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Legatus Nonus Sula
The Duke of Riverdor
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[https://i.postimg.cc/htRC4SS8/Pascor-v2.jpg]
Siege of Pascor,
Late fall 192
Also known as the ‘Battle at Serene River’,
Seventh week
Morning after Gratian’s defense of Henk’s bridge attack
I, II and III Cohorts united front
Three hundred meters from the stone bridge
A horse’s neigh rang up and down the relatively quiet long rows of legionnaires standing still in full battle gear on both sides of the stone road. Prefect Valens patted its mane to soothe the stressed animal and glanced at the solemn Legatus of the IV Legio in nervous anticipation. Sula sitting atop his own horse grimaced, the fresh stitches on his chest still raw and straightened his engraved helmet using a gloved hand, afore closing the front of the heavy crimson cloak he had on. The chill coming from both the river and lake, along the insane humidity of the place had forced most of the men to dig into the Legion quartermaster’s winter supplies, which always made Scrofa as unhappy as an old mare in a stable packed with long-legged fillies.
Duc Gratian, the Signifer carrying the Solem Rubrum Mons, had his eyes beyond the Issir lines at the barely visible in the thin mist stone bridge, where his brother with the missing from the legion’s battle line Fourth Cohort was. Pike and his rangers as well, Sula thought and turned to signal for Didicus to advance all cohorts, but Dumont who was wrapped in a similar woolen cloak stopped him.
“A rider is coming with the colors,” Dumont reported and pointed with an arm at the edge of the Issir’s assembled lines. Sula didn’t have the numbers yet, but this was close to an even thing, with the battered Issirs having spent an awfully cold night with little food and no tents weighing in his favor. The late evening attack aborted by the Legatus of the IV, when he realized the Cohorts were as spent as Duke Henk’s trapped force. Gratian had to hold on his own eventually, but he had. A bird informing them an hour afore dawn that Sir Dolf’s marine force first advanced units had already started reinforcing them the previous evening.
“Fuck’s sake,” Sula grunted and pushed at the knot of his cheekguards that was restricting his breathing, his tired eyes on the approaching rider carrying the plain white cloth of truce. “I thought they were going to try again for a moment.”
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“Legatus, dear officers,” the dirty, a bit disheveled, but clad in an expensive embroidered cloak young man greeted them. Almost at Sula’s age actually, around twenty six, just less worn out. His shortish white hair, combed back away from his dark face neatly, reminded the Legatus of Sirio, their bigger difference being –other than their skin color- in the eyes. The Issir had a hardness in them that was difficult to conceal and a fox’s cunning.
A cornered fox, Sula reminded himself. He also realized he’d missed the Issir’s name, but Dumont intervened saving him from the minor embarrassment.
“This is Legatus Nonus Sula, lord commander of the Fourth Legion. I’m his aide Pete Dumont. Any relation to Duke Van Durren, Lord Charles?” Dumont asked in a sterile, but polite manner, casting a sideways eye at the frowning Sula.
“My brother,” Charles replied and stood back on his saddle. “Legatus I assume you’re in charge here.”
“You assume correctly,” Sula grunted. “Do you surrender?”
“There’s nothing more we could do here,” Charles admitted with a polite smile.
“You could try attacking across the bridge again,” Sula snarled, not returning it. “Mayhap that’s what yer doing right now? Are you stalling us to try it Lord Charles? This breeze is chilling my thighs and I’m thinking a good morning trot might be a fine remedy for it. A charge might even be better.”
“As long as you assure the lives of the men, the Duke is willing to lay down his sword Legatus,” Charles replied.
“The Duke couldn’t say this himself?”
“He suffered an injury yesterday. You have his apologies.”
Sula nodded. “This is Pascor’s land, but if you surrender I’ll do everything within my power to ensure you are treated justly.”
“Pascor’s justice isn’t exactly celebrated through the realm Legatus,” Charles argued. “The Dukes would like Wolffish to put his seal on it with you as a witness.”
“Lord Ton is unavailable,” Sula countered. “The Legion’s word is all you can get at this point Lord Charles.”
Charles pressed his mouth tight and stared at the solemn rows of legionnaires for a brief moment.
“I shall give your assurances to the Dukes, dear Legatus,” he finally said. “And return with an answer.”
“You have one hour,” Sula replied sternly. “It’s a cloudy day and a rain might come eventually. I prefer the men to fight on sturdier ground.”
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Charles turned his horse around and returned to the Issir lines. Sula did the same and rode behind the legion’s squares after giving orders to the two Prefects present to inform him of any developments. The Pascor’s walls visible in the distance half destroyed, parts of the city still smoking.
