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> 2nd day of the Battle for Islandport road,
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> (Part of Greater battle at Lorian Plains),
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> Very late morning, 16th of Primus,
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> Year of the New Calendar 194
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> The embattled 1st Legion headquarters
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> Right after Sir Norman Gatrell’s charge on Slaurus
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> And the collapse of Prefect Betto’s weakened east wing
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> Memon paused for the medics to drag the injured or exhausted from the frontlines, with a brief glance at a Decanus berating some of the Sabretooth soldiers that had made it back for cowardice as they were unwilling to return in the frontline.
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> “I should have you all executed on the spot!” He barked hoarsely over the ruckus of heavy fighting. Memon grimaced but continued towards the Legatus’ Field Tent, part of the construction destroyed by a wayward catapult shot (it could have come from either side) that had killed a scribe and maimed one of Ligur’s aides shattering both his legs. A surgeon decided to amputate both limbs but the man perished ten minutes later.
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> The skeletal face of Faustus Ligur had aged well over his almost fifty years and was covered with lines and cracks after days of concern for the repeated setbacks, the weight of such a difficult command crashing for any mortal irregardless of their sound character. Regulus didn’t look much better despite the ten year age-difference favoring him, but the wiry Prefect (Ligur had promoted him upon arriving with the bulk of his command intact three days earlier), an Anorum native who was three years younger than Memon was equally worried.
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> “Slaurus was broken in half, his disemboweled torso dragged twenty meters,” Regulus reminded the grim-faced one-armed Legatus. “The horses made a second passing but they broke away quickly probably spent. These are 4th Legion horses. If we’re to move, the time is now. There is more enemy riders sighted in our rear. Seneca has failed the Legion sir!”
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> “Don’t let your anger speak ill of good officers!” Ligur snapped and Regulus stood back with a glance at the approaching Memon. “Seneca was hit in the rear by Krakenhall troops, same as Trifer and Scylla. They didn’t materialize out of thin air. This was a god-darn ruffian’s landing! There’s an unholy alliance afoot here Regulus! Pascor is involved for sure!”
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> “Damascus can’t reconnect with Torus, Betto is cut off and surrounded sir,” Memon reported and the young replacement scribe started shaking, desperately trying to keep his quill straight to pen the meeting’s notes for the Legion records. “Glycia has kept the east wings connected for now but he’s out of reserve troops. What we have received are injured men and worthless broken soldiers.”
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> “Eh,” Ligur grunted and clenched his jaw. Regulus stepped forward again.
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> “Legatus if Sula controls the road the King is in grave danger—”
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> Ligur cut him off abruptly banging his fist on the cracked table. “The King is half a day away Prefect!” He growled. “What is your suggestion?”
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> “We can break out to the west,” Regulus offered setting his jaw, a quick-thinking learned officer, son of a former Signifer of the First he’d reached far higher in rank than his late father had ever envisioned for him. “Create a corridor and strike towards Opossum. We can save half the command and give the king another option.”
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> “If we retreat Lucius will follow and the army will be destroyed en route,” Ligur dismissed his words. “We must hold so we can cause as much damage as possible. This is helping the King Prefect. I’ve read you his missive, you heard the herald.”
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> “Apologies but I can’t trust an agent that bolted away as fast as he could sir!”
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> “This is your last chance son,” Ligur warned him sternly.
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> Memon pursed his mouth. This was a death sentence for everyone. Ligur wouldn’t spare himself and he couldn’t allow the old Legatus to perish standing on his own.
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> Die with the colors, he told himself. Was always on the cards.
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> Regulus grimace turned into a scowl. “A king without an army can’t be a king for long. With all respect, this is parochial thinking sir!”
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> Ligur steeled his eyes on him. “I can have you executed for such talk,” he warned him.
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> “Legatus,” Memon intervened. “The Prefect is speaking of a practical matter. There are no units between King Jeremy and Sula or his Northmen. Laudus agent might not make it, assuming he’s trying to inform the Council of the developments. As I said Sula’s men are not here but they could be marching towards Tenor. There’s strong possibility they could cut the man down or make him talk. And even if they don’t know where the King is, Opossum is right on their path sir.”
