>
> Lucius on Stormbolt crossing the Framtond…
>
> -
>
> Famous Ireneo Sarkozy* oil painting
>
> (born in Faro, Lesia 170NC- Died in Lourmar, Regia 229NC)
>
> Found in Tiger’s Citadel at Storm’s Rest
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> *The famed painter, ex-mercenary and adventurer was a surviving veteran of the Battle at the Half Bridge (official name First and Second Storm’s Rest) serving with Armando Leys Boars mercenary company
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Praetor Lucius Alden
Half a Bridge
Part IV
-We’ll ride tonight, rest on the morrow Prefect-
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Operation day 150
Lucius entourage
(build around Merenda’s 2nd Century and Logan’s warriors
plus fifty men-at-arms paid by Lord Bernard Holt of Asturia escorting Lady Monica under Flavius Nasica)
“Goddess’ noble bosom!” a flushed Monica snapped the moment her heeled boots touched the ground. The expensive footwear sinking into the soft mud to her long blue velvet coat’s embroidered hem. “What is this ungodly wilderness? Are we completely lost?”
“It’s a hunter’s road,” Faye said jumping out of the carriage after her and then hopping once to reach sturdier ground. “Ye need to get out of the road.”
“What road?” Monica wondered but accepted her arm. Faye hauled her over easily despite being a tad shorter than the Duke’s daughter. “Gratitude,” Monica said trying to gather her dress and coat. “Goodness me you’re strong Lady Faye!” she beamed sounding impressed.
“You just need to get out more,” Faye retorted and stared at the dark sky roaring above them.
“I can’t argue with that,” Monica replied unsure. “Though I had something completely different in mind than discovering new lands beyond the river.”
“It’s still yer father’s forest this,” Faye grunted and started towards the men that had created a shade to get a fire going. “So I don’t know what yer blabbering about.”
“Wow,” Monica gasped following after her.
“What about?”
“I can’t be frank for I don’t know what wiggle room I have Lady Faye,” Monica replied. Faye stopped and turned around to eye her. “Let’s say I was wondering if you enjoy anything else than swords?”
Eh, damn it girl, Lucius thought, as he was keeping an ear on their conversation, just in case Faye got angry and lashed out. He didn’t believe Monica could take a punch.
Lucius patted the impressive stallion with a gloved hand. The Asturia warhorse was young and almost as big as Stormbolt. He’d named it Nightsilver because of its light patches on its snout, head and joints of its powerful legs. The rest of the horse a dark grey that gleamed in the flashes coming from the sky. It was a wedding gift from Lord Holt, the best horse in his stables. Lucius hadn’t ridden it much, as Stormbolt didn’t take kindly to him smelling of another and could turn right mean at times. He could feel the loyal horse glaring at him from the sides.
“Riding,” Faye replied gruffly and Monica nodded. “Practicing… with swords I guess,” Faye added thinking about it and glanced his way longingly, Lucius assuming a blank look. Although he loved sparring with her, Lucius was trying hard to steer Faye away from fighting. “Ye wanna try it?”
“Ehm,” Monica hummed unsure. “When you say practicing with swords…”
Faye unsheathed one of her blades and offered it to her.
“It’s as good a time as any,” she told the stunned ravenhead.
“Can we use a smaller one?” Monica asked hopefully. “Something not metallic?” she added unwilling to let go.
“Not if ye want to grow stronger,” Faye retorted.
“I really don’t want to do this,” Monica argued with a pout. Faye shrugged her shoulders and withdrew the blade.
“Nor do I,” she replied sternly.
Lucius had moved towards Stormbolt in the meantime, a smile on his face. The horse giving him a solid bump with his large head.
“What? You’re my boy,” Lucius said with a grimace and a pained smile.
Stormbolt snorted not convinced and bumped him again almost knocking him over.
Lucius spent several minutes rubbing the rich mane with his hands and patting his strong back, a couple of times whispering into the horse’s ear about how good it was. Not long after he caught sight of a man waiting for him patiently and broke the bonding moment off with a sigh.
“My Lord,” Ramirus started. “Will you call for a meeting before supper?”
“Not with two women and a little boy…” Lucius replied, but paused. “Unless a bird found us.”
