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Lucius Alden,
‘Bloody Tiger’
Lord Lucius Aldenus the third,
Praetor Maximus,
King Lucius III
The winter of the two Kings
Part I
-On time & the swing of fortunes-
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“…I would discard every noteworthy account that any person could perhaps recommend, ab initio, on the ground of its importance. My meaning is this,” Di Cresta continued raising his head from the scroll to eye Lucius’ and his entourage entering the Academy’s main hall, a dilapidated long index finger pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of a wrinkled hawkish nose. “It is ever clearer now, these preposterous expressions were not preposterous because we had not yet found the correct expressions, but that their preposterousness was their very core and essence. We stood bewildered fearing our lack of intellect, when we should have chortled riotously at their prosaic absurdity.”
The ancient academic, grimaced at the sound of heavy boots coming down the aisle of the almost empty auditorium and stopped his lecture. Several students half-asleep at the stands were roused at the sight of Lucius approaching the first rows, followed by a bemused Merenda, a stoic Gripa, the guarded Sirio Veturius and two royal knights under Sir Maximilian Valens the High Baron’s son.
“Tullus get down there,” Di Cresta ordered his assistant, a young man Lucius remembered from his entrance into the city months back, “direct these insolent loud fools to sit. Plenty of seats in the first row to better listen.”
“Instructor,” Tullus started but Lucius’ voice stopped him. The King had stopped a couple of meters away from the raised stand with a smile.
“Your lecture is running late professor,” Lucius told his old tutor.
Di Cresta, a bald, white-haired, frail-looking man of over ninety years, though lively enough to walk on his own, stared at him over his glasses.
“Only for those keeping time and dream of hunts and bosomy maidens,” the academic retorted austerely. “You have someplace better to be young man?”
Sir Maximilian stepped forward with a scowl. Lucius extended an arm to stop him.
“I actually do but I was hoping for a casual word,” he told the groaning in the attempt to stand Di Cresta. Tullus Carantus helped him offering an old cane and the academic left the podium to walk near Lucius. While wrinkled and stooped from age, the old man was still as tall as the king. “Speaking of time, it is an auspicious moment to stop and let thy class ponder on the real value of lofty tossed about slogans,” Lucius added loud enough to be heard inside the large auditorium.
“Hmm,” Di Cresta murmured and eyed his engrossed audience. His voice rising, a harsh metallic vibrato. “You heard your king’s order. Never has a brighter student graced this hall’s walls. Study the man to learn from his actions, don’t venerate him for it offers little. Everyone look to find something else ‘seemingly’ important that rattles the gullible populace and bring it back tomorrow.”
“The Academy is closed tomorrow Grand Instructor. It’s the end of the week,” a keen-eyed student reminded him.
Di Cresta eyed the young richly-dressed young man and nodded.
“You Salonius will argue for two different topics the day after that since you have ample time to prepare. In writing. Use large letters and make it readable. Dismiss them Tullus.”
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“King Lucius,” Tullus said respectfully and bowed. “Welcome to the academy.”
“Eh, grab a trumpet and stand in the corner. Blow at it if you feel the urge to speak,” Di Cresta scolded him but returned Lucius’ smile with a naughty smirk.
“In this hall everyone is a student,” Lucius replied and bowed his head at the old professor. Di Cresta muttered under his breath not liking the fanfare and examined the men with Lucius curiously. His eyes stopping on the fascinated Sirio.
“You look out of place,” he noticed. “Can you speak? Is it a chronic condition?”
“Master Di Cresta I have read—” A mumbling Sirio attempted to say with the academic cutting in with a grimace.
“Not well enough and I misspoke,” he decided. “You obviously are right where you belong. The curriculums have some spots left open. Do yourself a favor and join you're running out of time.”
“Mister Veturius is our new intelligence officer,” Lucius explained and Di Cresta raised his thick white brows not believing it. “You know Sir Maximilian, the High Baron’s son. This is my aide Prefect Marc Gripa and Centurion of the Second Cohort Merenda.”
“Have any liquor on you?” Di Cresta asked the grinning Centurion.
“A bronze flask of black whiskey,” Merenda replied and Lucius frowned at his officer.
“You expect me to beg?” The academic retorted and the officer produced the metal flask. Di Cresta sipped from it and coughed once. “Flavored poison. Good to rub my feet though or douse the kindling. Leave it with Tullus.”
Merenda frowned not expecting to lose it but Lucius nodded for him to comply.
“I have to inspect the temple’s dome those blind barbarians damaged,” Di Cresta told Lucius next. “Fortunately I gait leisurely these days. So if you’re looking for time we have until we step outside.”
Lucius offered his elbow for support and the old academic latched at it with strong fingers.
“How was the North?”
“Empty but full of life,” Lucius replied walking at his slow tempo towards the exit. “It leaves an impression.”
