>
> ‘Beyond the rough rocks, basalt boulders, winter’s snow and the ever-spring’s muddy routes. The forbidding alien icy mountains and the sinister white-barked forests, hear me out men of the Third. Here lies a road we know where it leads, for we recognize the soil and the grass, the color of the leaves and the fruits hanging from the trees. For it’s a taste of home, sweet and unambiguously familiar, alike our cherished mother’s voice. That’s how one knows, he’s on the correct path.’
>
>
>
> Lucius Alden,
>
> From Tribune Varus Trupo’s autobiography,
>
> Circa 193 NC
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Praetor Lucius Alden
Twenty Hours
Part III
-A taste of home-
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Battle for Oras Navel
Twelfth hour
Afternoon of ninth day of first month of Spring 193 NC
Edge of the labyrinth Rises
Army’s Northern Flank
Lucius entourage
[https://i.postimg.cc/hv2mVkWk/Oras-Navel-battle.jpg]
A concerned Lucius set his eyes on the top of the barren knoll to his right and the black smoke rising over it. It stirred and snaked its way up caressed by the soft breeze that whistled through the passages. Salvian one of the three aides near him along with Gripa approached with the spyglass, but Lucius stopped him hearing horses approach. He turned Nightsilver around, the dark grey with patches of white warhorse snorting irritated and its iron hooves clopping on the gravel raising dust.
A horrifically scarred Legion Scout jumped out of the deep gully, tripped and made to drop on his head, but kept on running awkwardly stooped forward using arms, legs and even knees, managing to avoid it. The scout had released a yelp finding the opening, the sound of galloping increasing behind him and waved his arms wild at Lucius, who reached calmly for his spear and pulled it out of its saddle sheath.
“Dosser,” Gripa informed him as they all watched the dirt-covered scout closing the distance, the sound of horses covering his yells.
Lucius nodded, his eyes on the narrow chasm between the tall rocks and sure enough a rider appeared leading his horse the final meters out of it. The Lancer paused disoriented coming from the darker ravine to the better illuminated opening, spotted the scout twenty meters away and lowered his lance.
Lucius had angled Nightsilver in the meantime, changed his grip on the warspear raising his arm over his shoulder and then heaved it towards the rider just as he was starting his charge. The committed Lancer finally caught sight of the riders standing forty meters ahead of him, half so from the running away scout. He clenched his jaw nervously, left hand twitching to change course, but the spear thudded on his chest whipping past his horse’s head and stopped him.
The Lancer was thrown off the saddle, the horse continuing for some meters afore stopping and behind him at the ravine two more appeared following after their leader.
“Want another spear milord?” Gripa asked just to gauge his plan, but Lucius who couldn’t hear more horses approaching glanced at Salvian the former Black Skull, the aide wearing a lighter fancier version of the Cavalry armor nodding with his helmed head.
“Nero, Lanus,” he barked to the other two Cavalry men. Lorian men, but for Nero who had Issir blood in him and a darker skin. “Let’s give them a good charge afore they turn away!”
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The three aides cornered the Lancers and finished them off one after the other, as they had turned to run away towards the ravine again. Lucius grimaced and then turned to the approaching, breathing heavy disheveled scout with the terrible face injury.
“Dosser,” he told him kindly. Lucius knew him from the Battle of the Groin. “Where’s your horse?”
“Broke its leg in a dip,” Dosser explained and untangled his bowstring from his neck. “Kaeso saw a group circling about towards the rear. He sent me to see where they were heading.”
“Where’s the Decurion?”
“The Prefect and him are battling over the two stones sir,” Dosser explained. Prefect Draco had pulled Centurion Lepidus’ 2nd Century from the line to block Sir Manuel’s riders. Lucius had agreed with his suggestion. “It’s a waste of men and horses. There’s no way to surprise us anymore.”
“Yet they slipped through,” Lucius grunted and stared at Gripa. “Find a runner to inform Long. Dosser get on a horse and ride to Kaeso. I need his men after them.”
“He’s pursuing already sir with Placus and Goff. I came here to warn you,” Dosser replied. “They are pretty nasty fuckers if they catch you in the open.”
“They are not that good,” Lucius retorted in frustration. “We just haven’t dealt with serious cavalry afore.”
It’s one thing to practice in the training grounds, another to face it in the field.