“A hunting post up ahead. It relays news to Croton,” Ramirus explained and Lucius turned around completely to stare at him.
“A missive?”
“Aye sire.”
“Not ours?”
“It was for the Duke, but the hunter remembers it word for word,” Ramirus explained. “The moment he spotted our men he came to report on it.”
“Duke will have the word?”
“Aye. In a couple of days.”
“What is it?” Lucius asked.
“There’s a battle across the river according to him,” Ramirus replied. “A long one and it has stopped construction of the bridge.”
“How does he know?”
“Most hunting parties know about the bridge by now and visit the site.”
“How does he know?” Lucius repeated sternly.
“They carried scores of injured to the other bank,” Ramirus replied tensely. “It’s a big struggle the man says. Both from the tributary and the main river. The letter said our boys might not hold.”
Hmm.
“Where is Galio?” Lucius grunted angry and marched towards the 2nd Century’s hastily constructed camp. They had no time for a proper one as his instincts were telling him to hurry and even so it seemed they were going to be late.
“No Legion at the near,” Ramirus said coming after him. Gripa talking with Centurion Merenda raised his head seeing Lucius expression. “Probably got bogged down due to the heavy rains. It must be three times worse for Galio. But he can’t be far.”
A little late just won’t cut it, Lucius thought frustrated.
“Shall I see to the Ladies and the young gentleman milord?” Gripa asked perceptively and Lucius nodded.
“I’ll keep a plate.”
“Ahm… damn it. I’ll be busy for a bit Gripa.”
“Very well milord,” Gripa replied and left to take care of them. Faye would probably come straight to him sooner rather than later, the moment she suspected something was up.
“Merenda, have you set up a tent?” He asked the square jawed, but boisterous as much as handsome Marcus Antonius. The man getting two names since by the time his father Sir Seleucid Merenda, the Lord Commander of Cartagen’s Royal Guard legitimized and gave him the name of his late father Antonius, everyone was calling the brass child Marcus. So he kept them both.
“More a shed Praetor,” Merenda replied with a broad smile. “I carry the planks with the supply train.”
“Right,” Lucius grunted. “We’ll talk there Centurion,” he added. “Find Trupo and Sirio. I’ll need his maps.”
“The lad can hardly walk…” Merenda started still grinning, but he got ahold of himself seeing Lucius’ stern stare and added quickly. “But he’s easy to carry Praetor, so I’ll bring him myself.”
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Trupo, Merenda, Ramirus, a miserable hobbled Sirio, Logan and Nasica were present inside the Centurion’s three by four meters shed the Century had set up.
“I don’t think this is within regulations Merenda,” Trupo commented shifting on his stool, the hefty field table leaving room for little comforts given that one wall was occupied by Merenda’s oaken bed.
“Prefect, I’m looking to expand the walls,” Merenda assured him.
“I was speaking about the bed.”
“I’m spared a bad back,” the Centurion quipped whilst Lucius pored over Sirio’s additions to the maps of this relatively uncharted area of the Kingdom. The Legion didn’t have access to Durio’s more detailed maps, since the Prefect had escaped the First with only the clothes on his back.
“Your point being?” Trupo asked, his mustache showing great annoyance.
“I’d like to keep it thus Prefect. Haha!” Merenda boomed and burst into laughing afore he caught himself and assumed a more serious expression.
“Are you quite finished mister Merenda?” Lucius asked without looking his way.
“Absolutely sir. I’m done,” the lively Centurion replied with a toothy smile.
“The bed goes. The load can’t be justified,” Lucius said and then tapped at the map for Sirio to have a closer look at.
“Aye Praetor. Don’t much like it, consider it gone,” Merenda agreed, pretending he wasn’t bothered by the turn of events.
“Why has Durio poured resources here Sirio?” Lucius asked not minding him, having already moved on to the next topic.
“The east tributary we completely control my Lord,” Sirio replied, pale and flushed at the same time. Also smelling strangely. “Furthermore it is narrower. Durio used it to funnel supplies and men to Kaeso, so we must assume his mission was successful.”