“Can one traverse over the ice to reach Yalca?”
“At certain times during the winter. But one needs to prepare accordingly and pray to find something more than ice beyond it.”
“Life survives everywhere or transforms to an entity that could,” Di Cresta argued. “I heard your second wife produced two more offspring.”
“Gossip reaches these walls?” Lucius teased.
“Gossip follows people else walls would be silent. You should take your firstborn with you so people can see him.”
“He’s too young still, but I have made it clear.”
“Women don’t like coming second.”
Lucius nodded. “All my children I love equally, but Roderick is the heir.”
“Huh, when one queries a man about his wives and he swiftly moves to talk of the children then it is better not to ask again.”
Lucius chuckled. “Any of my cousins attend your classes?”
“I tutored Sandra and the Riveras brats for two summers,” Di Cresta replied. “Miranda was a saint in comparison and Jeremy an artist.”
“Come on. You’re just getting older.”
“You know what the best thing is about getting older?” Di Cresta retorted and Lucius paused to think about it. “You are not dead.” The old academic answered his query himself and grinned.
“Any advice on how to get out of the war?”
“Surrender.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Make them surrender then.”
Lucius breathed out and stopped just outside the entrance to stare at the academy’s yard. The cloudy sky casting shadows over the flower beds and the old sequoia trees.
“I don’t want to harm Jeremy,” he admitted.
“Only gods should rule over people,” Pompeo Di Cresta told him soberly. “And that’s debatable. Anything else is unnatural. When people do, then they are forced to act inhumane. I never envied that nor wished it for anyone I cared about.”
He crumpled his wrinkled mouth seeing Lucius’ troubled expression. “We love the tree growing in our yard and treasure its fruits but not all of them are eatable. Those that are bad we discard to save the rest. That don’t mean we don’t love them.”
“Will your countrymen see reason?”
“The Bank is ruled by their greed so they have neither morals nor pride. They’ll sign anything for profit. The Divinus' spawn’s court is driven by the Lennox women. They are harsh and bitter. Not unforgiving though.”
“My mother was a saint,” Lucius argued.
“Vacia hadn’t lay eyes on another man afore getting on that carriage to be sent here,” Di Cresta countered. “Those that stray from the path get punished and locked up. When they grow up they raise their children accordingly and judge the world through their own experience. They take a perceived offense personally.”
Di Cresta was talking of Lord Miles Lennox. The old Shield had been killed in Kas. Queen Saskia was his only daughter.
“How do I mellow a grieving daughter’s heart?”
“Forget about Saskia. She’s a lost cause. You need to appease the Baroness because they are close and they grew up together. She’s the soul of the family and not the fools in Cediorum. All Lennox look to the ruler of Ballard Castle for advice and not the other way around.”
Lucius nodded. “Will an apology suffice?”
“If it’s truthful,” Di Cresta replied. “But packaging it with a truce is a different manner. This is the moral part of the deal and the same goes for the other party. But there are also matters of state and borders at hand. Those need to be decided in the field or in another way.”
Lucius spotted the academy carriage approaching and Tullus went ahead to greet its driver.
“You’ll need something from the King?”
“Crews to repair the dome,” Di Cresta replied. “Those cracks are near the supports and the glass don’t take well to changes in temperature.”
“You’ve accounted for that.”
“Not with weakened supports. I had them there for a reason. Boulders crashing through them I expected not. It was an oversight.”
“I need those crews to repair the walls,” Lucius murmured. “The reports said the dome is fine for now.”
“Why offer help if you can’t provide it?”
Lucius sighed. “I’ll dispatch a building crew and some engineers to instruct them.”
“Keep your engineers,” Di Cresta replied. “Let them write those reports and I’ll instruct the crews myself.”
Lucius shook his head. “You’ll need help going up the carriage?”
“That’s why Tullus is here. The king should see to the kingdom’s affairs. What I could teach, you already know but I appreciate the visit,” the old academic said raspingly and reached to touch his face but didn’t at the last moment. “Despair clouds the mind to the future and possible solutions. Not all problems can be solved fairly,” he added and with a scowl turned to the waiting Tullus. “These are heavy clouds,” Di Cresta told him. “They are about to drop on us. We better get moving.”
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Lucius watched the carriage going away for a moment and turned to an adjutant that had approached their group but had paused expecting permission to come nearer. He waved for Sir Maximilian and the knights stepped aside.
“I have news from the north gates sire,” the young officer reported.
“They found Caxaton?” Lucius asked and glanced at the sky.
“In a sense my lord,” the man replied.
“Where’s Baron Valens?”
“In the field sire.”
“Gripa you think we can have the horses brought here before rain starts?” Lucius asked.