“They’ll surrender,” Dumont assured him after they left their horses to the care of a soldier. They had reached the field headquarters hastily prepared behind Centurion Boston’s machines. The engineer conversing with LID officer Bolton, their talk on the possibility of taking a closer look on the machine Duke Henk had used on the city. The Issirs had dragged it over the bridge earlier that week, but Gratian had taken control of it.
“Any news mister Bolton?” Sula rustled at the intelligence officer.
“Nothing concrete on Lord Ton sir,” he replied. “A couple of survivors exited the Fenlands. We’re still sifting through reports.”
“Any of ours?”
“Marlen’s Brutes got out relatively intact. She has six missing still though,” Bolton replied and the Centurion of engineers standing next to him saluted and then excused himself to return to his machines.
“What does he think?” Sula asked. He had already gotten Boston’s vague official opinion earlier. He now wanted the gossip.
“It’s a ballista-type engine sir,” the LID officer replied. “But it has no wood parts. It’s all metal according to Gratian and weirdly built.”
“By allgods Bolton!” Dumont grunted. “What does that even mean?”
“It fires spoon like projectiles Dumont,” Bolton retorted with a grimace. “I know how it sounds, but that’s what Gratian wrote. Enclosed tip, spoon-shaped bolts was his wording. I’m as befuddled as you.”
“Any engineer figured out how they cause so much damage?” Sula hissed. “They are looking pretty stupid from where I’m standing Bolton!”
“Other than that the tips are hollow no sir,” the officer admitted. “As a matter of fact, most agree it shouldn’t.”
“That’s Hagels,” Dumont informed him a tense moment later, the sky roaring over their heads. The clouds darkening and the morning turning dimmer. “With company.”
Sula stared at the approaching group of Pascor riders narrowing his eyes. The conduct of the local soldiers had been bad to put it mildly and this whole affair had left a sour taste in Sula’s mouth. A lot of lads from the Legion had misbehaved, which is of course what happens when you’re getting bombarded and attacked repeatedly for weeks.
It was the after the battle stuff, Sula didn’t like.
“Sula, I can bring around a thousand men to your rear,” Hagels informed him. “We have retaken full control of the streets and the Citadel buildings, much as it’s left of it. Gatrell has regrouped and is holding in the north, but I have tasked the Pascor cavalry to hunt for Henk’s men that escaped.”
“I would have preferred you’d have left them with Gatrell,” Sula grunted not likening the Baron moving forces around without his knowledge. “Our North flank is weak and I need to move infantry there to reinforce it.”
“We can’t have them roaming the land Sula,” Hagels argued.
“Baron they offered to surrender. The siege is over,” Sula snapped. “A city can handle a hundred riders!”
“Lord Ton hasn’t returned,” Hagels replied tensely. “Everyone’s on edge Sula.”
“Any survivors from his group?” Dumont intervened, knowing Nonus was considering knocking the teeth out of the Treasurer. They had clashed numerous times during the siege, but it was the insufferable Mayor Sequer that had saved the Baron, as Sula disliked him the most.
“Plenty, but they had lost contact with him. Sir Blenk as well. Vicard and his bodyguards are all missing.”
“They fought with Tollor’s marines then?” Sula grunted.
“Nothing major. Small groups popping out of the wilderness. Both commands got lost in the mist Sula,” Hagels replied.
“I understand Hoff’s men wandering about, but Lord Ton had good knowledge of the Fenlands Baron! So had the men under him!”
Hagels stood back with a scowl. “They followed the paths Sula.”
“So?”
“The paths got them elsewhere. It happens in there,” the Baron spat.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sula exploded in frustration. “Not the plaguing Hag again!”
“Ahm, perhaps—” Dumont tried to say, but the Baron cut him off as frustrated as the Legatus.
“You’ve seen her at the wedding Legatus,” he snarled.
“I saw Lord Ton’s sister!” Sula snarled back at him, spittle flying out of his mouth and sweating despite the cold of the morning. “The rest is a blur, since you people started knifing each other with no regard of talking things through! I lost some pretty darn good men in this whole affair Baron! Damn it and for what?” He stopped breathing heavy and glared about him.
“I’ll return if I have more news,” Hagels murmured through his teeth and Sula waved him off disgusted.
“Nonus, how do we inform Lucius? A bird will reach Asturia first, then Anorum,” Dumont asked treading carefully.
“Relay it to Croton first. Lucius would have left instructions on how to reach him.”
“The Duke would know.”
Of Asturia was his meaning.
“What do you want me to do Pete?” Sula griped. “He married the man’s daughter!”