> Sir Manuel Frye after failing to penetrate Lucius’ right flank (north side) in the first action of that morning, stubbornly attempted it a couple of more times with diminishing results afore retreating to recuperate for an hour. For the loss of about fifty riders he’d put seventy of Long’s men out of action permanently and chased Kaeso’s scouts off the field to the Two Stones, one of the entrances to the rocky maze hugging that side of Oras Navel. The last action (of his first and most successful attack, though nowhere near as crucial as Sir Phoca’s some kilometers away) lost him the most men as Kaeso’s retreat towards the ravines pulled his Lancers in pursuit and they got ambushed by the lighter and longer range troops Lucius had stationed at the rear.
>
> While they continued to hold the advantage pushing Lucius flank back with each charge, they gained nothing as the scouts and Long’s Cavalry shadowed them inflicting damages from range.
>
> While he rested his riders thinking on a different strategy, as he couldn’t attack the flanks of the angling inwards and advancing Third Cohort in fear that Long would strike his rear after he had committed, the enthusiastic knight thought of using the maze. Find a way through the gullies to loop around the legionnaires and strike at their rear.
>
> Baron Feld who wanted him there to avoid facing three Cohorts in the center, ordered him to stay the course. Feld had learned of Sir Phoca’s and Braccio’s successful actions and wanted to stall Lucius center enough to have him encircled.
>
> Lucius who had his eyes on the large cavalry force since the start of the battle, moved after an hour closer to Draco’s command to intervene and help out. He ordered Centurion Lepidus to pull out of the line with his Century (2nd of the Third Cohort) leaving Centurion Flax under Veturius in the center. Seeing that the center was performing well Lucius drifted to the north with his entourage, anxious for a breakthrough there.
>
> Sir Manuel’s return to action was even less successful the second time. Lepidus blocked his route towards the center and Kaeso had kept his men hidden in the Rises. Long defended another couple of attacks from him with minimal losses for both sides, but Sir Manuel was suffering attrition if he veered right, or left to disengage hunted by the approaching legionnaires and roaming scouts.
>
> With the struggle dragging, Sir Manuel had one advantage (other than superiority in cavalry, but almost no infantry support, but for two hundred men guarding Feld’s center). He had a lot of fresh mounts and each time he returned at full mobility in the field, while Long’s horses started breaking down one after the other.
>
> It was a slow affair Sir Manuel would have eventually won.
>
> While that was true to a degree, Braccio’s disastrous attack on the south flank and eventual collapse shook Lesia’s command. Feld panicked and asked Sir Manuel to turn Lucius north flank whatever the cost ‘else we’re doomed to Oras Hells’ as he aptly added given their location.
>
> Sir Manuel who wanted to act brazenly since the start of the battle, ordered his second in command Sir Liam Virgo –a childhood friend- to engage Long’s cavalry again, while sending a force to keep Lepidus in testudo formation and largely immobile. He gave him three hundred Lancers to do it and told him not to hold back.
>
> In the chaos that followed Sir Virgo’s massive multiple charges on Lucius lines, Long suffered heavily and Lepidus almost lost a distracted (due to low visibility) Maniple. Lucius seeing the danger rode almost to the front and ordered Draco to ride with his entourage and stabilize the situation.
>
> While this was happening Sir Manuel slipped through the chaos and the dust clouds into the Rises. He was spotted by scouts and some of Long’s cavalry but they didn’t have rested horses to catch him. Sir Manuel had around fifty Lancers with him and almost got lost in the ravines, losing his horse and several men in the struggle, but managed to emerge behind Lucius north flank. In fact he had strayed so far, the journey brought them very near the mouth of Durio’s Road where Quartermaster’s Kolt’s Supply Train was slowly emerging hours behind the main army.
>
> Kolt had the lighter wagons with foodstuff and water at the front, leaving the cumbersome machines, camp tools and equipment behind at the back end of the line. He also had a large force of adventurers, Asturia merchants perusing the newer routes to the capital and the usual camp civilians who had rode to the front on mules and donkeys. Amongst them the Mayor of Croton who was visiting with his family and had decided to follow the army at the insistence of his young son. A sergeant of Engineers who was checking the road ahead (Durio himself had stalled at the back of the more than three kilometers extending caravan to deal with the larger wagons breaking down on the rough mountain path) informed Kolt that there was action in front of them.