“We can have Merenda sprint to the stables,” Gripa replied. “He’s the faster unless the stories were a lie.”
“Hold my helm Prefect,” Marcus Antonius chuckled eagerly. “I’ll be right back.”
Sir Maximilian frowned and Lucius turned to Sirio while the Centurion took off under the amused stares of the Royal Knights.
“What is the mood in the city mister Veturius?” Lucius asked.
“We’ve restored the west route my lord,” Sirio replied after a thoughtful pause. “But no supplies have come through yet. Sula requested a meeting.”
That was Drusus Sula, Lord Sula’s first cousin, the Lord of the Silver Mines at Demames now commanding the troops that had come from Novesium. It seemed all male members of the Sula family could lead men if the opportunity knocked on their doors.
“He wants to talk about keeping Novesium,” Lucius said to Gripa. “He can’t.”
“Maybe giving Baron Vendor control of the flank would be preferable?”
“Mmm. Not packaged like that, I need to think on this some more,” Lucius replied. “Inform Sula’s man I’m indisposed. A family matter.”
“The family would need some time also,” Gripa reminded him and Lucius nodded.
“I’m aware.”
“They should be as well my lord,” Gripa insisted.
You made your point my friend, Lucius’ eyes told him and his aide nodded.
Noon, last month of 193 NC
Cartagen’s Flower Bridge
The River Mabindon’s East Leg,
River Sources Rich-Forest West
The High Baron walked near Lucius with Captain Percival Gaeta in tow. He greeted his son with a wave of the head and the knight returned it with a bow of his.
“My king,” the Baron started. “Have you had the time to examine the remains?”
“I have,” Lucius replied and glanced at the covered in blankets decaying corpses. “The state of them is ghastly Baron.”
“Forest bears roam the trees out there,” Valens replied. “Come down the mountains to look for food in the winter.”
“I can’t identify him with the face missing,” Lucius argued.
“The papers on the knight and a letter found on the body point to the fact it’s him,” the Baron replied.
“That’s his wife he’s writing?”
“Aye my king,” Valens rubbed his chin with a gloved hand. “We didn’t find weapons. They were killed before the predators got to them.”
“How many inside the forest still?”
“At least sixty men left tracks near their camp. No one knows exactly the number. The number of prisoners is over five hundred.”
“A revolt?”
“A dispute of sorts. We might never know,” Valens said. “He was at the Conference of Lords.”
Lucius nodded. “I was hoping to bring him in. Lesia didn’t help the High King.”
“They didn’t help your father also,” the Baron argued. “It’s your call sire.”
“We’ll inform his family. Anyone here knows of the Lords beyond Andalus other than Prefect Durio?”
“Not really my king,” the Baron replied.
“Mmm. You can start withdrawing the army Baron. Leave patrols on the Wine Bridge, near the river and send men to check the edges of the woods. Make those groups strong. Can they survive the winter in the wilds?”
“Not near the mountains. They might attempt to traverse the forest and head west, but they’ll never make it out. It’s unpassable, especially with rain coming down like that.”
It was raining heavily for hours now.
Standing near the river, the chill and humidity penetrated his coat.
But Lucius wasn’t as bothered by it as the Baron.
“I’ll return to the palace Baron Valens,” Lucius informed him. “Sir Maximilian you’re released to return with your father unless the baron wants to come along.”
“I’ll be honored sire but I have men still searching the woods. I’ll return later today. Will a council be held later?” The Baron asked.
“Mister Gripa?”
“The merchant guild wishes for another meeting sire.”
“After we resolve the Cartaport question,” Lucius replied with a grimace. “Inform them I want an explanation on the prices I witnessed on basic goods.”
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The palace guards saluted when Lucius entered the throne room. He waited for them to walk outside but for a legionnaire of the 2nd Cohort that remained near the doors. Gripa took his soaked coat and walked to the lit fireplace. The atmosphere heavy with all the chandeliers burning but the well illuminated hall was warm and dry.
“I’ll visit the twins,” Lucius informed Gripa and walked up the stairs. A knight talking with Sir Merenda on the first floor snapped to attention seeing the king approaching. The commander of the Royal Guard bowing his aged head once.
“Sir Seleucid,” Lucius greeted the hale knight. “Are my wives indisposed?”
“I would never presume they are for the king sire,” the senior Merenda retorted and let out a laugh from his belly. “But the young Queen is sleeping.”
“I would keep my voice lower commander,” Lucius advised. “And avoid mentioning ages around the Queens.”
Merenda frowned, then grinned which made him look like his son. “Absolutely. I’ll keep yer words in mind my lord.”
Lucius nodded and went to check on the twins first. They were sleeping in the same cot, one hugging the other peacefully. It was quite a sight to witness and Lucius spent some time there afore going to visit Faye, but Merenda informed him the Northern Queen had gone downstairs while he was preoccupied.