Dumont breathed in deeply and then let it all out. “You might have to negotiate here, if Lord Ton is not around.”
“This is Pascor’s business.”
“Without an order from Lucius, we can’t disengage,” his aide argued. “We are keeping a lot of cities busy here.”
“The thing is Pete,” Sula countered tiredly. “We can’t realistically fight them all. Just take a look at the preliminary casualty numbers and you’ll see I’m right. Give me a battle to fight with our group and I’ll do it, but this is a whole war we’re talking about. We need our own supply lines, fresh recruits. Asturia’s ships haven’t anchored for over a month and I don’t blame them. We might as well be on Eplas. They need a resolution here and we need someone local to offer it. Neither Pascor, nor any other city will peace out on a Sula’s advice. Then again with all the savagery that happened in the wedding I’m not sure they are there, or sated enough.”
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An hour later Sula was back at the frontlines and Lord Charles had returned with a bigger group of officers, including the dejected old Duke of Tollor himself. Had Sula being in Hoff’s shoes, he’d be feeling pretty gnarly too, but seeing as Hoff was present during the Conference of Lords years back and had sided against Alistair and his family Sula felt no sympathy for him.
None.
“Is Lord Ton not going to grace us with his face?” Hoff asked staring at Sula’s entourage.
“The Lord of Pascor is missing,” Sula retorted. “Do I have your surrender?”
“As long as assurances are given for our survival,” Charles repeated. “The Dukes agree you have the field Legatus.”
“I have the field either way,” Sula grunted and Dumont glanced at him worried. “But I shall offer the same assurances I offered you earlier. The men won’t be harmed.”
“What about us?” Hoff queried, a couple of lines of worry added to his wrinkled face. It was difficult to gauge an Issir’s age, but Sula thought the Duke was close to fifty.
“Pascor will decide on compensation I imagine,” Sula replied harshly. “I’ll have your swords gentlemen.”
Hoff grimaced and stared in his face. “You’re responsible for whatever happens Sula. The Wolffish killed my son and my daughter after inviting us to his wedding. Lauke was pregnant for the love of Uher!”
Sula crooked his mouth. “Lord Ton’s sister went crazy Hoff. I won’t justify her actions but your son assaulted one of my officers. A noble lad, Baron Valens’ son. He’s dead.”
“You expect me to believe this?” Hoff protested.
“I don’t care,” Sula retorted. “Whether you believe it or not. It is what happened. You expect me to believe you didn’t conspire to have King Alistair killed in the conference?”
“What does this have to do—?”
“My father served with the Legion!” Sula growled cutting him off. “He’s dead as well.”
“You’re looking for vengeance is that what this is?” Hoff murmured. “You’ll attack me for Antoon’s folly?”
“I ain’t attacking you,” Sula retorted through his teeth. “You did and now you’ve surrendered. I’ll have that sword Duke Hoff.”
Dumont sighed pensively standing next to him, but Sula had tried to be as diplomatic as he could. He wanted the field cleared and secured first and foremost, then they could try this dance all over again.
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The First Cohort got the honors of keeping an eye on the surrendered Issir forces. They were to remain in the fields outside of Pascor, which was inconvenient for the dejected and tired men, but Sula couldn’t provide them any semblance of protection from the locals, if they entered the city again and he decided it was the lesser of two evils.
Later that day with the winds bringing the first rain of the month as a farewell gift from the departing autumn, Sula was outside of the city again with Dumont, to welcome the returning men of Gratian’s Cohort and Sir Dolf Van Calcar. The Duke’s younger brother had landed at the beaches near the Clay Quarry and after a strong march he’d brought his marines to the Fourth Cohort’s assistance and helped them defeat Henk’s desperate last attempt to break out of the noose.
Sir Dolf’s contributions to the victorious outcome considerable and despite the first impression Sula had of him back in Bisonville, he’d proven himself capable in both the field and the sea.
“Gratian, Sir Dolf,” Sula greeted them, trying to gauge the numbers of the Fourth Cohort, noticing the decimated group of Pascor’ young cadets marching proudly next to their more experienced colleagues. “Darn good job gents,” he added returning the Centurion’s salute.
“Legatus,” Gratian reported. “The Fourth Cohort returns victorious. All objectives were realized sir!”
“At rest Centurion,” Sula said. “Have the men find quarters in the city and look for Boston to take the machine off your hands. Pike’s at the bridge?”
“Aye sir,” a dead tired Gratian replied.
“Sula,” an equally weary but smiling Sir Dolf said stepping forward. He paused unsure, but then tended his arm and Sula took it. “I thought of hugging you, since I find myself really fond of your dour visage.”
