Chapter 12

The next year passed quickly for Tavian and his friends, in spite of the fact that the training became more intense. He saw less and less of Dorian, as the young Breton man became more involved with his arcane training. Josef received separate instruction and training with various polearms and two-handed weapons. Roald and Eva often found themselves paired together during practice with sword and shield, and the Nord girl noticed a remarkable change in her countryman's manner.

"He's not as snide as he used to be," she confided in Tavian one day, when Roald was not around. "He's been different ever since you two came back from leave. What happened?"

Tavian didn't pretend to misunderstand, but had no intention of revealing the truth. The knowledge of his brother's lycanthropy was not discussed outside the family; he was even more pleased to see that Roald was keeping that confidence as well.

"I think he finally got a chance to relax and be himself," he shrugged. "He didn't have to prove anything to my folks. They accepted him for who he is."

"If only it was that easy!" Eva snorted. "My parents still think this is something I'll 'get over.'"

"You've heard from them recently?" Tavian asked.

Eva nodded with a sour expression on her plain face.

"Just last month," she said. "My younger sister is getting married, and they want me to come home for it."

"Are you going to ask for leave?" the Imperial asked.

Eva shook her head. "No," she replied firmly. "I said I wasn't going home, ever again, and I meant it. If I go home, even for something like this, they'll never let me come back."

"It doesn't work like that," Tavian reminded her. "If you don't come back the Legion will come and get you."

"Only to bring me up for court-martial for going absent-without-leave," she snorted. "I'm not stupid, but my parents think I am. The only reason they want me to come home is so they can marry me off and expand their holdings. Well, I'm not giving them the satisfaction."

"What will you tell them?"

"That it's impossible right now," she shrugged. "And I've already spoken to Legate Colicci about it, so my parents can't go behind my back and force her to make me go home."

"What did she say?" Tavian asked, amused. Eva was certainly thinking about all the extenuated possibilities. She'd make a good Legate herself.

Eva grinned. "She said the only way the Legion would let me go home before my tour is up would be if there was a death in the family. That ought to shut them up for a while!"

Over the next few months, it became evident to both Josef and Eva that Roald was a much nicer person to be around than he had been previously. He was quieter, more respectful towards his fellow Legionnaires, and definitely more helpful. In training exercises, when partnered with either of his fellow Nords, he watched their backs. If they had tasks which required an extra pair of hands, he volunteered to assist. He began training as though with a renewed purpose, rather than just trying to prove how strong he was.

It was on a hot, summer day, with barely any wind stirring, that Legate Colicci informed them they would be taking part in a series of military 'games' designed to determine how well they worked together, as individuals as well as a cohesive group.

"The outcome of these games will be to assign you to a permanent Company, from which you will complete your tour of duty and your training," she said. "For those of you who have not hit the books lately, that means testing your resourcefulness as well as your military skills. So, if you haven't already crammed your heads with statistics and strategies, now would be a good time to do so. The games will begin next week, and will take place all over Cyrodiil. A schedule will be posted at the fort headquarters, and you can see where your name falls on the lists that will be drawn up, to see which squadron you will be assigned to. That is all."

"I'm not so good at strategy," Josef frowned. "I hope they don't put too much of it in these games."

"You and me both," Roald admitted. "I suppose we could study together."

"It wouldn't matter," Josef said mournfully. "I can't remember what I don't understand."

"I'll help you," Tavian offered.

"And me," Eva nodded with confidence. "I know some ways to make the lessons stick."

Her methods, the young men soon learned, was in the form of stories of the battles of old. She related to them the tales of the Battle of Sancre Tor, which Tavian remembered from the book his father had. She told them of the fall of the Snow Prince at the Battle of Moesring Pass in Solstheim. She spent quite a lot of their spare time relating the battle tactics used during the Great War, earlier in the Fourth Era, as well as a summary of the Last War.

"How do you know so much about this?" Tavian wondered. He had remembered reading the tales once Eva began telling them, but she had a way of weaving the stories that made them almost come alive, and the young men hung on her every word.