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So the King climbed down the stairs to return to the throne room.
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The royal knight from earlier had followed Faye down and was standing near the throne now, a sour expression on his face. Sir Donald, the young knight was a local lad from Cartagen, saluted the king. Lucius stared at the heavy Faye dressed in a thin loose tunic and leathers sitting on the throne, her long hair caught in a loose ponytail.
“Are you comfortable?” Lucius asked teasingly.
“Not really. It’s too hot in here. Can we open a window? There are like a hundred of them in this place!” Faye retorted all flushed and angry about something.
“It’s the middle of winter Faye.”
“Pfft. I can’t breathe Alden,” she griped.
“Isn’t it better than the summer?”
“I could walk outside in the summer, feel the breeze.”
“It’s a chilly breeze outside. Why are you all riled up?” Lucius asked and walked to the throne. “You’re not supposed to sit here by the way.”
“It’s a chair Alden so stop with the bullshit words. He took my sword by the way. Sneaky motherfucker,” Faye snapped and pointed a finger at the frowning knight. “Locked it in that weapon stand!”
Lucius rubbed his forehead and looked at the knight. “Sir Donald?”
“I’ve found a sharpened blade on the scribes table,” the knight explained. “I’ve returned it to the weapon locker my lord.”
“It was mine!” Faye hissed. “I put it there and now I can’t take it back.”
“Is it locked?” Lucius asked patiently and kept Faye from getting up placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Of course sire,” Sir Donald replied.
“You hold the keys?”
“Aye my lord.”
“Get the blade out and bring it here Sir Donald.”
“I want the key also,” Faye added and Lucius turned to look at her.
“You can’t treat this hall like a longhouse Red. The weapons are kept in the armory or locked in secure closets. You don’t need a weapon inside the palace. All these knights are guarding you.”
“I don’t trust them,” Faye retorted narrowing her eyes.
“Why?”
“I don’t know any of these people.”
“Nonsense. You know everyone by now. And they are your people. You want Logan to stay here? I asked but he decided to stay in the gardens,” Lucius queried while the Knight returned with her sword. “Thank you Sir Donald. I’ll need a moment with the Queen.”
Sir Donald nodded and walked away, his spurs heard clearly on the lacquered tiles.
Faye puffed her freckled cheeks out and stared in his face. “Am I a Queen?”
“You are. A Queen consort.”
“I don’t feel like it,” Faye noted and Lucius kissed her on the lips.
“You smell of another woman’s babies,” Faye murmured.
“Don’t,” Lucius said and helped her off of the throne. He sat down with a sigh. “Now come sit here,” he told her and Faye sat on his legs. “My goodness, you’re a heavy woman,” Lucius teased her.
“I’ve a heavier hand,” she warned him clutching at his neck with both arms. “Look how they stare,” Faye hissed and glared at the knight watching with hawkish eyes from afar.
“You breaking all their protocols every day,” Lucius explained. “You leave without warning. Walk alone to the stables, then visit the kitchens to eat. Cyrus Falx is bringing me a list of your escapades every night and the poor man is at the end of his tether.”
“I can come and go wherever I want,” Faye said.
“That’s not how the palace works.”
“What the fuck Alden? Is the Queen less free than a common woman?” Faye protested and Lucius kissed her nose with a smile. “I mean it,” she warned.
“We can go on a hunt,” Lucius offered. “After you have the baby.”
“That’s months later. We’ll lose the winter!”
“People stay inside during winter Red.”
“Are you kidding me? The weather is fantastic!” Faye retorted and moved to get up. “I need to pee unhand me.”
“Alright,” Lucius said and released her. “Have you eaten?” Before Faye could answer him, a couple of Legion officers entered. Galio and Merenda with Prefect Trupo. “Ah, the war briefing starts.”
Faye groaned but stooped to pick up her sword.
“Do you need that in the lavatory?” Lucius asked her with a smile.
“Aye,” Faye replied and waved at the approaching officers. “Anyone seen Logan?” She asked them and they stopped to salute stiffly.
“Queen Faye,” Galio started and Faye cut him with a scoff.
“Oh, cut the crap Old Oak,” she hissed and with a grimace of discomfort marched away to relieve herself.
“The Northmen killed a royal deer. The sixth in a week,” the old officer reported after a pregnant pause. “And are cutting down a number of trees from the gardens to build a camp. The palace guard want to charge inside the woods milord and drive them out. I fear a bloodbath. What should the Legion do?”
“They shouldn’t antagonize them. The Legion doesn’t interfere in the Palace’s affairs, unless I order it,” Lucius replied. “Send an engineer and some men to help them settle in properly.”
“Inside the Palace gardens woods milord?” Galio asked just to be certain.