“Better that you didn’t,” Sula assured him curtly.
“Hah, yeah I knew I guessed correctly,” Dolf agreed, a smile splitting his dark lips. Menneken, a bit of growth on his shaven head adding in his dispassionate, creepy tone.
“A cautious… approach,” the captain said, ever slow to get the words out.
“Right,” Sula retorted. “There’s a meeting in the Mayor’s Palace in an hour Dolf, so we have to move I’m afraid. I have horses waiting, so no more march today.”
“How bad are things in the city?” Dolf asked with an appreciative nod.
“The west side took a beating,” Sula replied. “As you’ll soon see for yourself. Sequer wants a decision on the prisoners tonight.”
“Where’s my brother?” the knight from Pascor asked and seeing Sula’s face, pressed his mouth in a tight line. Then he glanced at Dumont. “Help me out Dumont. I can’t tell by his expression.”
“The Duke… ahm, didn’t make it out of the swamps,” Dumont replied after a false start.
“Surely it’s too early to tell,” Dolf argued standing back.
“A lot of men returned, it’s two days almost,” Sula explained.
“Any Crabs made it?”
“Not a soul,” Sula replied.
Dolf licked his lips. “Ton knows the Fenlands. He’s made it out many times in the past Sula.”
“I don’t argue that,” Sula replied. “But I have a meeting coming and I need someone to stand for Pascor that’s not Sequer, or Hagels.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“I can’t have a Mayor judge a Duke Dolf,” Sula replied. “Or come to an agreement on how to end this.”
“Not… good optics,” Menneken agreed in his hoarse monotone.
“I’ll speak with Sequer and Hagels,” Dolf decided and sighed deeply. “I feel less enthusiastic than I did a couple of minutes ago Sula. Damn it. You always do that.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
> As high as two thousand soldiers of the First Foot surrendered at the end of Pascor’s siege. The conservative number given around a thousand five hundred. Two regiments worth of troops, with a couple of more trained in Riverdor, meant he’d lost a thousand (or a thousand five hundred) soldiers and the majority of his cavalry numbering around three hundred. Tollor had lost at least one thousand five hundred of its marines (a conservative estimate) and had about five hundred regulars surrender from its original two thousand, which meant it had suffered more than three thousand losses during the siege.
>
> Pascor had lost at least six hundred men along with Lord Ton, another thousand killed during the siege and all but fifty from a class of two hundred cadets. It had also suffered around two thousand civilian casualties and had a quarter of the city (along two thirds of its west outer wall and the Citadel buildings all but completely ruined). As a matter of fact after the winter snows came and the subsequent rains of Spring half the lower portion of the city would be buried in mud and turn unlivable.
>
> The new south border of Pascor ending at the battered Admiralty complex and cadet camp. Almost half its population moved away from the lake and flooded the north fields above the north district, the slums and the river, as far the fishing village docks. The weird S-shaped city turned into three large districts eventually. The River District built around the old village, the Old District around the old city center and the Port District built near the slums and Pascor’s port.
>
> But while we know a lot about the fate of the surrendered soldiers, the fate of the prominent lords that lost the battle is left to speculation.
“Mayor Sequer,” Sula said gruffly. “Baron.”
His eyes roamed the Hall of the large, but dour stone building while Sir Dolf greeted his countrymen and stopped when he spotted Martha coming down the stairs with Lady Aafke. His wife looked much better, but still hadn’t recovered that rosy color he’d come to appreciate on her.
“Nonus,” Martha said touching his unshaven face. “Couldn’t they built a shade for you?”
“They did milady,” Dumont griped. “But he didn’t stay under it. The Legatus gathered mud from all over Pascor in yer absence.”
“Pete is exaggerating per usual,” Sula grunted and kissed Martha’s hands. “How are the boys?”
“They are sucking me dry,” Martha retorted with a scowl. “Tell me this is over Nonus.”
“The siege is over,” Sula replied leaving it vague.
“Legatus,” Aafke interrupted them quietly. “What of Lord Ton?”
Sula grimaced and looked at his wife for help. Martha narrowed her eyes and glanced at the gloomy faces of Pascor’s lords also present.
“Lady Aafke,” Sir Dolf started glaring at the two others for leaving him to be the bearer of bad news. “Half-sister, be assured we will do everything in our power to find my brother.”
Sula grimaced even more and Martha touched his hand reassuringly. Then moved close to the distraught young bride and mother to hug her in support.
“What if you don’t?” Martha asked Sir Dolf and he furrowed his brow surprised. “You don’t appear very confident good knight.”