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> Ligur rubbed his dirty forehead with a steady hand. Thick smoke was blowing amidst their lines and it mixed with dust. The smell of blood and death saturating everyone present’s skin.
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> “We can’t outrun horses,” he finally said hoarsely. “Duty and orders demand of us to fight this to the last. I intend to do that. Let the higher ups do what they can with our sacrifice.”
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> “Legatus there are thousands of men out there!” Regulus exploded and a legionnaire guard brought his arm to his gladius to move against the Prefect.
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> “Men I trained!” Ligur blasted him. “The First won’t surrender Prefect, even if I’m not present!”
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> Regulus gulped down, a nervous tick marring his face.
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> “You’ll live with that burden on your soul?” He grunted through his teeth.
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> “Every good officer does,” Ligur admonished him. “You’ve let soldiers perish back at the bridge. Betto did the same. They were as good men as those here but you’ve already forgotten about them. I don’t intend to survive and I don’t intend to surrender as long as I still draw breath,” Ligur paused seeing a runner approaching the headquarters.
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> “Legatus!”
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> “Report,” Ligur replied hoarsely.
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> “A large Cavalry force appeared on the road, a kilometer from here!” The soldier reported breathing heavy. “Damascus requests permission to pull men from the barricades to defend our rear sir!”
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> Damascus had no spare men to draw from.
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> “Very well,” Ligur agreed and sighed ruggedly.
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> “Legatus. Sir,” Regulus tried again desperately. “We can still cut west through the plains.”
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> “The Legion can’t move. The front will collapse in minutes,” Ligur retorted but then his expression changed and he set his eyes on the tensed Prefect. “A Century could. Three hundred quick-footed men can do it. If they make it to the plains… eh, when they are discovered and there’s a remote chance they won’t be, then they’ll be as good as dead. Out in the wilderness of course they could surrender their honor to save their lives.”
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> Regulus blinked at the insult but grasped at the opening.
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> “I’ll march immediately sir. Try to slip away afore their new cavalry cordons the field.”
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> Ligur nodded and dismissed him.
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> Memon crooked his dry mouth and stared at the sky above them.
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> “Why give him permission?” He asked the silent Legatus when the officer walked briskly away to jump on a horse to return to his command.
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> “He has no fight left in him. Every man is good at some things, uncomfortable with others. To enforce your will upon them you must be certain you are in the right, a god or a king. I’m neither at this point,” Ligur replied tiredly. “Maybe he’ll find the courage on the morrow or perhaps he genuinely wants to join the King’s command such as that may be.”
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> He unsheathed his personal weapon. A slightly longer gladius-type army sword with a fine ivory and bronze engraved sturdy handle. The pommel finely polished with the Lorian old letter/number ‘I’ carved on it inside a laurel wreath for the First Legion.
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> “I’ll go help Damascus setup a square,” Ligur told the grim-faced Memon. “Regulus needs an hour at the very least. Let’s give him that.”
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> “Yes sir,” Memon replied solemnly. A tired Ligur glanced his way, then at the sword seemingly deep in thought for a long moment.
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> “The First Legion can’t surrender my friend. You know that,” he finally said, returning his gaze on him. “A Legatus has no business saving himself after asking his men to lay down their lives for him. But men should have the right to decide for themselves after all other avenues are exhausted.”
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> Memon gulped down and stared at the sword Ligur was offering him handle first. His stomach was tied up in a knot and Memon couldn’t breathe.
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> “I can’t do it myself,” Ligur explained a little embarrassed which was uncommon for him. “I need another arm so I have to ask for yours.”
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> Oras hells! Memon thought horrified. He grinded his teeth trying to keep his composure.
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> Ligur pursed his mouth in half a smile. His eyes warming up seeing him fighting back tears.
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> “Faustus,” Memon croaked unable to speak, his arms shaking.
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> “Steel yer spine. You’ve been a good soldier and a great friend through the years,” Ligur said his voice soothing amidst all the chaos and gave him the heavy blade. “Fix the blade’s point near the clavicle,” he added and knelt down with a grimace. “I won’t lose another King Memon.”
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> The Legatus turned his head away and removed his heavy helm to give him better access. He placed it next to his right leg carefully and then loosened his armour at the collar. “You are dismissed,” he ordered the guard and the sniffling scribe. “Never betray Regia,” he advised them before they marched to join Damascus’ redeploying legionnaires. “You have the command Prefect. Do with it as you as you see fit, I trust your judgement.” Ligur ordered his moved friend promoting him on the spot.