“Until we find a better arrangement. Let’s not pretend homeless people don’t roam the woods or haven’t taken refuge there whilst the palace was closed. It’s a big empty space Galio and the Northmen need a place to stay. Letting them loose inside the capital might give us more problems and I can’t send them home. They are sworn to Faye.”
“They could stay with the Legion,” Galio offered. “The Cohort have built a camp.”
“They didn’t when we were on campaign, they won’t do it now,” Lucius retorted. “I’ll bequeath the north garden woods to Faye. They can stay in there as her honor guard. Have their own space. Big Layton as well. Until I come up with something more palatable.”
Early evening,
Cartagen,
The Palace of a hundred of windows,
King’s Hall.
Eighteen months offensive,
Day 341
Code named 18 plus 12,
War briefing
“Is Draco fearing an attack?” Lucius asked poring over the maps open on the large conference table as Sirio returned carrying a bunch of scrolls and the latest missives. The younger Veturius looking worn out and wet as a cat that had stumbled inside a water barrel. “Dry up near the fireplace,” Lucius told him signing for his uncle to halt a response the old man had ready. “Leave the missives to Trupo.”
“There are Ballard banners spotted in Sava,” Galio started after Sirio left the stack on the table. “But no other regulars. We assume reinforcements are coming.”
“What can Ballard put in the field?” Lucius asked writing down numbers despite having Trupo’s notes.
“Around a thousand soldiers. These are mixed type troops,” Galio replied. “Men-at-arms also, they have a long tradition of good knights in the Barony. Haven’t taken the field in decades but they are a lot of old knights, veterans of your father’s campaigns there. The number unknown. But fifty is about it. No more than a hundred.”
“What does Draco think?”
“They might try something. They now have double his numbers. Two skirmishes were fought by scouts. Lepidus suggested a raid through the vine fields but the weather isn’t helping.”
“No raids. Stay in a defensive stance. If they attempt to provoke an engagement, he is to retreat twenty kilometers to the turn. We might have to send reinforcements. Another Cohort. Could be the 1st even or Merenda.”
“Can we…?” Trupo started but paused reading Sirio’s missives. “How old is this?” He asked him and the young man stopped combing his hair startled. Sirio approached, his boots squelching and his pants covered in mud. “Did you fall from the horse again?” Trupo asked casually, working at the curved sides of his mustache.
“Climbing up,” Sirio replied pensively. “My foot slipped and I fell in a ditch.”
“Was the horse hurt?”
“It just moved when I made the attempt. At any rate it was flooded so I wasn’t hurt too much.”
“Good lad,” Trupo said indifferently and showed him the missive to showcase he was expecting a reply, while Lucius pointed at the distracted Galio the road leading to Sava and penciled with a coal stick the kilometers on the military map.
“A week,” Sirio replied. “The bird stopped at Oldfort.”
“They can’t react before us,” Lucius explained to the veteran Tribune but stopped as the officers were all distracted and weren’t paying attention to him. “What does it say?”
“The local commander had received a message from Asturia that there was a large caravan incoming with supplies and war materiel. It never arrived, so he asked for clarification and they replied that they have lost it. Around a hundred men, thirty wagons. He sent men up the Tunnel Pass to investigate and by the time he did, Asturia had dispatched another report that the caravan had been attacked on the road. It was an ambush. Everyone was killed but four young lads. Asturia learned the news when they returned.”
“Brigands?”
“Legion Cavalry. Rangers,” Trupo replied. “At least three hundred.”
“Ole scrawny Lig,” Galio grunted and worked his tongue over his teeth nervously.
Lucius pursed his mouth.
“Would he have ordered it?” Lucius asked with a frown and stared at the map.
“Not without reason, but he ain’t merciful to rebels either and you know how rangers are,” Galio replied. “I reckoned he might have mellowed a bit wit old age but apparently it ain’t so.”
Galio was older than Ligur and hadn’t mellowed down at all himself.
“You served under him?” Lucius probed working the development in his head.
“Eleven years. He came fresh out of the academy,” Galio replied. “Must be on year thirty something now. This was done on purpose milord.”
“Can Oldfort control the Tunnel Pass?” Sirio asked and Lucius walked away from the table to think.
“Asturia will send men and then there’s Sula who would want to dig his teeth into the matter,” Galio noted.
“Sula should stay put,” Lucius intervened. “Say Ligur ventures down the Tunnel Pass… what are the lines of supply? Is he closer than us to the Navel?”
“If he gets to the Navel, then the Anorum road is cut,” Galio reminded him but Lucius knew that.
“Durio has the engineers and the recruits are gathering at Storm’s Rest,” Trupo said.
“Working crews,” Galio countered. “Builders.”
“Lesia might attack at Sava if they are communicating,” Trupo pointed and Lucius exhaled trying to keep his calm.