>
> The Quartermaster rode forward himself spyglass in hand, just as one of Prefect’s Trupo’s nervous aides arrived with news about the battle. Some old and good, some alarming. The biggest worry in the Legio’s camp the fact that no one could locate the Praetor at that point. Kolt smacked the messenger once irate sending the young aide to the gravel (Kolt had a famous heavy hand) and then grabbed him by the back of his collar to lift him up. He gave him the spyglass and pointed at the cavalry action at the edge of the Rises not that far from them.
>
> ‘There’s yer Praetor,’ the Quartermaster informed him. ‘Now be useful and tell those prancing fools back there to lift their skirts and circle the bloody wagons!’
>
>
Chaos at the rear.
Lucius rode in front of his group towards Kaeso’s engaged men. The scouts were bravely duking it out with the Lancers, throwing themselves in their way to prevent them from breaking out in open ground. This negated their long range advantage as despite the Lancers being lighter armoured, they were still better at fighting from horseback and were on less tired mounts.
But not as fresh as they had been afore navigating the Rises.
“AFTER ME!” Lucius bellowed hefting his warspear and charged in the thick of it. There was no delay in switching to battle mode. Everything came back to him like a familiar well-worn outfit. The adrenalin taking care of the rest.
The last few meters a sense of clarity enveloped the charging Praetor. Nightsilver galloped hard, the young warhorse’s powerful legs propelling it even faster with each stride, hooves striking the gravel and Lucius’ trained loose body moving with it on the saddle.
One.
Two.
By the Gods-father’s grace and Tyeus spear, he prayed calmly.
Three.
Nightsilver crashed on the Lesia Lancer from the sides, Lucius’ spear skewering the hapless rider through the ribcage and almost breaking him in two. The Lancer went down taking Lucius spear with him and the heir turned around unsheathing Endariel.
A child’s laughter echoing amidst the pandemonium of close combat and the rest of his group arriving. They hit the Lancers hard taking out their targets with equal success and then they were engaged as well.
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Endariel hummed a creepy lullaby.
The blade snapped the Lancer’s sabre and ravaged his face through the helmet. Lucius pulled at the reins hard left to turn Nightsilver, the horse responding with a kicking short jump whilst twisting.
He sucked a deep breath in, his blade rising sharply and a severed arm tumbling down. The blood painting the dusty armour and the horse’s head. Lucius blocked a sword stab with the flat of the blade and steel guard, his sword corkscrewing still touching his opponent’s to slice off two of the man’s fingers that had slipped and left exposed over the guard. The Lancer lost the grip of his blade, Lucius pressed with his knees Nightsilver’s sides to urge him forward, flipping the grip on Endariel to hold it backwards -so it rested on Lucius right arm with the point towards his shoulder- and run the length of it on his opponent’s exposed neck as he moved past him.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“MORE RIDERS COMING!” Gripa warned him and Lucius rode around in a tight circle, covered in dust trying to spot them.
“They are not Lesia’s!” Salvian informed them taking a slash on the arm and cursing. He parried the next and hacked down viciously opening a gush on his yelping opponent’s thigh.
Lucius lunged four meters forward to shove a Lancer away from an injured scout with his horse and when the man turned to attack him, Lucius parried the blade away casually and whipped his sword out in a tiny circle to wring out his right eye through the helm’s round opening and part of his nose.
“SIR LUCIUS!” A knight flanked by two others barked, face hidden under a sallet helm with only his square jaw showing. “I’ll fight you sir!”
Lucius turned his horse towards the voice, an eye on the trying to break away Lancers, the other on the approaching from behind them large host of riders. He thought he spotted mules in the mix and what appeared to be an actual donkey.
Kolt’s Train, he thought. He sent everything he had down the slopes.
“I have you surrounded sir,” Lucius yelled back to be heard as the fighting started to subside with the approach of the very large group of riders from the east.
“I win, you allow our men to leave,” the Dokamna knight countered hoarsely. “I’ll ask clemency for them, if I fall.”
“How about you give me your sword? Avoid a needless funeral?” Lucius told him with a grimace.
“I’ll fight the ‘Bloody Tiger’,” the knight argued stubbornly. “For the honor of it.”
Lucius glanced at the watching men and Kaeso who had appeared. The scout was covered in gore and grime. He also sheathed his sword and reached for his bow.
“You attacked Regia,” Lucius reminded him harshly. “Even as we speak. You have no honor sir. Yours are the actions of a criminal.”