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> His stare stayed briefly on the Legion’s billowing standard five meters away and then added in a softer voice so only Memon could hear, with a last look at the worn-out men marching to defend the rear. “In the event you see my sister Verania, tell her I have the deed of the farm on her name and there are eighty pieces of Gold Eagles hidden inside the four amphorae at the old hunting lodge. The coin is for the children as they might not allow her to receive my pension.”
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> His sister’s husband, a mere legionnaire, had been killed at the Battle of the Turncoats, but he’d served less than ten years and hadn’t received but a small sum and no land given the Kingdom’s situation. The unmarried Ligur had supported her these past years.
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> A distraught Memon nodded, steeled his spine and looked to heave down as steady as he could muster given the circumstances.
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> Tyeus watching from the battlefield helped him deliver a clean quick death to the Legatus and ended his service to the Legion.
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Lucius Alden,
‘Bloody Tiger’
Lord Lucius Aldenus the third,
Praetor Maximus,
King Lucius III
Lorian Plains | A dead tiger
Part II
-16th of Primus-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/8GKHNkhw/lo-16th-afternoon-194.jpg]
Lorian Plains campaign 16-20 of Primus
right click to open fully
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“My Lord King,” the young aide Thomas reported stopping his nervous dust-covered horse. “Mede has smashed through Torus’ Century. The Centurion was cut down. Mede is now pressing on the 3rd Cohort’s rear lines!”
“Are they surrendering?” A tensed Lucius asked trying to keep up with the reports they received from all flanks. Ramirus rushed towards him and Sirio finished up summarizing another group of messages, the pack of scrolls kept on the slanted table with a dagger.
“I can’t tell my lord,” Thomas replied nervously.
Lucius waved him back to learn more and turned to the pale Ramirus. The LID officer had worn himself out to the bone, already three days with less than an hour of rest.
“Gaeta’s men cleared out the artillery positions. Slaurus was bayonetted in half or trampled under hooves. We have conflicting reports. Might be both. The part of him they found was surely dead,” Ramirus informed Lucius quickly in a raspy voice. “Durio reported six volleys of iron bolts remaining, he’s run out of everything else sir and several torsion springs need to be replaced afore they fire another time.”
“Where is he moving the rest of the Scorpios?” Lucius asked as he had spotted the Prefect’s actions through the field glasses.
“Damascus has turned a Century inwards, facing west to cover against Silvius’ penetration,” Ramirus explained. “A runner from Sir Gatrell braved the open corridor and reported he expects Gavros’ Croton men-at-arms to arrive in half an hour. I don’t have knowledge of their condition. That was forty minutes ago sir. Sir Gatrell said his horses are dying on their feet. We are trying to deliver more fresh mounts from the rear. Trupo is pressuring Colt to hurry up and release his reserves. It might turn ugly sir.”
“So Durio wants to fire at their lines?” Lucius asked trusting Trupo to keep it civil.
“That’ll be a perfect summary of his intentions sir.”
“I ordered Merenda to ask them to surrender!” Lucius blasted him.
“The Prefect signaled Glycia but they didn’t respond.”
“Can they spot Ligur on the battlefield? Surely he won’t fight to the last,” Lucius grunted. “He’s all but completely surrounded, this is madness!”
“My Lord, the Legion doesn’t surrender,” Ramirus protested stiffly and Lucius groaned in frustration, then noticed the expression on Ramirus’ face. The officer had been going through his badly crumbled scrolls again.
“What is it?”
“Ligur’s Legatus’ banner has been lowered sir. Merenda has written it at the end of the missive. The scribbling was difficult to spot at first read.”
“He’s been wounded?”
“The command flag is still up. Could be he was incapacitated?”
Lucius grimaced. “Tell Merenda to try again.”
“I’ll send a runner.”
“That’ll take time,” Lucius replied and walked to his horse. “Let’s talk with Durio now, see for ourselves if we can get Antonius to cooperate with myself near his lines.”