“He saw the Fourth arrive in Asturia,” Galio said and Lucius nodded.
“Would he have told Lesia?” Trupo asked.
“Your darn brother might have done it,” Galio grunted. “Apologies milord.”
“We don’t know that,” Lucius said and approached the table again. “Inform Merenda he’s to force-march to Oldfort,” Lucius started but the doors swung open and Ramirus walked in. The LID officer as drenched as Sirio had been and the sound of thunders coming from outside.
“You’re late Centurion,” Galio snapped.
“I was approached by the Duke’s adjutant via a merchant,” Ramirus explained. “Lesia wants a truce.”
“When was this?” Lucius asked suspicious of the wild swing in emotions inside the room.
“This afternoon my Lord,” Ramirus replied and came to stand near the table. He offered Trupo a scroll and he brought it to Lucius.
“I should have been informed immediately Ramirus,” Lucius grunted and unfurled the standard military parchment to read the bold letters.
“Your lordship was indisposed and I had to deal with another request,” Ramirus replied.
“What request?” Lucius said reading through the Admiralty’s proposal. It was signed with the waxed seal of Admiral Lennox and not the young Duke but appeared legitimate.
“An unsavory character named Grogan wanted an audience with you sire,” Ramirus replied. “According to a man we have inside Cartaport he slipped through the patrols without problem. Then gained entrance inside the city itself and contacted one of my agents.”
Lucius nodded. “For what reason?”
“I obviously feared an assassination attempt. He’s a cutthroat,” Ramirus explained. “I have him detained and questioned.”
“Anything came of it?”
“A weird ring. He had it on him, but won’t divulge anything else,” Ramirus replied. “We’re… working on getting more out.”
“What was weird about the ring?” Lucius asked and finding a chair sat down. He offered the scroll to Galio but Trupo was closer and took it first.
“He had some kind of naked freak on it? Spooky stuff sire,” Ramirus replied. “Might be some cultist. We’ll know more soon. It was the reason I was late to the meeting.”
“Inform me when you do,” Lucius said leaving the matter aside and turned to the officers present. “Someone should notify Baron Valens and Vendor or their adjutants. Lesia wants a truce indeed.”
“That’s extremely convenient given the timing,” Galio commented. “What do they want?”
Not if they are not talking with Jeremy.
“A prisoner exchange,” Lucius replied.
The old academic was right. There was a way.
“Good luck with that, they have no prisoners of ours,” Trupo retorted.
“They offer Duke Ursus,” Lucius said and everyone stood back in shock. The King of Cartagen grimaced, glanced at the constipated expression on Sirio’s face as he listened to Ramirus’ report about their prisoner and added. “And returning control of Cartaport in exchange for their soldiers and Barons.”
“Goodness grace,” Trupo gasped. “Jolly good proposal sire!” The officer paused and then said in a more controlled manner. “One would assume it sounds good at first read,” Trupo added playing down his earlier reaction.
Lucius licked his lips, as Sirio stumbled on his feet not four meters from him, all but collapsing under the table. What’s the matter with this guy? He thought unsure and then dropped it to concentrate on the important development.
“We’ll reconvene in two hours,” Lucius decided in order to have the time to go through the details with a fine tooth comb. “Ramirus stay. Tribune you too,” he added.
“Would you accept milord?” Galio asked and Lucius puffed out, his eyes turning on the narrow road leading towards Oldfort.
“I can’t not accept it, if it is legit and we’ll know more when we talk with Lesia on the morrow,” he replied. “But also it makes me nervous. Why would they oblige us thus?” Lucius wondered rapping his fingers on the table.
That he couldn’t figure out.
> First Legion’s Headquarters
>
> Two weeks earlier
>
>
>
> Centurion Memon paused to stare at the dark sky, the thunders roaring and the lightings flashing on the celestial dome. Heavy rain pouring down without any signs of slowing down. The keel of the ship cracked and it’s leaking, he thought pensively and wiped his jaw from the water gathered under his helm’s bindings. It had penetrated his Legion hooded cloak and had soaked him to the bone. The lower half part of his body drenched in watery mud from the road.
>
> Memon nodded to the Legionnaire standing by the door of the central building, a large mansion dominating Mercator’s Inn village in the middle of the lush flat plains. The soldier saluted sharply the Legatus’ Aide and turning banged his fist at the door once. It opened and Memon walked past a second group of guards inside the big corridor. Everything had been stripped from the mansion’s first floor, the second and third not used. Only useful furniture had been left, even the heavy doors taken out to be used by the engineers producing machines. The central hall now visible at the end but not empty.