She snorted. "My mother's brother was a bard," she said simply. "Uncle Soren was considered a 'black sheep.' He fell out of favor with the family because he refused to become a man of business, like my grandfather. But every now and then, he would come by to see the family, and I loved listening to his tales – especially the stories of the battles of old. My mother thought they were unsuitable for a young lady, but I didn't care. I'd sneak out of my room and find Uncle Soren, and have him tell me another story before I would get caught."

"You've got a way of telling a story that makes it easy to remember them," Roald said sincerely. "I think I understand the Five Years War of the Bosmer against the Khajiit much more clearly now than I used to. Thank you."

Eva blinked, bemused. "You're welcome, Roald," she said quietly, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks.

Stories alone, however, wouldn't help them if they couldn't plan their own strategies, and these were the lessons the Prefects drilled into them during the week leading up to the Games. The soldiers were divided into squads of six, and Tavian found himself with Roald, Eva and Josef. Dorian joined their squad shortly afterwards, along with a Redguard woman in the third year of her tour.

"Jaline," she introduced herself. "I'm from Sentinel. I guess we'll be training together."

"Any idea what these 'games' will be?" Eva asked.

"Well," Jaline mused, "if it's anything like the last couple of years, it will either be a long, forced march, a series of obstacle courses, or a 'capture-the-flag' set-up. Maybe even all three!"

"'Capture the flag'?" Roald echoed. "What does that mean?"

"You've never played Capture the Flag?" Josef asked.

Roald shook his head. "I grew up as one of very few children in a mining camp," he said. "We didn't have a lot of time for games."

"Oh," Josef murmured. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay," Roald brushed it off.

"Capture the Flag is where they divide us up into two teams, Red and Blue," explained Jaline. "Usually, the Blue team holds the fort and the Red team tries to get to the flag at the top to capture it. It requires strategy, cunning and perseverance to either keep your opponent from invading the fort, or getting in there to take the flag and win the game."

"It sounds easy," Tavian frowned. "What's the catch?"

"It only sounds easy because you're thinking in terms of a child's game where no one gets hurt," Jaline smiled indulgently. "If that's what they're going to make us do, the risk is fairly high that someone is going to get hurt. The generals aren't just testing how good we are at being soldiers, but how good our commanding officers are at their jobs as well."

"How can we keep from getting hurt?" Eva asked, concerned.

Jaline shrugged. "Well, there will be healers there, of course. But the real key is having a good Legate, and a few good Prefects, who know what they're doing and can make snap decisions if something starts to go against the team. And then it's up to us to trust them and do what they say. I've been through two of these games already."

"Were you on the winning side?" Tavian couldn't help but ask.

"Not the first time," Jaline admitted. "Our Prefects thought they knew more than the Legate, and we were confused about what we were supposed to do. Last year, though, my team came out on top."

"Did anyone get hurt…I mean, really hurt?" Josef wanted to know.

Jaline's eyes were troubled. "During my first year, because the Prefects were contradicting each other, a handful of recruits got hurt really bad. Two of them were sent home with honorable discharges, because they wouldn't have been able to continue."

This thought stayed with them as the week wore on and the games drew nearer. Training intensified, and each night Tavian's squad went to bed aching in every possible place on their bodies. The worst part was knowing they must also pass a written exam. Roald had panicked about this.

"I can't read and write," he confided to Eva.

"Does Legate Colicci know?" she asked.

"Probably not," he admitted. "How can I take a written exam if I can't read?"

"You can't be the only one in this situation," she soothed. "Let's talk to the Legate and see what she says."

Legate Colicci was understanding, but firm. "I can arrange for you to take the exam orally," she explained.

"Sir, what does that mean, sir?" Roald asked.

"It means I will ask the questions, and you will answer them," she replied tersely. "But it is unacceptable for a soldier in the Emperor's army to be illiterate." She studied his face for a moment as he flushed to the collar of his uniform. "That means unable to read and write," she said more gently. "It has no relation to the circumstances of your birth." She paused and took a deep breath, resuming her stern manner. "It is my command to you, plebe, that you are to correct this oversight, and learn to read and write as quickly as you can. Immediately after the games conclude next week, you will spend part of your morning with Master Wilford in the assembly hall. Is that understood, soldier?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Roald barked.

