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Legatus Nonus Sula
Maiden’s War
Part I
-Scorching hot clay-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/MHm78Yhk/PARCOR-CITY-PLAN-v2.jpg]
The clouds had an indigo hue with plenty of black in it. They roared with every thunder, each lighting turning a portion of the skies white and illuminating the mist covered ground.
For a brief moment it resembled cold ash.
The important thing is that it hasn’t rained since yesterday and that was a dripple, Sula thought watching the Third Cohort marching slowly towards the bridge, Prefect Jacobred waiting for the engineers to set up their wagons to follow with the Second Cohort. Optio Valens was standing next to Sula on the wall-walk at the meter wide embrasure looking with the help of a spyglass towards the river. Baron Josh Hagel, the Master of Purse and Clay had dispatched Captain Stefan Carus with his Rangers and five hundred soldiers to the Clay Quarry to evacuate the civilians unwilling to leave their homes.
Few had, the fear of losing their few belongings to raiders, or thieves, greater than the danger the approaching First Foot presented. The population of the Quarry significant enough, both in workers and other professions for the Baron to lose. Be that as it may that force had come in contact with fellow Issirs marching up the coastal lake road towards Pascor the previous day. The late night briefings held between Sula, Lord Ton and his advisors all agreeing they needed to secure the safe return of at least Baron Hagel’s force as the brief ‘contact’ had resulted in a bloody unfriendly skirmish.
“Centurion Whitt stopped,” Optio Valens reported. The young officer had a somber expression on his face, as the death of his brother during Lord Ton’s ill-fated wedding had hit him hard.
Whitt was the Centurion leading the Third Cohort.
“Uhm,” Sula murmured and stared at his aide and longtime friend Pete Dumont. “Pete?”
Dumont grimaced and glanced at the early morning sky. “It isn’t raining beyond the river too Nonus.”
“The Third is letting people come down the road,” Valens reported still looking through the spyglass.
Sula grunted and turned to climb down the guardtower next to Pascor’s outer walls facing Serene River, ordering the Optio to stay and watch what was happening outside the city’s River Gates. Sula burst out of the tower minutes later breathing heavy from the exertion of navigating the narrow staircase and marched towards the Gates followed by Dumont and a couple of legionnaires.
Prefect Jacobred with the men of the Second Cohort standing still on the cobblestone road behind him saluted seeing the Legatus appearing at the open main Gates. The first of the civilians Centurion Whitt had let pass him through arriving, the men and women coming towards the city looking none pleased, Sula noticed.
“Report Prefect,” Sula grunted, glancing back at the guardtower where Optio Valens was still scanning the road leading to the bridge.
“Carus is retreating sir,” Jacobred replied. “Some of the civilians opted to stay.”
Eh, Sula had feared that. The lowly workers working the clay quarry had little animosity towards the Issirs of Tollor, or Badum.
“Where are the rest of them?” He asked crooking his mouth.
“They’ll attempt to cross towards the old docks further up north,” the man from Sovya replied.
“Why?” Sula asked with a frown and stared at a civilian walking past him, the man’s clothes covered with dark drown clay.
The Prefect pressed his mouth tight, eyes glancing at the paused in the middle of the road Third Cohort not a hundred meters from them and then replied with one word.
“Panic.”
> Sir Henk Van Durren’s advanced units of the First Foot, now the freshly anointed Duke of Riverdor –in fact no ceremony had been held as the brusque knight had marched towards Pascor the moment news of his father’s demise reached him- had made the journey in less than two weeks and attacked Carus’ Rangers at the outskirts of the Clay Quarry.
>
> Carus’ force retreated inside the settlement and blocked the narrow roads and alleys to stall the soldiers of the First Foot, but hours into the confusing initial skirmish the engineer wagons arrived and Henk ordered them to bombard the barricaded men of Pascor. Carus split his force into smaller units and gave ground inside the massive settlement sending another force to control the bridge over Serene nine kilometers to his rear.
>
> Two hours later the shelling had subsided without accomplishing anything worth of note. It had left a lot of broken windows, several cracked mudbrick walls behind, with a couple of injuries in civilians and livestock faring the worst. While it had appeared that this was the end of it, one of the bigger stone buildings near the center of the settlement belonging to the miners Guild exploded abruptly. Such was the power of the blast a whole square was flattened leaving smoking piles of debris behind and over twenty people dead. A concerned Carus ordered the majority of his force to slowly disengage and retreat near the river side of the Quarry, mainly around the sturdy customs building district. He also sent scouts to find out what had happened, with rumors spreading like wildfire. Some talked of magic, or even the wrath of gods.
>
> Carus was an even-keeled Lorian local as his family had opted to stay and work with the Issirs a couple of centuries back and didn’t believe any of it. It was a cloudy day, the skies angry and it wasn’t unheard of for a lighting to blow a man up. Granted this was a whole building, but the Rangers leader couldn’t allow himself to walk down the path of superstition.
>
> Henk wasn’t a magician and the only witch Carus had been aware of lived in the Fenlands. Sure the scary Hag would eat younger folk occasionally, but hadn’t yet blown up anyone that Carus knew of.