“You fear…!” the knight growled, but he stopped him with an impatient wave.
“Pick up a spear,” Lucius grunted and Gripa –his scowl showing Lucius how much he disagreed with it- tossed him a spare warspear.
Lucius caught it with his left gloved hand and eyed soberly the two knights with his opponent. They both turned their horses and rode away from their leader, whilst Lucius sheathed Endariel and gripped the shaft with his good hand.
“I’m Sir Manuel of Dokamna—” the knight declared, Lucius cutting him off again.
“It makes little difference,” he told him and clicking his tongue Lucius sent the anxious Nightsilver into a sudden charge.
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The warspear punched Sir Manuel below the heart and snapped in two, the knight’s lance grazing Lucius’ sides and wrapping the armor there. Lucius twisted back on the saddle properly galloping away, then tossed the broken shaft down and unsheathed his sword.
Endariel’s humming turning mellow.
He rode next to the relatively motionless knight, Sir Manuel had dropped his lance and was trying to dislodge the spear that had ruined the front of his plate, right next to the hammers. The fingers clumsy and the broken part slippery with his blood.
“It’s difficult to aim with the long lance,” Lucius told him without anger and sighed, his eyes on the worrying Lancers. Some of those that had broken away returning now near their leader. “In a tourney the course is flat and straight, your opponent comes right at you.”
“The… men,” Sir Manuel gasped his hand dropping on the saddle covered in gore and his sweaty grime covered chin touching the collar of his plate. Lucius nodded with his head, a pain at his ribs where the lance had glanced him and whispered stooping near the dying knight.
“Your men were safe,” he told him, but Sir Manuel was already gone.
> Sir Virgo’s charge didn’t manage a breakthrough and eventually he had to pull back to rest his men. With Sir Manuel’s defeat very near the supply train and Lesia’s center crumbling, Feld took the news in sullen silence.
>
> He decided to retreat (the Lesia’s center was losing ground for hours anyway) but Merenda sent three Centuries to block his way. He kept his back to deal with the retreating soldiers form Braccio’s flank. While Braccio got himself cut off near Goat Plains and ended up fighting surrounded with Vala’s advancing Century and Logan’s fighters who were supported by the survivors of Sorex’s Slingers, Fino led a large body of men to the woods near Lesia’s camp taking advantage of Merenda’s fight with Sir Napoli.
>
> It is unknown what the fate of Braccio was (it is widely accepted the officer was killed when he lost his helmet and a lead shot went through his right temple and out his left eye), but Fino managed to slip away with nightfall coming and followed after the fast retreating Napoli. Merenda captured part of the latter’s supply train, which brought the material haul -given he’d already taken over Feld’s camp and animals- to impressive heights.
>
> Feld found himself cut off and steadily pushed towards the mountains, especially after Mangas’ 3rd Century rounded up his left flank under orders from Gata, who had Veturius in his ear. The Tribune had found himself near the front lines taking Lesia’s remaining command with him and leaving a desperate Trupo at the rear (who had rode down from the plateau) without anyone to report about the general situation.
>
> There was eagerness in the men’s spirited fight. For some of them reaching the road to the capital seemed like a landmark of sorts, for others it was curiosity, or perhaps simply the notion of seeing the finishing line. Most of III Legio’s men were already fighting in their fourth year and some (few though) in Lucius entourage like the surviving Black Skulls that had been absorbed into the Praetor’s entourage or the 1st Century of the First Cohort, were months from their fifth year in service.
>
> Feld ordered Sir Virgo’s remaining cavalry to break out and head to safety. The knight had a lot of riders still with him, but he had lost the ability to change horses, or rest with the loss of the camp. He decided to make a run for it towards the forest with night closing in and Feld retreated nearer to the mountains to make his last stand.
>
> While Sir Virgo never made it out of Oras Navel, the knight either died from injuries, or took his own life not wanting to report to Baron Frye the loss of his son and close friend, a lot of his cavalry escaped as well. Lucius ability to control the vast battlefield diminishing due to tired legs and exhausted horses. Nasica’s patrolling force caught some of them on the retreat, but didn’t bring any prisoners back. They did bring bloody trophies though.
>
> The final chapter of the battle was written early that evening, well after the night had set, when Veturius ordered the men of the First Cohort, supported by the Third to make contact with the Lesia Regulars that were recuperating in the field.