Durio had reported a couple of weeks back, the missive reaching them in Croton, about the Centurion’s rangers attempting to stop Lesia’s engineers from controlling the peninsula.
“Kato doesn’t have the men to hold the valley,” Lucius murmured. “Anyone has exact numbers on the Iron Fists?”
“Three divisions of about five hundred heavies each,” Nasica replied. “Lesia’s companies all use the old Lorian system. The Second Legion is another thing though. They kept it close to the chest there.”
“I assume we would know if another Legion was present,” Lucius said looking at the hardened man from Croton. “Or any Legion. Apparently Galio is late.”
“The weather must have been atrocious up the mountains,” Trupo said.
“He can’t be more than a week away,” Ramirus intervened.
Trupo smacked his lips, smoothed his mustache but said nothing.
“Nasica your men have horses,” Lucius stated matter-of-factly. The Duke had gifted almost a hundred animals to the Legion and while Nightsilver was the best of the bunch by far, the warhorses were of high quality.
“We do milord,” Nasica replied.
“Any Knights between them?”
“No, but they are well-trained riders milord.”
“They have the weapons for it,” Lucius noted and Nasica shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s a well-paying job milord,” he replied with a leer. “So men invest in their gear.”
Probably working for Lord Bernard didn’t harm their purses none, Lucius thought, but he couldn’t find a fault to what the man was saying.
“You’ll come with me on the morrow,” he told him firmly. “We’ll create a nimble mobile group to reach Durio faster.”
Nasica stood back with a frown.
“What about Lady Monica milord?”
It bothered Lucius he hadn’t thought of Faye, but he could understand the hired blade’s priorities.
“My wives will be fine,” Lucius replied his face hardening. “I can ensure it mister Nasica.”
“Of course,” Bernard’s man said with curt nod. “I shall give word to the lads.”
Lucius watched him leave the shed in silence, Merenda breaking it first.
“Praetor, about the bed… ah,” he started and Lucius stopped him raising his hand.
“You’ll bring it to my headquarters Centurion,” Lucius said. “Gift it to Lady Monica from the troops.”
“Right,” Merenda cleared his throat flustered. “I don’t… I suppose you have a reason sir,” he finally said after a couple of false starts.
“I do,” Lucius replied and got up. “Gents the vacation is over,” he announced to their blank faces. “We need to help Durio, or this will forever stain our honor.”
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“I’m not leaving Roderick without his mother,” Lucius said firmly to a flustered Faye half an hour later.
“Wow that’s… a low blow Alden,” the redhead hissed in annoyance.
“Am I wrong?”
“So you’ll get to do Galio’s job?” Faye griped through her teeth pacing up and down their tent. The large commander’s tent big enough to house two bedrooms and a reception area where they currently stood.
“Faye, I need to take control of the situation,” Lucius told her patiently.
“I don’t like this at all,” Faye retorted stubbornly.
“You rarely do, but this is just a matter of me stepping in to help. Galio might be there on the morrow and everything finished by the time I arrive.”
“I can’t just watch from the sidelines Lucius,” Faye griped and approached him. “You are really making me mad lately.”
Lucius hugged her, frowning at the sword hilts protruding over her shoulders.
“I haven’t gone to her at all,” he murmured, lips buried in her red mane. “What else can I do to make up for it?”
“Reminding me wasn’t smart fool,” Faye grunted and pushed her hands on his chest to look in Lucius face. “Are you thinking about it?”
“Allgods no,” Lucius gasped seeing her anger just about to spill out. “You have it the wrong way. It is not duty, but fondness that matters and I choose to be with you. Look at me,” he added hoarsely. “Stay with Roderick, be safe. I’ll whip the situation there and by the time you’ll arrive all will be fine again. Just let me work on it without worrying about you two.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Aww,” Monica purred exiting her bedroom. “That’s so romantic. Is this a group hug?”
“No it isn’t,” Faye retorted frostily.
“Arr, shame,” Monica shivered to sell it, those blue eyes narrowing betraying her irritation. “Anyways, I’d like to thank you for the lovely bed Lucius.”
Duke Holt’s daughter needs a thorough spanking, Lucius thought sourly.
“It’s from the troops,” he grunted, Faye stiffening in his arms. “A good-will gesture.”