“It’s… as I understand… Ehm, we have reports that paint an ominous picture Lady Martha,” Dolf grunted. “The weather has taken a turn for the worse.”
Aafke started crying in his wife’s arms overcome with despair, everyone present short for words, but for Menneken who did offer a couple, putting everything into a macabre context.
“Winter… is nigh.”
For crying out loud!
“It is custom for men in the old North,” Martha started looking at a troubled Dolf. “To take care of their brother’s family. Assure their survival. It’s in your best interests Sir Dolf,” she added knowingly.
Damn it Martha. Don’t get involved here.
Dolf cleared his throat, perhaps not expecting to be put on the spot in front of everyone else. His face darkened and his angry eyes returned Martha’s bold stare.
“This isn’t the North Lady Martha and this a delicate matter,” he growled and Sula glared at the affronted knight’s way not appreciating his tone.
“It isn’t the North Sir Dolf I’m aware,” Martha replied tauntingly. “But you’re a man are you not?”
“Martha!” Sula grunted, as Dolf stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Dolf my wife is still recovering from labor,” he rustled through his teeth, praying the knight would take it, else Sula would have to step in and that would put a real dent in his relationship with Pascor.
“It’s alright Sula,” Dolf assured him, speaking with difficulty. “Your sharp-tongued wife does have… a point here. I shall of course make sure Lady Aafke is safe. She’s family after all,” he sighed deeply and eyed the two Issirs watching him intently. “Assuming my brother is dead. I’d like some confirmation of that gents.”
“I’ll take her upstairs,” Martha informed a tensed Sula and he nodded, Dumont puffing out as he’d been holding his breath all this time. His aide looked pale in the face.
“We have a couple of witnesses,” Mayor Sequer said after an awkward moment. “Fish Folk.”
“Hagels, them yours?” Dolf mocked the Baron of the Isles. It was known fact Hagels spent the bare minimum of his time there.
“Not really my lord,” Hagels replied gruffly. “I don’t really employ them on the Isle.”
“Great,” Dolf murmured, his day probably not going exactly how he’d envisioned after winning a couple of very tricky battles. “Bring them in.”
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Two relatively low-ranking officers walked in. One Decanus working under LID Centurion Isaak Bolton named Rod Zerou out of Yepehir and a sergeant of the Pascor Guards escorting a young couple of half-breeds. Both having richly tanned skin and golden-brown hair with washed out dark-grey eyes. The boy had an empty sword sheath on his waistband and a military type weapon harness over his cheap garbs. The girl wore a long blue woolen tunic and had her medium-long hair gathered in a messy ponytail that snaked freely around her neck.
“The numbers?” Dumont asked Decanus Zerou and he nodded after saluting. He offered Dumont two scribbled scrolls and with another sharp salute left the room out of the guarded doors. Sula glanced at a troubled Sir Dolf using the Mayor’s throne to rest his legs and then turned his attention to Baron Hagels’ conversation with the sergeant.
“They came after Higgins’ group?”
“Aye milord,” the man replied. “The boy was carrying a fine sword made here in Pascor for the armory and a number of other weapons made in Tollor according to their markings.”
“Hmm. Scavengers you think?” Hagels queried and the Mayor perked up. “Corpse looters?”
“Call the prison guards,” Sequer said harshly and walked towards the duo. “Have them deal with this. I can have them hanged by morrow.”
“Sequer, by witch’s swollen tits!” Dolf exploded, the young female raising her brows more amused than shocked at the hoarse language. “We are looking for information here!”
“From criminals?” The Mayor argued. “Laris will be here shortly. Let’s ask him, to learn Uher’s will.”
“Why is… never mind that,” Dolf retorted and glared at the two vagabonds. “You’ve seen what happened to the Duke of Pascor?”
“Aye milord, we think,” the young man said his voice cracking.
“You think?” a frustrated Sequer queried with a sneer. “Lying more like.”
“I saw the Wolffish’s armour aye,” Dolf grimaced hearing it and hang his head. “Near the rises inland.”
“What in allgods were they doing there?” Hagels asked pulling at his lower lip with his fingers nervously. “That’s way out of the path.”
“You need to head east to reach the wolffish isles,” Dolf murmured. “So you get pretty close there.”
“The engineers never worked on that part lord Dolf,” the Mayor reminded him. “Ton had no reason to veer off so far. Was he lost? Why not turn back?”
“The Crabs were there,” the young man explained nervously. There was something about him Sula didn’t like. Guilty sentries had it, or returning patrols reporting to their superior officer. The sentries for napping on duty and missing a thief, the patrol for taking the shorter route and missing said thief sneaking away. But what had the young man done he felt guilty of? Stealing a sword? Corpse looting?