>
> Tables with tiny models of the fields up to Lourmar and the river. Large maps covering the walls, part of the hall turned into an armory and officer barracks. There were buildings half a day away at Islandport but ‘Ole Scrawny Lig’ wanted all officers to remain near their units and brave the elements whether they were in battle or not. Baron Scylla could have disagreed but Lord Domus Scylla was a dry, practical man like the desert rocks he hailed from and didn’t bother arguing too much. Despite that Commander Seneca of Vinterfort had parked his regulars there along those from Sabretooth Castle with Scylla remaining at Mercator’s Inn near the Legatus.
>
> Primus Pilus Glycia who should have retired but have opted to stay for another term after reaching the highest rank he could reach, snapped his balding head his way. The large wound from the spear that’d sliced half his face off covered with a bronze mask that recreated part of it. Lord Scylla of Sabretooth Castle stopped pacing back and forth seeing Memon approach. Prefect Canus Betto the last of the surviving ‘old-heads’ of the First Legion, brother to Captain Betto, Alden city’s commander of the guards smiled, mouth splitting his thick but trimmed black beard. Ligur had threatened to throw him in jail or flogged to shave it off but Betto had stood his ground.
>
> ‘Ye can’t jail me now Faustus, for you need me,’ he’d told his friend. ‘But ye can lock me up if we win. Just so you know, if we pull this off I’m shaving the darn beard off anyway.’
>
> The gaunt face of the one-armed officer turned to stare at Memon as well. Memon had served under the Legatus for well over twenty years. First as a soldier, then a Decanus and after the battle of the Turncoats as a centurion. Now risen to Aide de Legatus by Ligur himself as the Legatus had promoted only trusted men to rebuild the Legion. Memon was well over the age of retirement as well, his twenty-five years had ended a couple of winters back and he’d a parcel of land near Alden City to go to.
>
> As Memon had told Ligur, the moment the Legatus decided to leave the army he’d leave it as well.
>
> But not sooner.
>
> “You made contact?” Ligur asked raspingly, his right arm used to support his stooped over the maps ascetic body, the left severed three fingers below the elbow and the stub protruding from the sleeve covered in a steel cap which was a vambrace afore.
>
> “Thirty kilometers from Holt’s Stables,” Memon started immediately. “They’ve cut a road through the forest, used boats to cross the North Tributary and bring supplies to the Tunnel Pass.”
>
> “Is it finished?” Scylla asked, his arms clasped behind his back. A tall man with grey hair, he wore a knight’s cuirass without any markings on it.
>
> “Yes. A two-carriage in width road at the most,” Memon replied.
>
> “Guarded?” Centurion Glycia asked.
>
> “Not openly, but most crews have returned to Asturia. The caravans bring supplies now. Probably all the way to Cartagen.”
>
> Ligur, the Legatus of the First, a rank he’d begrudgingly accepted as it wasn’t an earned promotion in the field but part of his compensation by royal decree in order to stay on for another term, pressed his stiff jaw tight. Close to fifty years old, Ligur didn’t have a white strand of hair on his blond head. The hair there sheared off very short, the haircut unchanged for decades.
>
> “The Fourth landed in Asturia,” he said and moved the legionnaire figure on the map from the town of Sava all the way up to Asturia near the figure representing Lord Holt’s force. “Lucius is holding Lesia back with the Third and the Barons.”
>
> “Lord Sula has forces there also,” Scylla commented.
>
> “Can’t have more than a thousand spears,” Ligur argued. “Memon?”
>
> “Six hundred to eight hundred are most reports,” he replied.
>
> “Fucking Lesia,” Lord Scylla cursed. “Talking from both sides of their mouths and pretend they are holier than thou! I wrote to Lord Doris all about it. He should inform the King to cut off all talks with them! They lied!”
>
> “We can’t consume ourselves with politics Lord Scylla,” Ligur said. “The King might know anyway.”
>
> “Do you want to send reinforcements to Lord Brakis?” Scylla asked him. “Because I had to wrestle men out of their hands!” He breathed out and stared at an officer. “Bring me a bottle of wine Luton,” Scylla ordered and then turned to the Legatus. “Apologies, I strive to be patient but the mess they’ve created at the coast is about to give me an ulcer.”
>
> “Brakis has to push Lord Sula back,” Ligur continued with a nod and pointed at the map. “Either way Demames has been fighting for close to three years. They’ve burned through their reserves. Sula can’t leave Aegium for it’s a huge prize for him. Would he abandon Novesium?”
>
> “I hope he chokes on it! That idiot Ursus should have been executed immediately after the attack on Alistair,” Scylla grunted and then grimaced trying to calm down. “My nerves are tired, I’ll just sit on that chair Legatus.”
>
> “Whatever Lord Sula does,” Betto said. “He can’t assist Lucius more than simply covering the coast.”
>
> “That’s true,” Ligur agreed and cleared Sula’s force from the map with a measuring stick.