“Damn,” Monica retorted unladylike but softening it with a cute grin right at the end. “I guess I’ll have to thank them all. The Goddess’ will is ever generous,” she added theatrically, with Lucius glare nipping it in the bud.
“That won’t be necessary. I received your gratitude milady,” he told her sternly. “So you already thanked the Legion.”
“Haha!” Faye chuckled before she could stop herself.
“I’m going to test my bed,” Monica announced sternly and left twirling on her heels.
“You won’t be able to keep her locked up forever,” Faye whispered in his upset face. “How does this work out usually?”
Lucius grimaced and kissed her forehead. “If love isn’t there then upbringing takes over. Most noble households are pretty solemn places to grow up into.”
“But not yours. Your father’s was a union of love,” Faye murmured softly. “So this arrangement is as much a struggle for you too.”
Not all his marriages, he thought sourly.
“I can handle it. Done it afore,” Lucius replied with a grimace. “She shall endure it as well. Holts are tough as nails. It’s you I’m more concerned about. I vowed not to hurt you again and it scares me that I might.”
“She’s just a girl still.”
“Just trust me on that one, she’s way ahead from both of us in some matters. My mind is firmly set on ensuring you’re not hurt, I mean it.”
“Stop it. You won’t ever hurt me, not intentionally. It’s not in you,” Faye assured him and glanced at the room of their bedroom. “Maybe a little… until Roderick wakes up? You are not leaving for an hour yes?”
“Lady Faye!” Lucius objected, but it was a weak protest and mostly fake.
Operation day 156
Late afternoon
Not a week later Lucius fast moving host arrived at Durio’s expanded camp and workstation, the Prefect’s crude wooden buildings, warehouses and even opened dirt roads heading towards the bridge and the distant mountains constructed with an austere symmetry that made the chaotic camp appear tidy.
The mood though was dire, despite the excitement of seeing the Third Legion’s columns marching down from the north approach to the camp, some advance elements of the First Cohort already arriving at the outskirts of Durio’s camp.
“The weather just cleared,” Durio reported tensely. The task aging him spectacularly in a few short months. “It helped us clear up some stuff, but it emboldened the Iron Fists and hurt the men across the river.”
“Is the battle lost?” Lucius asked wearily, still covered in mud from riding as fast as he could without killing the horses for days, stopping only to rest the animals and then hitting the road again without delay.
“We don’t know, but runners on the bridge say Kato is holding through the skin of his teeth,” Durio replied.
“Can we use the bridge to reinforce him?” Lucius asked glancing at the sky. “We have a couple of hours.”
“You can’t send horses over, not past the midpoint, we must wait for infantry to push them back,” Durio replied. “But we’ll be sending men piecemeal into a meat grinder. If the front has shrug more, it is suicide Praetor.”
Leaving those men to perish without at least making an effort to save them is outright murder, Lucius thought furrowing his brow, but kept the matter to himself not wanting to burden the worn out Prefect further.
“Trupo, how far back is Logan?”
The northern fighters were itching for a good brawl for well over a year.
“Six hours, they had less animals than us sir and worse riders,” Trupo replied, wiping some of the muck off of his face.
“Send them over as fast as they arrive,” Lucius ordered Trupo and he nodded. “Durio you are relieved,” the ‘acting’ Prefect paled. “You’ll work on finishing the bridge Durio it’s not a demotion. Find a horse, I want to see the other one.”
“It’s a bit of a ride Praetor,” Durio said with difficulty.
“Nasica that’s enough water,” Lucius ordered looking at the leader of the men-at-arms. “We have work to do.”
Nasica nodded, his eyes on the sun. “It’s late in the day milord.”
“It is,” Lucius agreed. “Not much time for them to plan anything big. But we are not concerned mister Nasica, for we have plenty to do in front of us.”
“Can I inquire as to the plan milord?” Nasica queried unsure.