>
> Well, the Hag’s culinary tastes aside, an hour later the Custom’s two-story building west side exploded inwards. The roar of the explosion a rattling dissonance of bangs that sounded nothing like a thunder. Large broken beams, sharp pieces of cement, glass and masonry ripped through the gutted building, killed everything hiding inside and blasted out the back side bringing the whole structure down in less than ten seconds. The dust cloud rising high above the settlement and pieces of debris found as far as twenty meters from the impact.
>
> Carus became a believer and ordered his men out. Had he not given the order the rangers would have retreated by themselves following the panicked civilians and workers. The crowd rushed towards the bridge, but the soldiers stationed there stopped them using plenty of force and so the majority headed north following the banks of Serene River, the mud making the journey quite arduous and tried to cross at the site of the old docks to reach the large fishing settlement on the other side.
>
> Legatus Sula original idea was to hold the bridge and he had already mobilized two Cohorts for this, but had to divert the Fourth Cohort to a fishing settlement twenty kilometers north of Pascor in fear the Issirs might make a landing there amidst the chaos of the fleeing refugees. The other two he kept to guard Serene Bridge and the road to Pascor, with the First held inside the city in reserve.
>
> Lord Ton had around a thousand soldiers available, plus another thousand with the fast retreating Carus (both rangers and infantry), but had to dispatch his best men, the over a thousand strong Pascor Raiders –a marine type infantry unit- to the Port District and Pascor’s Fleet since he feared a naval engagement south of Wolffish Isles. A landing to their rear would cut Pascor off from the rest of the Duchy and even a large portion of its districts and port, as despite being walled, Pascor was a poorly outlined city. With the soldiers needed to man the extensive walls facing the river, not much was left to help Sula.
>
> The Legatus quarreled with Lord Ton to draft more men from the civilians and Ton assured him reinforcements were on the way both from the local citizens and Baron Darvot who had fled to Brownfort after the wedding. Sula doubted they would sniff the wayward Baron again afore the summer, judging by the man’s shameful conduct in Kas the previous years.
>
> Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
>
> Carus’ force reached the bridge late in the day and before the first light appeared on the sky the next morning the First Foot crossed the bridge and found the barricaded legionnaires blocking their way. Further up the river a detachment of scouts landed on the fishing docks, crossing the river on rafts, or boats left behind and took control of the settlement briefly. The arriving Fourth Cohort under Centurion Quintus Gratian of Anorum counterattacked and threw them back into the river, retaking control of the river docks.
>
> In the center the First Foot fared little better and their initial push was repulsed almost back to the bridge, but Sula didn’t want the legionnaires to take it fearing Duke Henk had machines aimed at the stone bridge from the other bank of the river and halted their march. The Issirs regrouped, with more units crossing the bridge and finally Duke Henk’s main army body arrived from the Clay Quarry. Sula expected more units to cross before the day was over, so he ordered the First Cohort to ready itself to reinforce the center, if needed.
>
> The hard-pressed Legatus had also the option to retreat behind the walls and use the guardtower and battlements to strike at the exposed First Foot, but Pascor’s walls were also not fully complete near the Fenlands and while Lord Ton assured him no one would ever come through there, Sula just couldn’t take his word for it.
>
> For Sula retreating wasn’t a winning strategy, ‘unless you intend to launch a counterstrike for your opponent’s gullet,’ but given the situation he might had to do it and buy himself time for the navy situation to resolve itself one way, or another.
>
> As it happened, he didn’t have much of an option.
IV Legio Field Headquarters,
City of Pascor,
Late first month of fall 192
Part of the larger Battle of Serene River, (the delta approaches, the bridge & the main gates) also known as Siege of Pascor.
Maiden’s War first week
“The men are digging hard sir!” The runner informed them and Sula nodded standing inside the gateway just after the inner portcullis, the entrance tunnel blocked and maps displaying the movement of units penciled by his aide Dumont, Hugh Bolton also present, along Lord Ton’s Shield, the still grieving a wife and son Sir Blenk’s face grim.
“Is the First Foot holding?” Sula queried, his eyes on the icon of the Fourth Cohort that was engaged north of the city. He’d a Decanus posted on the North Gates tasked with informing him with news of the unfolding situation, not to mention Decurion Bailey’s and Sir Gatrell’s cavalry stationed outside the walls of Pascor between the Fourth Cohort’s position and the North Gates ready to provide relief if it was needed.
“They are sir, each hour will make it more difficult to jump over the ditch.”
“A ditch won’t hold them,” Sula grunted. “But a moat would have been nice,” the latter he addressed to the dour-faced Sir Blenk.
“A moat would flood constantly, make the road useless and block the gates,” Blenk explained. “We have plenty of water to make room for more Legatus.”
“We have plenty of useless water and we still get to defend with knees deep in mud either way Sir Blenk!” Sula blasted him. “Has Scrofa issued extra javelins?” he asked Centurion Paulus Didicus, the Primus Pilus of the First Cohort.
“He has Legatus,” Didicus replied sternly. “The left flank of the Prefect is exposed sir,” he added for the second time in ten minutes.