"Good," Legate Colicci approved. "Dismissed."

The week flew by, all too quickly, in Tavian's mind, and soon it was the morning of the exams. The entire group of second-year recruits – with the exception of the handful who could not read or write – were seated in the assembly hall of the fort, a supply of quills, parchment and inkwells at hand, waiting for the Master to give the word to begin. As the bell in the White Gold Tower across Lake Rumare began to toll the ninth hour of the morning, Master Wilford said quietly, "Begin." Sixty-two heads bent over their work, answering questions that had been written on the slate hanging on the wall before them. There was to be no talking among themselves, for that would have been inferred as cheating.

The purpose of the exam was two-fold, Tavian had learned. The first part was to determine how much general knowledge and history each recruit had absorbed by the second year. The second was to determine whether they had what it took to advance to a higher rank later on. Some of the questions centered on comprehension, mathematics and the care of one's armor and weapons.

"How many foot soldiers make up a company? What compound would you use on leather armor to clean it? What is the length of a standard-issue great sword?"

Others probed the histories.

"Who was Emperor Pelagius the Third's father? What caused the first eruption of the Red Mountain, and in what year? What was the Elden Accord, and what was its significance?"

Tavian struggled through each question, racking his brains to dredge up nearly forgotten bits of information he had read, answering them to the best of his ability.

"What was the prophecy of the Last Dragonborn? Explain each of its parts."

Tavian suddenly sat up a bit straighter. This one, he knew! As the shadows shortened to midday outside, the assembly hall became warmer and warmer. Several of the recruits were already struggling with the heat of the day, but until the midday bell, they must continue writing – unless they finished early. Not many did.

Finally, the midday bell rang out across the lake, and the young soldiers blew out a collective sigh. The first part of the exam was over. They would break for lunch and resume with part two afterwards. Roald joined them for lunch, having concluded the first part of his oral exam with Legate Colicci.

"Well, that could have gone better," he scowled.

"Was it rough?" Eva asked sympathetically, pouring herself a goblet of watered-down ale from a pitcher.

"I couldn't think of anything!" he said exasperated. "She kept asking me one question after another, and it was like the Void took up residence in my head!"

"Yeah," Josef nodded. "It was like that for me, too. Except I know I've read some of the books they asked about. I just couldn't remember what I'd read!"

"I couldn't remember anything about the Prophecy," Eva admitted. "All I could think of was that Tavian's father is the Last Dragonborn. But that's not what they were asking."

"What about you, Tavian?" Josef asked, turning to his friend. "How do you think you did?"

"I got stuck on a couple of questions," the red-haired Imperial admitted. "I couldn't remember what a parma was, much less its diameter. And I couldn't remember which Septim Emperor was ruling during the War of the Isle."

"Antiochus," Eva supplied, and Tavian smacked his head.

"Of course!" he groaned. "The wastrel!"

"I wonder what they'll have us do this afternoon?" Dorian muttered. "I'd far rather prove my skills with magic than with a quill."

"It will be more of the same, I'm sure," Eva said sourly.

It was. The questions seemed to be harder, and Master Wilford encouraged them to fill out as many answers as they could. Questions left blank would count against their final score. This time, the emphasis seemed to be on strategy, tactics and Legion regulations.

"Describe the initial preparations and movement for battle."

Tavian thought back to everything he and his friends had done over the last year and a half; all the times they had gone out on forced marches, all the drills they'd had. He knew this one.

"Approach march; construction of fortified camps," he wrote. "Breaking camps and marching; intelligence gathering; morale of troops."

That was one of the easier questions, he found. They got harder after that.

"Explain the differences between the testudo, the triple line, and the wedge formation in combat and describe the advantages and disadvantages of each."

"Name three offenses which warrant immediate court-martial and dishonorable discharge."

"What are the requirements for joining the Legion?"