“We’ll pay Kaeso a visit,” Lucius grunted and reached for Stormbolt’s reins. “I assume you worked there today Prefect,” he added to steel a depressed Durio’s spine, showing him he would get to keep the rank. Probably not what bothered Durio the most, but when someone needs a boost, anything really, to stand on his feet again, you can’t be frugal. “Minimum supplies Nasica, grab every horse you can find and raid the wagons for spears. Any man that knows how to stay on a horse is drafted gents. Trupo, I want a runner to reach Galio and the cavalry posthaste. I want them at the pontoon bridge…” he stared at Durio.
“It’s a three hour ride,” he murmured unsure. “I don’t know how far are Galio’s other columns.”
“Two hours,” Lucius decided glancing at the sun to gauge the time. “Pray Kato holds out for the day,” he told them. “This is on us.”
Trupo approached on his horse while Nasica galvanized his tired men.
“You intent to fight on tired legs my Lord,” he said treading carefully. “After another long trek? It’s half a day across the peninsula, perhaps even longer.”
“We’ll ride tonight, rest on the morrow Prefect,” Lucius retorted gruffly. “Men will not be sleeping across the river tonight and neither shall we. You fear of riding not even a hundred kilometers on fine dirt road? Is this not the Legion?”
Sirio thought it was eighty, as little as forty at the Groin’s edge and ballooning to over four hundred kilometers near the mountains, but Durio had probably cut through the narrowest point, as would the Lesia engineers. A straight line from bridge to bridge, trotted by men, carts and animals for almost a month. A part of it paved over.
It can be done.
“Eh, I’ve heard the term tamed jungle used as well,” Trupo argued a little flushed, but then pressed his mouth tight, thick mustache hiding his lips and added. “Then again, seeing as this is the army, things are probably blown way out of proportion sire.”
> Tribune Veturius Third Legion spent over a month trapped in the quagmire of Uher’s Passage, the weather horrible for traversing the poor ‘roads’ there. The supply train lost contact with IV Cohort that was bringing up the rear and the acting Legatus made superhuman efforts to battle the elements even using soldiers to drag the wagons out of the mud.
>
> Seeing he was losing time and the weather wasn’t improving the veteran officer ordered Prefect Draco to force-march the I Cohort, taking Decurion Long’s Cavalry with him along Centurion Sorex’s Legio Slingers. The latter volunteering to help his longtime friend Centurion Kaeso. Draco soldiered on ahead of them, but the rest of the legion slowly but surely found rock-strewn paths after Shaft’s Peak and made better time. The split Legion units eventually arriving to Framtond’s tributaries less than a day apart.
>
> Praetor Lucius that was coming up the river’s east banks from Croton following a similar road, but facing better weather, upon being informed of the happenings reacted the same way. It wasn’t an easy decision since he left two wives and a young son on the road to rush towards Durio. He was followed by a Cavalry force from Asturia under Nasica and Logan’s mounted warriors, as Merenda’s Second Century stayed with Lady Faye almost three days back. Lucius made it in camp first, but immediately realized Hermon had all but realized his two main objectives for the almost two month long battle.
>
> So he headed straight for the pontoon bridge and the embattled Kaeso’s forward position, the hardened Centurion controlling a huge parch of land for the amount of men he had under him. Decurion Long’s Cavalry, one of III Legio’s first units to arrive hours later was directed to the smaller bridge as well by Prefect Potis Durio who was relieved of command the same day he received a promotion in the field. On a side note this was the fourth Durio of distant Lastport to reach the rank of Prefect in a Legion and the second to do it whilst serving with the Legion’s Engineers after his great-grand uncle Tito Durio.
>
> Lucius now reinforced Cavarly force crossed the pontoon bridge right at sunset to land on the River’s Groin and riding nonstop on fortuitously good terrain for the river peninsula reached Kaeso’s rear positions –manned by civilians and adventurers with remnants of Tarsus destroyed Maniple- nine hours later. Half an hour later Lucius was at Lesia’s bridge and probably witnessed along those on this side of the river the gigantic light show that was the slow arrival of the III Legio on the opposite banks.
>
> Baron Hermon knowing there was a small city across the river itching to cross over opted not to sleep at all and reorganized his force into two attack groups. With full info on his opponent, he decided to strike decisively on the remnants of Decanus Brevis command. Brevis who had taken over after Decanus Kato had been killed in the final action of the previous day, moved his weary men during the night having received reports that reinforcements were due and recaptured, or reoccupied Kato’s old position and the remnants of the stonewall.