“Centurion the Fenlands are unpassable when it rains,” Sula explained him.
“Absolutely,” Blenk agreed.
“It hasn’t rained sir,” Didicus insisted. “Lots of show, clouds and shit, but not a drip of water.”
“Centurion there’s water aplenty…” Sula grunted his mind on the surprise attack he wanted to deliver on the arriving Issirs with Sir Gatrell’s cavalry. He paused seeing a sergeant-at-arms standing at attention near their table. He was part of the main gates and gaurdtower’s force. “Yes? Speak sergeant, not the time to be shy right now!” Sula grumbled, irritated with the less than ideal situation and Martha’s challenging pregnancy. This should have been her last month give or take a week, but the woman kept swelling with no end in sight.
“Optio Valens spotted movement at the bridge milord,” the Pascor gate sergeant reported, his dark face covered in a wild white beard that would have gotten him cited in the Legion.
“What kind of movement?” Sula asked unsure and then went over the table unwittingly losing his balance, the earth shaking under their feet, dust falling from above and the otherworldly roar of a volcano exploding –the sound reverberating inside the wall of the entrance tunnel probably increasing it tenfold- heard all over the worried city.
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Sula rushed outside the gateway, exiting out of the inner portcullis and glared at a pale Optio Valens looking down from the guardtower eight meters above him.
“Optio what in allhells?” Sula growled, still shaken from the sudden earthquake. “What happened?”
“It was the Duke Sir!” Valens yelled to be heard over the rising murmurs and cries of the citizenry and soldiers manning the walls.
“What did he do?” Sula barked, just about ready to run through the tunnel and out of the main gates to see for himself.
“A large hole before the walls! Bloody big motherfucker sir!”
A disheveled Dumont had stopped beside him. His aide had been thrown under the table and had his uniform covered with black dripping ink, as far up as the underside of his jaw and the front of his neck. Sula glanced his way and then turned to the bright eyed young Optio looking out of the crenels.
“What good is a plaguing hole there?” He grunted. Had they tunneled under the earth already? Impossible. “Tyeus spear, how did they manage that?”
“They missed sir,” Valens replied sounding worried. “Two wagons can fit in that hole sir,” the Optio added.
“That’s absurd!” Dumont spat gruffly, he’d a cloth in hand kept under his chin to gather some of the ink. A hapless task. “You can’t bring a trebuchet over that bridge. You can’t,” he added, but not with as much conviction as before.
Sula's tunnel theory not considered, what with the river so close.
Fish could have done it, but the Legatus had no knowledge of fish using a pickaxe.
“Get eyes on them Optio,” Sula decided and turned around to trot through the gateway to check it for himself, his entourage following him, but for those that stayed to gather the maps and clean the mess up inside the tunnel.
The Legatus got out of the main gates, the men of the two Cohorts blocking the road two hundred meters away, the First Foot just outside of arrow’s throw beyond them in a cohesive solid block of soldiers seemingly and hidden behind the Issirs the approaches to the busy bridge.
“Optio?” Sula yelled the moment he got out, his eyes unable to spot where the catapult had hit their walls, if that was what it was.
“They brought machines over sir!” Valens yelled from above.
Sula whipped his helmed head back and stared at the frowned Dumont.
“I’ll order Centurion Boston to bring the Scorpios forward Nonus,” his friend said solemnly. “Should I order the tower guards sergeant to fire the catapult from the guardtower?”
“It’s too far I think,” Sula murmured thoughtfully. “What’s taking them so long to fire again?” He wondered aloud, still troubled on what the Issirs were using to cause such problems. “Tell him to fire a lighter load, slinger shot even, but try it the furthest he can,” he decided. “Aim for the rows of soldiers. Let’s hope he clips a head, or pokes an eye out.”
Dumont gave the order, the sergeant fired a grapeshot and the Issirs retaliated using their strange weapon again. Their second shot striking the crooked protruding part of the wall a hundred and fifty meters north of a stunned Sula dead center causing another thunderous explosion and bringing a small part of it down, leaving a two meter opening behind and multiple cracks that spread far out and were well visible from the guardtower and the main gates.
Good grief.
“Legatus,” a haunted Valens said minutes later, Sula doubled over his knees, his ears ringing and eyes tearing. A thick dust cloud had covered the main gates, the roar of the skies gone and a strange silence dominating this crowded portion of the city, with the occasional lurid distant terrified scream breaking it at irregular intervals. “It’s a god darn machine!”
Turd hard as rock in the water barrel! Sula cursed, his mind on the report from Carus he’d dismissed earlier that day as outright fictitious.
The clay turned to porcelain, a shook Carus had told them. Scorching hot and as sharp as glass.
“Get the men back!” Sula barked to an approaching runner from an alarmed Prefect Jacobred, sent to investigate the explosion to his rear. The moment a volley shoots well over your head, then you know standing pat is inviting a world of hurt on you. “Dumont get Boston out here posthaste and tell him to aim for the prepared lines of sight. I want that machine destroyed, the moment they bring it closer!”
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
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