>
> In the night action the Lesia soldiers surrendered in droves and Gata who was unwilling to end the fight unsure about their true intentions in the pitch black, was reprimanded by Tribune Veturius in the field, although Lucius later that night rescinded the punishment to the Primus Pilus.
>
> Lucius was shocked to learn the full details of the dangerous earlier action to his south flank. He hadn’t fully grasped how close Braccio had come to winning the whole affair and was hard on himself for having tunnel vision for most of the battle. He vowed not to let himself lose sight of the objective next time and congratulated all the officers that had kept his risky attack from turning on its head, especially Marcus Antonius Merenda. The Praetor had come to know the Centurion well, as they had travelled and stayed close in Asturia, afore traveling together again for part of the way during the Battle of the Groin.
>
> With preliminary reports still coming in and despite the euphoric climate after the battle, there was a sense of relief in the camp. The road was not open yet, but as the pleased Praetor had lyrically declared during Merenda’s and the other officers’ lavish tribute held two days later, ‘it’s a taste of home, sweet and unambiguously familiar alike our cherished mother’s voice.’
>
> The Battle for Oras Navel lasted almost twenty hours from early dawn to late night. It dealt a crushing blow to Dokamna’s Regulars with almost eight hundred men surrendering in the field and over two thousand casualties. Sir Manuel Frye second son of Osmund Frye of Dokamna, Sir Phoca, Sir Virgo, the experienced Captain Braccio who was a veteran of the ‘Warband Rebellion’ along many other officers amongst the losses.
>
> Baron Feld Frye, Lord of Frye’s Hold and Keeper of the King’s Stables surrender hurt Lesia’s prestige, but the loss of over four hundred Lancers and two thousand horses (many of which Lucius took as spoils) was damaging to the war effort. While Osmund Frye would rebuilt the Cavalry around the survivors in a more coherent and useful force, men cannot be replaced and neither can good warhorses in their prime.
>
> Mantel used the ‘opportunity’ of the catastrophe to block the Wine Barons petition for a naval and landing action against Goras, but they orchestrated a personal attack against him and one of the architects of Lesia’s ‘White Carta Gulf’ was arrested two months later and thrown in Armium’s dungeons.
>
> It forced Legatus Ettore Pintor to split the 2nd Legion to cover Lord Caxaton’s side of the siege and sent his friend to guard Old Fort. The dilapidated, but strategically situated old hold being the last obstacle to Lucius afore the Capital.
>
> Be that as it may, the Old Fort was too small a fort and with the main road of Cartagen visible from its single tower along a good portion of the distant Flower Heights, it was readily understood that Lucius was going to reach the Capital sooner or later.
>
> The III Legio suffered around five hundred killed and over a thousand injured (though more than two thirds were serviceable a month later at the siege of Old Fort). The four hundred and eighty confirmed deaths a shocking number for Lucius, with the majority of heavy losses coming from three units. Ennius 1st Century of the Second Cohort that lost more than half its strength, Sorex’s Slingers that lost a hundred and twenty out of two hundred and newly promoted ‘Optio of Horse’ Long’s cavalry that had all but gotten decimated with a hundred killed and fifty injured out of two hundred and fifty.
>
> Lucius asked for Anorum to send him reinforcements, a politically difficult decision as Asturia was still facing a full Legion beyond the river. They would immediately comply and a full new Cohort of troops left a week later for Storm’s Rest. The Praetor sent the prisoners to the latter as well to help with building efforts until they reached an agreement with Lesia.
>
> Two weeks after the battle with the Legion ready to depart, Kaeso’s Scouts and Long’s Cavalry had already traveled down the New Legion Road to report on Lesia’s response, when a part of the rocky mountain slope, next to the Rises and on their northwest side, collapsed leaving a small opening behind. Through it several hours later a thick browed but bald engineer and architect named Theodor Karakas, a native of Valeria of all things, appeared covered in fine grit and powdery dust.
“What happened?” Lucius asked and jumped from his horse, a red-eyed Merenda doing the same after him. Gripa sighed pensively and stared at a sour-faced Salvian approaching from the camp with the others. Lucius had moved too fast for them to follow.
“This man,” the legionnaire started, the dressed in working clothes Lorian interrupting him.
“Theodor Karakas.”
“This man,” the soldier repeated pointedly, glaring at the stranger under the brim of his helm. “Claims that there are working crews coming from the side of the collapse sir.”
“Controlled collapse,” Karakas explained.