>
> Knowing he was going to get attacked from all sides the Decanus setup an oblique but thin defensive position, putting legionnaires and civilians in the line and tried desperately to rouse moral. He was probably successful whether due to his own oratory skills, or the news that Lucius had arrived with Galio, the Praetor’s presence unexpected as he’d just gotten married back in Asturia, were enough to galvanize the survivors.
>
> Hermon ordered the First and Third Division of the Iron Fists to smash through and take control of the Half Bridge, the moniker not giving credit to Durio as the large bridge was traversable even if it was unsafe, effectively blocking the Legion arriving on the other side of the river. His second order was to the battered Second Division, or a big portion of it –around two hundred men- to attack on first light through the forest, dislodge Kaeso’s annoying rangers and then destroy the smaller bridge over the West Tributary.
>
> Marquise Leroy Drumo, of the Drumo of Miloville, an old family related to Hermon that at one point controlled Parmaport itself even reaching the rank of Marquise by the King’s decree, but now were no more than petty Barons using an extant title, proposed to charge his small cavalry force on Brevis positions. Hermon disagreed, their argument being more a matter of losing valuable soldiers and the cost in replacing them than of any substance and Viceroy intervened again proposing a retreat towards the slopes.
>
> An increasingly frustrated Hermon spent the night mulling it over and had to compromise relieving the Bank’s Agent and his supply train, whist placing Drumo behind both groups to act in case of an emergency. The Baron believed he had at least the coming day before the slow moving Legion could react and attempt a crossing so soon after their arrival from Anorum, but he’d used up all his luck the previous day.
>
> In hindsight the Iron Fists should have probably attacked during the night, but there was a clause in the men’s contracts that made it outrageously expensive to allow a night engagement and the mercenary Guild was notoriously stingy in giving in on their articles.
>
> Lucius rested his animals briefly with his eye on the coming dawn, failed to find Kaeso, but left orders with one of his trusted lieutenants a man named Dosser to attack after him. With the sun slowly emerging on the strangely clear for a second day in a row sky, the men of the Second Division marching towards the forest saw scouts belonging to Leys Boars running out of the treeline to the plains in panic.
>
> Right after them came the thundering roar of a large host of cavalry, probably around three hundred strong and Lucius banner. ‘It was like the Bloody Tiger’, as eloquently stated in a hastily written letter to his pregnant wife –published with his memoirs in 199NC- by Sir Mauro Drumo the Marquise’s second son, who was also present in the field, ‘had up and leaped over the blasted river.’
>
>
Operation day 157
Second month of fall 192
Early morning
Battle of the Half Bridge
Lucius command
Stormbolt neighed his voice lost under the sound hundreds of hooves digging at the caked ground, black head snapping right and left in the effort to keep up with the other horses. Their front fifty wide and six deep. The earth shook in an earsplitting uproar and Lucius felt the familiar sudden surge of adrenalin pouring into his veins and he was a younger man again bouncing on the saddle and leading a charge during the games.
No undulating crowds in this field though, no sense of pride, or vanity for a perfect score. No fancy tavern waiting at the end of it, but another round of struggle. Failure meaning not a repeat in the next town, or the disapproving stare of his father. No Ralph waiting to tease him for a missed opportunity waiting by the stands grinning fiercely and making gestures to distract him.
Just a bunch of uncaring professionals waiting to cut him down and kill him dead. Lucius realized he’d never had more to lose than at that moment. A lot of people had set their hopes on his success and risked doom in his failure.
The field came at him as the sun slowly popped, a fierce red and yellow on the sky, the green and black of the dug earth, the gleaming ringmail with the dark-yellow leather cuirasses under it and the ever growing soldiers scrabbling to get into position, death rushing their way with each rugged gasp of breath.
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“ARRGH!” A sergeant-at-arms cried out a moment, or ten later, a broken spear stuck in his thigh, the leg nailed on his wooden saddle. Lucius pulled at the reins to turn Stormbolt around, blood splattered on his engraved helm and his whole right arm covered in dripping gore. The cavalry hunting the broken Iron Fist soldiers and killing them on their feet. The large column had disintegrated caught in the march, at least seventy killed outright and the rest splintered in many smaller units looking to survive more than fight back.