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Lucius climbed down from Nightsilver and walked briskly near the engineers and crews that were heaving the Scorpios forward. The Catapults had been abandoned well behind the current lines, completely out of range now.
“Prefect!” Lucius barked, glancing at Merenda’s reserve Centuries rotating Silvius men. “You need to move at least fifty meters to have a clear line of sight.”
A covered in gore Durio saluted the approaching King. “I gave orders for the Centuries to give us a firing corridor milord,” he replied.
“Good gods! Are you injured?”
“My horse was killed,” Durio replied awkwardly and tried to clean some of the gore away without much success.
“Your corridor idea is too risky, we don’t need more casualties at this time,” Lucius said moving on. “We will wait for the Cavalry to make another attempt and it might force them to surrender.”
“Sir!” A young runner called and saluted briskly. “A message arrived from Lepidus!”
Lucius stared at the rider hoofing it back to the headquarters.
“Sirio sent him?”
“Affirmative your grace! Lepidus regrets to inform command of Falx’s passing sir! He’s to attack with all Centuries at Regulus’ flank!”
Lucius face fell and he breathed out.
“Where is Vala, by Oras shadow?” Lucius protested, upset at the constant loss of good men in the field.
“He just reached the edge of the woods at Peaceful Pond sir!” The young man croaked having all but lost his voice.
Ramirus gave him a missive and Lucius dismissed the anxious runner.
“Veturius left overall command to Draco?” He asked a bit surprised after reading it.
“He made contact with Sula’s scouts earlier,” Ramirez explained. “The Tribune was too far away from the battle. Probably travels on horseback for Sula. He’s taken a lot of horses with him.”
“Why?” Lucius queried a little confused.
“There’s a rumor circulating from Veturius’ staff Legatus Sula is seriously injured. Vala mentioned he heard it in a previous missive. The Tribune might want to personally mobilize the 4th,” Ramirus replied stiffly. “Or he had enough of Lepidus.”
Ah, Allgods Nonus. You have to keep from the frontlines damn it, Lucius thought the irony of himself standing in the gap amidst the fighting Centuries not lost to him.
Even so, they didn’t need the 4th to do anything more that keep control of the road.
“How did Galio learn Sula was incapacitated in such detail? Who could spread the rumor?” He asked and Ramirus shrugged his shoulders. “Surely the roaming scouts don’t know what is happening back at headquarters?” He had to trust Galio’s judgement though. “Never mind, Draco can handle the load at the flank. Dispatch a runner to Merenda to take over the assaults against the barricades in the center but remind our overeager Prefect the king wishes to open communications with Ligur or his officers in charge. We are not here to butcher fellow Lorians pointlessly Ramirus!”
“Aye sire,” the LID officer replied.
Don’t do this, an uneasy Lucius counselled his opponent and returned his eyes on the battle lines. The burning in his stomach so severe Lucius made a considerable effort not to grimace in pain in front of his staff.
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> Prefect’s Betto’s worn-out two and a half Centuries of the 3rd Cohort (around four hundred legionnaires remaining from the initial 1200 or three hundred per 4 Centuries) started giving ground near late morning. The forlorn officer that had been informed of his brother’s passing earlier that morning, had placed Centurion Torus on his east wing to hold off Mede’s 2nd Century while he defended against Brevis 1st Cohort that had been weakened after the loss of Capito but was still a powerful unit (600 plus legionnaires fielded from initially 850. 400 for the 1st Century and 150 for the rest remaining three) that could rotate its men timely.
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> Sir Gatrell’s charge on Slaurus’ machines had removed the latter (both figuratively and physically) from the equation and in his second less successful attempt the Yepehir knight shattered the injured Torus’ shield-wall. The Centurion was killed trying to stabilize his men from Mede’s angling legionnaires and Betto got cut off from the rest of the army. Mede continued pressing with Brevis increasing the frontline and then wrapping around the bearded Betto’s west flank and the Prefect ordered the men to form an ever shrinking square moving his command in the center.
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> Twenty minutes later everyone defending the square formation had been killed.
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> Prefect Merenda was ordered to take over from Draco in the center and despite Silvius’ injury (the Centurion of the 4th Cohort lost two fingers and had to retreat in order to staunch the bleeding) he marched the 2nd Cohort under Domus against Glycia’s packed lines in a brutal frontal assault. While Glycia managed to hold in the center, his west wing (the one facing Betto and Slaurus) had been exposed. He moved Damascus there but the appearance of Gavros riders to his rear created confusion in the ranks.