“So Ton found them then?” Dolf asked raising his head. There’s a man that aged a couple of years in a few odd hours, Sula thought and glanced at Dumont reading the casualties list with a grave face and felt his own stomach fill with acid.
Small round turds in our soups.
“Aye. There was a big battle,” the young man replied. “Many… killed. Injured.”
That was new.
“Was the Duke among those?” Hagels probed with a grimace.
“He was,” the girl said and bowed her head. For a hybrid, she looked more like a dark-skinned Lorian than an Issir. Sula guessed she was around the young man’s age, perhaps a couple of years older, judging by her mature figure.
“Eh,” the Mayor gasped. “Well then.”
“You saw it as well?” Dolf asked the young man and he nodded.
“What’s your name son?” Sula intervened and they both turned their heads to look at him.
“Nard sir. This is my sister…”
“Leirda,” the young woman said.
“What kind of name is that?” Sula argued. “Is it a reuse of Leda the Muse of beauty?”
The famed priestess of Naossis had left her mark on history.
“No. I made it myself. ‘Leda’ was a lying cunt,” Leirda retorted brazenly and Hagels intervened.
“They are Fish Folk Legatus. Weird remnants of earlier times,” the Baron explained, raising his shoulders to show Sula he couldn’t expect better from them.
Sula didn’t and had the sense the sister had derailed the conversation away from her brother on purpose, but eventually decided not to pursue the matter further. The Legatus had too much on his plate to deal with a couple of lying street urchins.
“Did you steal the weapons from their bodies?” Dolf had asked hoarsely in the meantime.
“I found them in the wilderness milord. I didn’t steal them,” Nard protested and Sula believed him this time. Which makes his earlier guilt even more mysterious. Hmm. He caught the girl staring at him and frowned.
“I say we hang them and be done with it,” Sequer suggested, opting for the easiest way to solve the problem.
“Nah, they’re witnesses. They are either telling the truth, or they aren't. Can’t pick and choose the parts you don’t like Mayor,” Dolf scolded him.
“Of course my Lord.”
“Take them away,” Hagels told the sergeant. “See to feed them.”
“Can I have the sword back?” Nard asked.
The Baron answering without a moment’s thought.
“No, but you can have thirty lashes for stealing it.”
Nard nodded thoughtfully. “In that case, I don’t want it milord.”
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Dolf got up from his throne and sighed, his long white hair messy around his strained face. Everyone was waiting for him to say something. Sula wanted the meeting over to deal with the imprisoned lords and reach a solution soon, but he could feel the dynamics in the room changing with every passing moment.
“Is the searching party gone already?” Dolf finally asked the Mayor of Pascor.
“Since a couple of hours my lord,” Sequer has made his decision already Sula thought.
“We’ll give them a couple of days,” Dolf rustled unsure and clenched his jaw.
“No one talked of a big battle,” Hagels argued. “I find it hard to believe such a large group of men got lost.”
“Not if they were after the Crabs,” Dolf countered.
“We need to collaborate the stories—”
“Dammit Hagels!” Dolf snapped. “With what? Those that haven’t seen anything? Probably run away leaving my brother behind!”
“We can’t have that spreading right now my lord,” Hagels warned him. “The city needs heroes and tales of a win against all the odds.”
“Sure. But at least those two have given us a glimpse of what happened,” Dolf retorted still aggravated with the Baron.
Sequer walked to the door and talked to his guards standing there. He returned after a moment.
“Priest Laris is here your grace,” the Mayor informed them.
“It is too soon,” Dolf replied.
“We have to decide on the Dukes Dolf,” Sula reminded him.
“You understand, I don’t really give a darn about those bastards right?” Dolf grunted.
“Still,” Sula insisted. “Those bastards can’t be held indefinitely and this matter needs to be addressed.”
“What’s to talk about?” Sequer asked.
Back off lad.
“A lot,” Sula snapped at him. “But you ain’t going to have a say there Mayor!”
“Alright,” Dolf intervened. “Let’s get this over with. This is as good a place as any. You’ll stay Sula?”
“Of course,” Sula replied sternly.
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The bells sounded an hour afore midnight, the hour late on a short day, but on this one it felt like it was already early morning. Nobody was happy being there, least of all Duke Hoff and Lord Charles, the missing Duke of Riverdor’s brother.
“Where’s the duke?” Sula asked in a low voice Dumont, his aide was sitting next to him in the chairs setup for them. Dolf had taken his place on the Mayor’s wooden throne in the middle of the large dark Hall, despite the at least a dozen oil lamps burning at its elongated walls. After weeks of siege Pascor had run out of candles among other things.