“Decurion!” Lucius yelled trotting towards the gathering Legio Cavalry, Nasica’s armoured riders’ still hunting lone soldiers about. “Can the horses make it to Kato?”
Long slapped his helm to set it right and nodded. “We might have to limit our speed a bit milord,” the Northman replied. A race of peoples that never really trusted horses, Long and Faye’s love for the cavalry was nigh impressive, with the Decurion a legend amongst his people.
“Send a runner to Dosser, or Kaeso,” Lucius ordered hoarsely and reached for his father’s sword. “Tell them to attack towards the Half Bridge with whatever they have. Logan’s men are probably crossing the river to reinforce them even as we speak.”
“The Baron will react milord,” Long said prophetically and Lucius spotted riders appearing in the field.
“Nasica!” Lucius barked, Stormbolt neighing under him nervously, horses and men all bunched up around their easy to spot leader. “GATHER YOUR MEN AND FOLLOW US!”
“Praetor, you can sit this one out,” Trupo advised, a strained look in his eyes, the Prefect not a friend of riding and taking unnecessary risks.
“You will in my stead,” Lucius ordered brusquely, softening his tone for the next part. “See that the rangers move out of the woods Trupo. Stay on that horse Prefect.”
“Milord,” Long protested his face flushed. “We have this.”
“If one fears to lead men in battle himself,” Lucius retorted and checked on his shield’s straps. “Then perhaps he has no right giving the blasted order!”
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The warspear glanced on the rim of his shield, splinters rattling on his helm as Lucius lowered it to save his eyes, the famed sword’s tune that of a taut chord echoing afore the distinctive clang of blade striking blade. Lucius twisted on the saddle with a gasp, riders clashing brutally in the open field, shields coming apart or folding, blades shattering and plate wrapping. Horses neighed wounded, men tumbling down, snapping their necks or dislocating limbs. The smell of oil and boiled leather in his nostrils, lungs hurting, the colors turning a blur.
Stormbolt blasted through the Lesia cavalry, a knight with a Lynx engraved on his chest throwing his broken gory lance and reaching for a steel mace afore coming after him. Lucius turned the wildly galloping warhorse, glanced back at the approaching knight and then rode hard towards another, this one with the twin hammers of Dokamna displayed on his armour. The sturdy knight raised his longsword to hack him across the face, but Lucius cut hard left ruining his angle and twisting on the saddle slashed first with his own blade.
Endariel whipped over a fiercely protesting Stormbolt’s head and ears, found metal reinforced hardwood and cut through it, as Lucius blasted close enough to the knight that he could smell his sweat. The Knight from Andatelia following after him letting out a stunned growl seeing the man’s severed arm fall off along a part of the ruined shield, Endariel gauging a deep wound on the knight’s low sternum mauling the plate as it dipped.
The sword’s tune changing into a child’s otherworldly scream and a disturbed Lucius pulled at the reins and turned around, as he’d spotted the second Knight stopping as well. The knight slotted his mace and reached at his saddle for a warspear. He touched it on his closed helm next and gave Lucius an apologetic nod.
“Come on boy,” Lucius whispered and pressed his knees on the tired warhorse’s sides. “We’ve done this a thousand times afore.”
He sheathed his sword and reached for his spare spear as well. The weapon shorter than a lance, but working under the same principles. Stormbolt snorted, white froth in his mouth, black mane covered in sweat and dirt from the long travel.
With a shudder the large horse burst forward, Lucius feeling the force on his lower back and started galloping towards the Knight that followed suit lowering his spear. Lucius changed direction once to throw the incoming knight off and bring him to his left side, where the shield covered him better. The two warhorses charged the last couple of meters, the battlefield shrinking spectacularly around them, Lucius eyes on his spear and every muscle on his body tensing up.
Stormbolt cut away from the onrushing warhorse with a violent tremor, the knight’s spear dipping then rising, but striking Lucius’ right side of his helm as he ducked under the shield at the last moment. The clang rattling his skull, from the hairs to his clenched teeth, the sound weirdly muffled. His own spear blasting though the top part of the Knight’s shield afore snapping.