>
> “The Barons need to protect Cartagen,” Memon offered with a glance at the scowling Scylla. “Politically they need to, regain Cartaport if it’s possible.”
>
> “Whether Lesia stays or retreats, the problem they present persists as Lesia can’t be defeated in a month,” Ligur agreed and removed the Barons forces from the map as well.
>
> “We can’t just lose Cartagen,” Scylla intervened much calmer now but still miffed from his chair.
>
> “That’s irrelevant,” Ligur retorted and stricken two points on the map. “The safe road is looping over the mountains to Anorum but Lucius and Holt are using the riskier Tunnel Pass because it is much faster. Lucius will march through the tunnel road to attack our flank and take Holt’s Stables. Again a political objective but this time also strategic. He’ll do it for both reasons and use the tunnel because it is faster.”
>
> “You want to attack at the path?” Glycia asked and stooped to see the terrain. “After the rain season?”
>
> “No,” Ligur replied and moved the stick at the other point on the map. “The sooner we can for he will move the moment the Capital is secure. He should have done it already but the word is the Holt girl gave him twins. Young fathers get distracted. Anyway we will do some damage and pull back towards our lines, not the fortifications. At the mouth of the two copses. Prefect Betto will take this on with Frugus’ 3rd Cohort and as much engineers we can gather.”
>
> “You want to stop Lucius with just over a thousand legionnaires?” Scylla asked, more curious than angry.
>
> “We can’t fight Lucius with the young Sula and Holt beyond that river,” Ligur replied and moved Lucius’ force out of the map along the 3rd Cohort. “I want to destroy the Fourth and the Asturia Regulars here.” He took a coal and drew a couple of lines on the map.
>
> “You’ll allow the Legion to cross the bridge uncontested?” Glycia asked and Ligur nodded.
>
> Scylla got up and approached to see for himself what the plan was.
>
> “You’ll put my regulars and the Alden recruits against Sula?”
>
> “I will,” Ligur replied harshly. “For they would fight a Sula but might hesitate against an Alden.”
>
> Scylla licked his lips and crossed both arms on his chest.
>
> “I have my son down there Ligur,” he grunted. “The Fourth will smash them, take Islandport.”
>
> Ligur nodded and pointed at the distance from Framtond and the village of Lourmar that had changed hands a couple of times already without anyone risking a permanent force there.
>
> “A huge win seemingly. A triumph, but a city isn’t easy to control. You can get caught up in it though,” Ligur said. “So we’ll grab the woods with the 2nd Cohort, march north and come out here to control the road. We’ll sent the 1st Cohort to help Commander Seneca and your son. Squeeze Sula towards the coast or in a booby trapped city until he bleeds out of the eyes and vomits blood. That’s all the forces Lucius has at his disposal. No more surprises else they’ll have appeared by now. More than us sure but we can defeat them in detail. In order to do that we must provoke them and absorb the first punch. People will perish gentlemen. Expect heavy casualties.”
>
> “Holt will attack immediately as well,” a frowned Scylla noted thoughtfully.
>
> “He will, but Lord Holt,” Ligur had replied matter-of-factly. “We shall not allow to cross.”
>
>
>
> Memon stayed after the others left to get his orders passed down the ranks. The Legatus worked on the upper part of his severed arm with his fingers in silence staring at the maps, the sound of the rain not diminishing at all.
>
> “Can we win the war Legatus?” Memon asked raspingly and Ligur turned his pale blue eyes on him. The lines on his face prominent and deep.
>
> “We won’t decide that but the people in charge on both sides. An undefeated general hates casualties on one hand but he needs to stomach them. Be cruel to win. The war is run by politicians on our side and they think of their future first and foremost. I’m not sure what a ‘win’ is in their thoughts. This is a needless war but we’re soldiers Memon, so we only get to fight it,” he replied. “Remember younger men have no patience and are led by pride. This is our advantage, not numbers or anything beyond that. In this tiny moment in time we can use it while we still can. We have one chance in this and one chance only. If we fail no one else can pull this off. Such is our grim task. Had the roles been reversed I would have waited Lesia out for they can’t lose another winter or ask Jeremy for a truce to push them back.”
>
> “Split the kingdom?”
>
> “There’s enough land for both of them. He won’t do it though. So we’ll remind the bloody tiger how costly a war can be.”
>
> Could they break Lucius spirit?
>
> Memon nodded. “Will he back down?”
>
> Ligur grimaced, breathed once deeply and then pushed their own forces aside.
>
> “He won’t for if he wins here, it’s over. Too big a prize for him,” he said and glanced his way apologetically. “I may have killed you my old friend. Do not judge me harshly.”
>
> Memon stood back setting his jaw. “I’ll serve the Legatus with my last breath,” he declared and Ligur nodded soberly afore replying.
>
> “See you remember that on the morrow.”
>