Patience.
Kindness, if there ever was any.
Sanity, he thought. Hopefully not.
“Word is he’s injured,” Dumont whispered. “Haven’t seen him since this morning.”
He had looked pretty fine to Sula, other than a hurt leg. The Legatus had stitches on his chest that made it difficult to breathe at times and hadn’t had an hour’s rest.
“Why is my brother not present?” Charles asked. Hagels, who was standing next to the sitting Dolf, glanced at the freshly anointed acting Regent of Pascor, whatever that meant. The power was in Dolf’s hands now unless Ton made it out of the Fenlands still breathing. Sula would have wanted a bit more effort dedicated in finding the Duke, but he could understand the task was too much for a city that was trying to stand on its feet again after weeks of destruction and lick her wounds.
Ton wasn’t the only one missing after all and presumed dead. Well over two thousand people from both camps had been swallowed by the bogs and after the initial survivors made it out, another day had gone by with no one appearing. With the rain falling for hours now, soon the paths would become impossible to navigate and all traces of the missing would vanish into the mist.
“It’s like someone scripted this,” Sula murmured under his breath and Dumont stooped his way.
“What?”
“I don’t like this at all,” Sula grunted.
“Lord Charles, you can visit him,” Dolf countered. Sula had missed part of their conversation and he shifted on the chair, to rest his back without success. He did make a lot of noise though and a sour-faced Duke Hoff glanced his way.
“Right now?” Charles asked and Dolf waved for a guard to approach. Sula spotted Menneken entering the Hall and walking across from them under one of the lights.
“Show him to the Duke’s quarters and bring him right back here,” Dolf ordered the guard and Lord Charles left leaving only Duke Hoff standing in the middle of the Mayor’s throne room.
“You could have given me the courtesy of a seat,” Hoff grunted at Dolf and Ton’s brother returned the glare with one of his own.
“You don’t deserve it,” Dolf told him bitterly. “You came here to murder, pillage and destroy our city. Standing is barely an inconvenience.”
“You rotten sack of shit,” Hoff growled irate. “Who do you think you are? Where’s your brother?”
“Ton didn’t make it out of the Fenlands,” Dolf replied his face hardening. “But he made sure yer marines fertilized the soil there aplenty.”
Duke Hoff stood back and stared about the room thoughtfully. “I hold your brother responsible for killing my son and daughter,” he said tiredly. “If he’s gone, then I can be satisfied with ending all this. May his soul forever rot and he finds no peace in death.”
Sula turned his eyes on Dolf. They say you learn what a man really is, when power is placed firmly in his hands. Or wealth. A man’s character never truly revealed until he’s standing above everyone else.
“I wouldn’t be,” Dolf replied sternly, an index finger rapping at the armrest. “As satisfied.”
“You wish compensation?” Hoff grunted and grimaced. “Fine. A three year stipend to rebuild that ruin he called a palace.”
Dolf smacked his lips and returned Sula’s questioning stare.
“Ton had agreed to turn Bisonville into a ‘free’ city right Legatus?” He asked.
“You were there,” Sula replied gruffly. “He did.”
“That halves our income, since our rich neighbors would pay nothing to use the facilities there. Probably push a lot of good people out of their market wit foreign coin invading. It’s a hit right Hagels?” The Baron and Treasurer nodded solemnly.
“Undoubtedly your grace.”
“Purses… empty of coin,” Menneken droned pensively from his spot.
“What does this have to do with Tollor?” Hoff grunted. “Do you wish this conflict to continue lad? Because you might not be so lucky next time.”
“Asturia will swallow us,” Dolf replied. “So while this might appear like a good opportunity to end this devil’s affair, it might not be.”
“What is this?” Hoff protested. “You won. Take it. You expect we’ll make the same mistake twice? He won’t be here to offer assistance in a year Dolf. What then? You think Riverdor will let it slide? Or Badum? I’m your best shot at ending this.”
“You’re desperate,” Dolf hissed. “And I’m not my brother. He tried to reason with you. I don’t wish it. What I want Duke, is to ensure Pascor’s survival.”
Hoff stood back shocked. Then his face turned furious.
“Naossis Skirt Forest,” Dolf continued and smirked. “Belongs to Pascor. To ensure no one uses it without permission, so does Dolf’s Tower. I believe it comes with Crabsville. I’ll work out a name later.”
“Fuck you,” Hoff cursed and stepped forward his fists clenched. Menneken stopped him moving quickly with a hand on his chest, afore any of the guards had a chance to react. “Get yer darn hand off of me!” Hoff growled and the Captain took it away. “You either accept my terms Dolf, or we’ll spent the winter here and come summer Riverdor shall be at your door again! You idiots killed the Duke’s father! The King’s Shield, bah. You won’t get better than my offer!” he finished grimacing in disgust.