Lucius threw the spear away and reached for his sword again, Stormbolt turning to come around, hooves digging in the earth and the injured Knight did the same cutting his shield away from his hurt left arm with his drawn sword.
“Whoa,” Lucius said stopping four meters from the Knight. The Lesia cavalry had been all but wiped out, the difference in numbers probably one in six. “You lost Sir,” he told his groaning opponent.
“I can’t in good conscience surrender my Lord,” the knight replied through his teeth. “My father won’t have it.”
“Better than getting killed for nothing,” Lucius retorted tiredly.
The Knight shrugged his shoulders. “Some of us have to claw our way to the top Sir Lucius,” he replied with a sigh. “It wasn’t meant as an affront my lord. I admire your courage and respect your cause,” the young man said adding with a small hesitation. “Apologies for your horse. It is what it is.”
With a pained drawn out cry Stormbolt collapsed under him.
Gods no!
To his credit the Knight allowed a distraught Lucius to gather himself, much as he could and even dismounted to fight him on fairer terms.
As far as duels go this was a swift one.
> Lucius cavalry charge smashed through Hermon’s rear lines and opened up his south flank. The Praetor could have reached the Baron’s forward camp right then, but he paused until midday while Kaeso’s attack forced the Iron Fists to pivot sending Third Division to push them back. With Brevis position getting reinforcements with every passing hour, the situation quickly became untenable and Hermon ordered a general retreat abandoning his forward camp. The battered Iron Fists retreated towards the slopes, Lucius cavalry pulling back to secure the tributary’s bridge.
>
> The Baron found his camp half empty as Viceroy had already departed that night and set about organizing his troops. He intended to defend against an attack from the Legion, but since the Legion was still gathering across the river, the attack never came that day.
>
> A pensive Lucius visited the heroic Brevis camp on a fresh mount as he had his famed warhorse killed under him earlier and praised everyone present for a ‘darn fine job’. Later that day a captured and injured Armando Ley surrendered to Lucius for the second time in a few short years, with the dejected mercenary commander calling it a day right then and there.
>
> ‘At some plaguing point lads,’ a retired Armando reminisced talking to his timeworn surviving associates years later. ‘This shite stops being funny.’
>
> The still not finished battle had already caused big casualties to Durio’s detachment, with even Dottore Marianus ending up among the injured. Centurion Toma, Decanus Tarsus and Decanus Kato among the fallen. Lesia’s most noteworthy casualty being Lord Leroy Drumo, the ‘Marquise’ of Miloville that was killed during Lucius charge, his son Mauro Drumo who lost an arm and the fourth son of Duke Luke Andal, the aspiring Sir Hector Andal, who had won his first tourney in Armium six months earlier unhorsing the famed ‘Charming Knight of Armium’, Sir William Davenport in a shocking result. He met Lucius in the field and fought a brief duel with him that cost the Praetor his horse and the young knight his life.
>
> There is a well-known arched stone bridge near the city of Storm’s Rest today. Build several years after the battles fought there it helped turn a remote part of the kingdom into one of its richest provinces. Most curious tourists visiting it assume this was the spot where Durio’s crossing happened. But they are mistaken, or fooled by greedy travel agents.
>
> About fifty meters from it to the north, amidst the thick tall cattails and wilderness of the fertile shores the old remnants of the wooden legion bridge still stand, along the footprint of the stonewall. People rarely use it unless they want to escape the tolls and smuggle goods over the river. This bridge known as Kato’s Bridge is where the veterans of the First Maniple gather on the first day of the second month of Fall to celebrate the life and death of a man that was twice mentioned in the III Legio’s Dailies in the same day.
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter II
>
> (Lord Lucius Alden,
>
> -also addressed-
>
> Legatus Augustus, Praetor Maximus
>
> Southern campaigns,
>
> Fourth & Fifth year
>
> Volume VIII-IX-X
>
> Section subtitle
>
> Storm’s Rest
>
> -Prelude to the Second Battle of Storm’s Rest-
>
>
>
> Fall 192- winter 193-194 NC)
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