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> At this time the stout, badly scarred Primus Pilus was informed that Prefect Memon (he’d been promoted in the field by Ligur) was in command and that Regulus was to evacuate a Century towards the west. Glycia asked for proof of death and the hard-pressed men of the 1st Cohort of the First Legion that had still almost 1700 soldiers in the center of Ligur’s army (a monstrously powerful unit with an eight hundred men strong 1st Century –or ‘little Legion’ as it was affectionately called- and 3 four hundred soldiers per Centuries for a total of two thousand legionnaires. King Lucius the First had designed the Cohort to be similar to the old Imperial Phalanx, initially a solid block of steel and armour) thus learned of the Legatus demise.
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> There are numerous theories circulating today (especially since the mischief that followed the time of the Two Kings) about the death of the Legatus. From Ligur getting stabbed in the back from men loyal to Regulus or the Turncoat Council, to getting killed from a wayward Nord knight that charged into the headquarters by mistake or a supernatural act by a Zilan witch.
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> While it is tempting to lose ourselves in the macabre or wander into even more conspiracies, this author accepts the confession of a pensive Prefect Memon given to Glycia, Damascus and the late Legatus’ sister Verania in Aldenport. The born in 145 NC in Aldenport hero of the ‘Battle at the Knee’ near Drek River in Sovya then Decanus, the ‘you want something done put Faustus on it’ favorite King Alistair’s officer and the man that saved the First Legion in the ‘Battle of the Turncoats’ was killed by his friend Memon.
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> The one-armed Legatus Faustus Ligur was forty nine. The Prefect had acted under orders to give the First Legion an out. There was no conspiracy, it was an assisted suicide to spare him the indignity since Ligur couldn’t ‘fall on his sword.’
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> While the general staff initially refused to ‘soil the standard’ they yielded to Memon’s plea. The majority of low ranking officers and soldiers refused to lay down their weapons and all but revolted fearing the high-ranking officers had colluded against Ol’ Scrawny. A cornered Memon allowed the troops to proceed as they wished.
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> In the meantime Durio under pressure from a sidelined for the whole morning Merenda, the Prefect wanted to win the battle in the field, fired a volley at the barricade causing many casualties.
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> Merenda had received Draco’s (the Prefect had moved three kilometers away to lead the east flank’s operation with Lepidus’ 3rd Cohort against Regulus) missive that they were attacking with everything at their disposal and hurled his helm incensed against the men’s shields when Lucius’ aide rode amidst his command to order him to halt his attack.
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> ‘By the Allgods! The tease of it! Perky tit removed from teeth!’ Merenda had cried out in his usual expressive manner afore getting ahold of himself under his close staff’s, old friends, friendly and enemy soldiers and the nearby young aide’s awkward scrutiny. ‘Well then,’ he uttered coming about. ‘I guess that’s all we get today boys eh?’
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> ‘Ayup,’ his childhood friend Centurion Domus had noted pointing at Merenda’s helm that had come apart and lay broken in front of the shield-wall. ‘But it’s minus a helm for you sir,’ adding -after he turned to the emaciated leading Decanus of the 1st Century. ‘Indus, please cite our Prefect a fine of eight silver and ten days without pay for the destruction of issued army property.’
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Lucius rode Nightsilver to Merenda’s forward command and jumped from the saddle lithely before his aides even reached them. He glanced at the enemy lines, part of the barricade destroyed in several places, piles of dead soldiers littering the field and still breathing legionnaires’ eyes watching him from forty meters away.
Merenda had pulled his lines back.
“Lord Lucius,” Durio protested as he’d ridden after the King. “Please stand behind the men sir! I almost paid for risking it!”
Lucius dismissed him. The men were thankful for the opportunity to rest and the brief pause in hostilities. Medics were still picking up the maimed and badly wounded from Durio’s recent volley.
Lucius wanted to put a stop to that. He had witnessed enough killing these past days to last him a lifetime.