Tavian's head was swimming from all the details he was attempting to remember. It didn't help that the assembly hall was as hot as an oven, and each soldier was required to take the test in full regalia. Blowing out a quiet sigh, he gave his head a slight shake to clear it and focused on the exam once more.

The bell across the lake chimed the fourth hour after midday when Tavian turned in his papers. He was one of the last to leave the assembly hall. Eva had already left, but Josef was still struggling with the last few questions. Knowing he wouldn't be allowed to stay and wait for his friend, Tavian quietly left and sought out his other friends.

He found them in the shade of a large oak tree in the courtyard, sipping on water pulled up from the nearby well.

"How do you think you did, Tavian?" Eva asked, offering him a pull from her waterskin. He declined and walked over to a nearby horse trough and dunked his head in, shaking it around a few times and coming back up.

"That bad, huh?" she grinned. Tavian chuckled and accepted her waterskin this time.

"Those last few questions were tough!" he grimaced. "I guess I don't know as much about Legion regulations as I should."

"Well, it's clear I won't be making Prefect any time soon," Dorian said sourly. "Which, really, suits me just fine. I just hope it won't prevent me from becoming a battlemage."

"I think you'll be fine," Eva assured him.

"Hello, everyone," Jaline greeted them, as she passed by. She was wearing knee-high leather boots a size too large, to protect her uniform from the manure of the stables. "I won't stay long, since I stink and need a bath. I just wanted to find out how you did."

"Josef's still in there," Tavian said. "And as for the rest of us…" He left it hanging.

Jaline smiled. "Been there," she assured them all. "As long as you did your best, that's all that matters."

"Here comes Roald," Dorian announced, and they were surprised to see he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Looks like you've got some good news," Tavian observed.

"I do!" the dark-haired Nord beamed. "The second half of my exam was a discussion with the other handful of recruits in the same position as me."

At Jaline's raised eyebrow, he coughed embarrassedly as he admitted, "I can't read or write. But that's going to change," he added hastily. "The Legate has ordered me to fix that right after the games next week."

"So, why do you think you did so well?" Eva prompted as Jaline nodded in understanding and excused herself to clean up.

"She asked us to discuss the Battle of Sancre Tor," Roald explained, "and I remember how you told us that story, Eva. You made it come alive for me, and I could almost see General Talos taking the fortress! So, I was able to participate really well in the discussion, and afterwards Legate Colicci said I did a good job! Thank you so much for helping me!"

Eva blushed faintly, but made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "I'm just watching everyone's back," she said. "We all want to be here and make a difference."

"I don't think I'll be making a difference," said Josef mournfully, as he came up to them and plunked himself down against the tree trunk. "I'll never be officer material, that's for sure."

"They aren't going to wash you out for doing badly on the exam, Josef," Tavian assured him with more confidence than he felt. "You're a decent fighter, and you're only going to get better as you go along."

"But I'll be a foot soldier for the rest of my life," the sandy-haired Nord shrugged. "Ah, it doesn't matter. As long as they don't send me home. My folks can use the money I send them."

"When do we find out how we did?" Dorian wondered.

"Tomorrow or the next day, I think," Eva said. "I asked one of the Prefects when I came out. We'll know before the games, that's for sure."

"Yeah," said Tavian. "The games. I'd really like to know what they're going to have us do."

"I thought Jaline said it would be Capture the Flag?" Josef asked, confused.

"She said that was only one of the possibilities," Eva reminded them. "We can think about that later. Let's get some food. I'm starving!"

The lists were posted the following afternoon, and each recruit approached with an air of caution mixed with anticipation; a few, with a bit of dread.

"I can't believe it!" Eva crowed. "I'm on the list to become a Prefect! Take that, Mother and Father!"

"Just as I thought," Josef drawled. "Infantry. Oh, well, I suppose it could be worse."

"Am I on that list, too?" Roald asked.

"I dunno," his countryman said. "Let me look for you."

Dorian was grinning like a madman. "Aw, yeah! Battlemages, here I come!"