“I believe I will,” Dolf replied and stood up his face hardening. Sula got up as well, trying to think of a way to resolve the matter, but he couldn’t. Lucius shouldn’t have gotten us involved here, he thought frustrated. He could understand the reasoning and the bigger picture, but this could turn uglier than either of them had anticipated. “As I said Hoff, I wish to ensure Pascor’s survival not yours,” Dolf finished measuring his words.
Sula blinked unsure what he meant, Dumont cursed and Hagels closed his eyes as if giving up. Out of the corner of his eye the Legatus saw Menneken move again, a jolt of the arm and Duke Hoff stumbled forward grabbing at his neck, managed a couple of steps and then twirled around his axis, afore collapsing on the stone tiles without a word.
A pool of blood slowly spreading around his disheveled head.
Fucking hells.
“Nasty… business this,” Aad Menneken commented in his sluggish manner.
A fuming Sula glared at Dolf intently, his fists clenched at the sides so hard, the knuckles had turned white.
“Lucius wanted a partnership. Ton was more traditional in his thinking, kept some boundaries and looked for the middle ground. I’m not. Lorian, Issirs, I don’t give a shit,” Dolf explained. “This is the cost of it. Asturia gets something. Pascor gets something as well,” he turned to Menneken, his right hand man had retrieved the dagger from the slain Duke Hoff. “Bring Charles here,” Dolf said evenly and returned to the throne. “Let’s talk with the Duke of Riverdor.”
Son of a bitch, Sula thought dismayed.
> It is impossible to accept in good conscience Duke Charles Van Durren’s explanation of the events that followed the end of Pascor’s siege. Or Duke Dolf’s and in this vein Legatus Sula’s. According to them Duke Henk’s wound turned bad overnight and the young virile lord perished a couple of days later. Duke Hoff had a stroke apparently that same day realizing all was lost, when it really wasn’t.
>
> Sir Maas Hoff, the new Duke of Tollor asked for Lord Anker to mediate the dispute and investigate his father’s untimely demise, but unfortunately for him the High Regent had his plate full with bigger, way more pressing concerns at the time and couldn’t deal with the Lakelords mess. The loss of most of the First Foot, its second iteration, was what bothered Lord Anker the most and his rage for the ‘numskulls and fools lucking their way into a position of power’ was so great, he forbade anyone mentioning the Lakelords in front of him for a whole month.
>
> So Duke Maas Hoff had to retreat and lose control of Hoff’s Tower, along Crabsville and spent the winter trying to recuperate his considerable losses. Badum left leaderless, but under the custodianship of the returned to Riverdor Duke Charles, offered little assistance to the aggrieved young Maas, who saw a brazen Dolf occupying the two holdings and taking control of most of Naossis Skirt Forest.
>
> Duke Charles himself would look to avenge Duke Dolf after the summer of 193, when the latter petitioned for Lady Aafke to take control of the High Baronship of Badum as the closest surviving relative with healthy heirs. His reluctance to even consider the offer from a man that had allowed him to leave Pascor a Duke, shows a deep distrust and casts doubt to the story he had endorsed a year earlier. Unfortunately Sula’s version of the events casts doubt on the sincerity of the Legatus, as his report of not being present at the events just cannot be collaborated by an independent witness not sworn to him.
>
> Lucius who was informed of the siege’s resolution well over a month after its end and in the second month of winter 192, had no reason to doubt Sula’s report and even if he did, the Praetor never showed it in public, or outside his very close inner circle. While Lucius bears no blame about events happening far away from him, the same cannot be said for the leaders of the IV that had won a spectacular battle. Maiden’s War made the Fourth Legion’s name, but glory and its just rewards must come with some responsibility. Triumph can’t always beat infamy even if it’s the unit’s dictum. Not if you’ll pass the harshest of judgment on others down the line.
>
> It is this writer’s personal opinion that if one wishes to claim the moral high ground, then sweeping the ‘mysterious’ loss of so many noble lords under the rag should be held against them. If they are allowed to make a mistake and cover it up, then so do others, else we are nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter XXXVI
>
> (Lord Dolf Van Calcar,
>
> Duke of Pascor, Lord of the Fenlands, Ruler of Canlita Sea)
>
> Chapter II
>
> Epilogue
>
> (Only full copy saved in Goras)
>
> The Duke of Riverdor
>
> -& a Devil’s affair-
>
> Circa,
>
> winter of 192
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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
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/