“Your ancestor worked on Asturia’s bridge,” Lucius told him.
A century and a half in the past.
“Indeed sir… could it be I’m speaking with Lord Lucius?”
“You are.”
Karakas wiped some of the sweat from his bald head. “It’s an honor my Lord. I hereby formally inform you that I have a free working schedule after we finish this bit—”
“Asturia broke through the Pass?”
“We bored through it, so let’s call it a tunnel pass,” Karakas explained. “My lord.”
“The road goes back to Asturia?”
“Well it goes to Holt’s Stable, but the King has those now… the bad king,” Karakas corrected himself.
“I would refrain from slandering my family if I was you, mister Karakas,” Lucius warned him sternly.
“Of course… ehm, so one needs to cut through Lourmar Woods to reach the bridge,” Karakas continued.
“The woods are unpassable!” Lucius blasted him.
“Eh, easier to cut a tree down than a boulder,” Merenda commented and Lucius turned to look at him amused.
“That’ll be a lot of wood Antonius.”
Merenda shrugged his shoulders. “I happen to know womenfolk that would call it a sage thing… Praetor,” he jested and seeing Lucius’ expression, the witty Centurion added. “Unscrupulous ugly rascals, barely females that is. Do we really know anyone these days?”
“That’s better?” Lucius probed, but smiled at his stupid grimace. “Mister Karakas, does Legatus Ligur know of the finished tunnel?”
“He’s aware of the work being done, but I doubt he believes we can finish with everything on our plate.”
“No patrols come this far south?” Lucius probed.
“He has three hundred men at Holt’s Stables that’s it, but the terrain favors a quick response from him.”
“From Islandport?”
“Mercator’s Inn is where the First Legion’s main camp is. So it’s less than half a day for horses to respond if signal is given.”
Right in the middle. Good old-fashioned and cautious Ligur. Easy to retreat and difficult to surround with plenty of room at the back and towards the Canlita Sea. A big city port at his flank. Nice work old man.
“You think Ligur will move afore next winter?” Lucius asked the Asturia contractor next and he frowned not wanting to anwer at first. “Speak mister Karakas.”
“Duke Holt might not want this coming out… I overheard it.”
“I’ve the Duke’s daughter in my camp expecting our child,” Lucius admonished him on purpose. “We’re family Karakas!”
“Of course my Lord. Without a doubt.”
“Ha-ha, the man’s not easily scared good Praetor,” Merenda commented taking a swing from a metal flask quickly and slotting it in his satchel.
“This better be scented water Merenda,” Lucius grunted and snapped at Karakas warningly. “Speak mister Karakas, it’s an order.”
“I don’t believe he will my lord,” Karakas replied quickly. “Rumor is, he’s building fortifications.”
Cartagen it is then, Lucius decided relieved and glanced at the clear sky.
“Frothy conium,” Merenda commented reading his mind.
“Lose the crown Centurion,” Lucius ordered him. Merenda was still wearing Corona Vallaris on his head prominently. “Grab a helmet, the second is marching with the Praetor on the morrow.”
“Will there be horses available good Praetor? Given we had an influx lately. I’m asking for the lads.”
Ha-ha, Lucius thought and stared at him soberly.
“Plenty my good Antonius, but nothing for you or your lads,” he finally replied. “Now hand me that flask or you are fined five gold.”
“I’ll pay the tithe Praetor,” Merenda replied equally sober and Gripa reached in his cloak to get Lucius purse out having anticipated his answer.
“Who do you want to leave behind?” Salvian asked when Lucius got up on his horse to return to camp.
“Ennius century, they need rest and healing,” Lucius replied. “Have them guard the tunnel.”
Ligur might not want to venture that far, but it is better to find men waiting for him, if he does.
“Who’s going to take his place and lead the Second?”
Lucius glanced at the crown-wearing Centurion coming towards them talking with the men of the patrol and Karakas animatedly. “Merenda,” he said simply and that was that.
Nightsilver neighed and rocked his luscious mane right and left opening up on the other horses of his entourage, until Lucius yelled for him to calm down and allow the rest of the horses to catch up with them.
“Have you ever seen Regia’s shores?” Lucius asked his new horse, a tang still in his heart for the one he’d lost and Nightsilver snorted, still pissed for stopping his free gallop. “It’s quite the sight,” Lucius added deep voice laden with emotion.
Aye it is.
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