its way around the fort, and falling back to inspect the marching troops. Her narrowed eyes stared at every thudding boot. Whenever a single soldier stepped out of time, Nairi swooped in, lashed her punisher, and a scream rose.

"You will learn to march as one!" Nairi shouted. "Or I will burn it into you."

Tilla kept calling time and marching. The standard was so heavy her arms ached, but she dared not lower it; the one time she had let it dip, Nairi's punisher had driven into her ribs.

I'm nothing but a tool to serve her, Tilla thought, watching the young noblewoman.

She wondered if commoners could ever rise in the Legions' ranks. Upon her shoulders, Nairi wore the red spirals of an officer, but she was nobleborn. Every lowborn soldier Tilla had known--back home and here in Castra Luna--only wore red stars on armbands; they fought and died, but did not command.

Could I become an officer too? Tilla wondered. Could lowborn wear red spirals, or does my common blood doom me to a life of obeying orders and suffering the burns of punishers?

She didn't know. Yet as she kept shouting--"Three, two, one!"--Tilla vowed that if commoners could rise somehow, she would find the way.

I will not serve as Nairi's standard-bearer forever.

As they marched, Tilla got to see more of Castra Luna. It was a sprawling complex, larger than she had first thought. They passed by the armory, a smithy where hammers rang, kitchens pumping smoke from a dozen chimneys, towering walls where dragons perched, and barracks of mossy bricks.

As they walked, Tilla wondered which building she would live in. They passed many structures, some squat and dank, others rising tall and topped with towers. Soldiers moved behind their windows. How many would share her room, and would her bed be clean, and would she have a little space to herself? Like it or not, this would be her home for several moons of training. Every building they passed, Tilla looked up nervously and wondered: Will I be living in this one?

Nairi led them toward a towering wall. Dragons stood upon its battlements between cannons. Oaken doors stood open in an archway, revealing a forest of barren trees and shadows. Patches of snow covered the forest floor, and a lone coyote fled, eyes golden in the night.