"Congratulations, Dorian," Tavian smiled. "I know how much you wanted that."

"I don't see your name on the list, Roald," Josef frowned. "I don't understand it. You should be here."

"Let me see," Eva said firmly, and squinted at the list, searching it thoroughly. "You're right, Josef," she said finally, crestfallen. "He's not here."

"That's because he's on this list," Tavian said, pointing to Roald's name on the Prefect list.

"Prefect?" Roald gaped, astounded. "Me?"

"Legate Colicci must have been really impressed with your performance," Tavian grinned. "Congratulations!"

"But I can't even read and write!"

"And you said yourself that you're going to take care of that," Tavian reminded him.

"Hey, Tavian," Dorian frowned. "I don't see your name here, on any of these lists."

Tavian's heart plummeted to his stomach. Pasting a smile on his face, he said, "You must have overlooked it. Let me see." But his Breton friend was correct. His name did not appear on any of the lists; not Infantry, not Cavalry, not Battlemage or Prefect.

"I don't understand," he mumbled. "There has to be some mistake."

"They're not going to send you home, Tavian, are they?" Eva murmured, and her voice quavered.

"You should ask the Legate," Josef insisted. "You deserve to know why you're not on these lists."

"Yeah," he said softly. "I should do that. I'm sure there's been a mistake somewhere." Almost blindly, willing himself not to show emotion in front of his friends, he crossed the courtyard to the Keep where the Legate's quarters were. Climbing the stone stairs, he stood for a moment outside her door, gathering his courage before knocking.

"Enter," came the command.

He stepped inside and stood nervously, closing the door behind him.

"Excuse me, sir," he began, hesitantly.

"Ah, Dovahkiir," she nodded, acknowledging him. "I've been expecting you. Come in. You may stand at ease."

"Yes, sir," he said, as naturally as he could. She had been expecting him? Well, certainly, since anyone who expected to see their name on the list of test results and didn't find it would certainly have come seeking answers.

"I'm sure you're wondering why your name isn't on the lists?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"You are a unique specimen, Dovahkiir," she elaborated. "You scored the highest of any second-year recruit on part one of your exams. Your grasp of history, maintenance and mathematics is impressive. You also are one of the top five recruits in the history of this fortress to score as high as you've done in the second part; and those were not easy questions. You are as familiar with rules and regulations as you are with strategy and tactics. How did you come by such knowledge?"

"My mother and father would read to me when I was a child," Tavian said. "My father would also tell me stories of his successes and failures in the battles he's fought."

"Hmm," Legate Colicci nodded. "I suspected as much. Your parents are well known across the Empire – across all of Tamriel, truth be told. It's clear their experiences have given you an insight that other recruits have not been as fortunate to attain."

"I…I guess so, sir," Tavian answered, unsure where this was headed.

"Your father was never brought up formally through the ranks of the Legion," the Legate said now. "But he attained the rank I currently hold – that of Legate – through his dedication and service to the Emperor and the Empire, and he served in the capacity of an auxiliary."

"Yes, sir," Tavian replied. "He told me that was his position."

"Did he also tell you what it means to be an auxiliary?"

"Yes, sir," Tavian nodded. "He said it was his job to do certain things that the Legion officers weren't able to do openly. There was nothing dishonorable in his actions; he merely served the Emperor with a bit more freedom than a regular recruit would have."

The Legate nodded. "Exactly. And do you think you can handle the responsibilities of an auxiliary?"

Tavian's eyes widened. "Me, sir?" he almost squeaked. "I mean, yes, sir! I'm sure I can!"

"Excellent," Legate Colicci commended him, smiling for the first time. "After the games are concluded next week, you will begin your special training that will prepare you to become an auxiliary. Don't let me down."

"I won't sir!" Tavian grinned and saluted her.

"Dismissed, soldier," she said sternly, but with a twinkle in her eye. "Go celebrate with your friends."

"Thank you, sir!" He saluted again and left, his heart pounding with excitement. An auxiliary! This was even better than he hoped! Now he truly would be following in his father's footsteps.