“Merenda,” Lucius barked and the unusually tousled and disheveled given his love ‘for comfortable divans, silk cushions and life’s fair ‘n exotic things’ per his own words officer approached. He looked flushed and was lacking a helm. “Are you hurt?”
“That accursed thing came apart my lord,” Merenda replied with a grimace.
“The Prefect’s helm was fine afore—” Domus started with Merenda stopping him with a glare.
“Good gods Domus, after all I’ve done for you!”
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“You barely wrote to me whilst I was injured!” Domus blasted him and the men chuckled some of the tension released.
“I was on campaign my good friend,” Merenda reminded him looking at the chuckling men.
“Ayup,” Domus agreed. “Conquered Cartagen’s brothels one after the other.”
“There were no easy battles I assure you,” Merenda retorted to the troops delight.
The Centurion shook his head then cracked a toothy smile. His broken jaw turning it slantwise a bit. The doctors had done all they could but taking a hoof in the face was always going to ruin Domus’ looks at the very least.
“Alright that’s enough tomfoolery,” Lucius snapped everyone to the present. He pursed his mouth austerely. “Have you talked with Ligur?” He asked the staring at his boots Prefect. “Antonius?”
“Eh,” Merenda protested. “I’ve signaled them twice my lord.”
Lucius nodded with his gold and steel stunningly sculpted helm and turned to Thomas. “Lieutenant bring the truce colors.”
“Yes sir,” Thomas replied without hesitation.
Sir Valgus rode his big horse between the king and the enemy lines to hide him behind their bodies.
“Good knight,” Lucius remarked calmly to his efforts. “I shall talk with the enemy commander, so I’ll have to move even closer. The King does not hide.”
“They don’t want to listen your grace,” Sir Valgus argued.
“They’ll listen to me,” Lucius countered and went to his warhorse.
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Five minutes later Lucius and three of his knights, along Trupo, Ramirus, Thomas and the helmless Merenda were standing five meters from the half-ruined barricades, several legionaries watching from the gaps, outside, others standing on top of the meter and a half wooden wall packed with dirt. The majority of the enemy soldiers looking from behind cover with distrustful eyes.
“Who here speaks for the brave First Legion?” Lucius bellowed from atop the nervous and snorting Nightsilver, his voice a little hoarse but very strong and clear.
For several moments a solemn silence spread over the battlefield. It was disturbed at times by the distant noise coming from Lepidus attack on the east flank near the Peaceful Pond Woods that reached them carried by gushes of cold wind. The sound of the injured, shields and feet shuffling. Birds of Carrion circling the sky. The air smelling of burned wood and burned flesh, human sweat, rot, steel and warfare.
Then the standard of the First Legion approached from the back, behind rows of polished helms that parted to allow it to move to the front. The sober, glaring Blacktiger in gold, coming to stand at the collapsed opening in the barricades nearest to the waiting Lucius.
“Sextus Crassus!” a sturdy legionnaire signifer boomed. A sergeant of standards with the old system, Lucius noticed. The man had set the panthera tigris in from of him and held it with his left hand.
“Are there no officers left in the First?” Lucius queried clenching his jaw.
“The Legion speaks for itself,” Crassus rustled looking at Lucius solemnly. “Speak your piece but know we won’t dishonor centuries of history for any king. Old or new.”
Ah, so this is it then, Lucius thought and stared at the hundreds of legionnaires watching his every move. He glanced at the sour-faced Trupo, the Prefect’s thick mustache mashed under his tightly secured guard-cheeks.
“Who here doesn’t know of Lucius Alden?” Lucius queried in an equally booming voice turning his horse to face the enemy legionnaires. “The man, not the king’s son. The knight, not the heir to the throne. You know who I am,” he continued. “I spent summers in Alden and Demonhorn Castle Crassus, where you father stands guard. I’ve walked the streets of Cartagen and the beaches of Aegium. Stood in the gloomy docks of Illirium and gazed at the Trident. Participated in every tourney from Riverdor to Asturia and marched alongside my father with this very Legion standing against me now during ‘the Warbands Rebellion!’ I’m not just ‘any king’ sergeant!” He roared looking at the shook signifer.
Then his face mellowed somewhat. “And this is still a Legion. I ask you not to lay your arms down in shameful surrender but to spare Regia’s men from needless slaughter!” He breathed in deeply, a strict expression marring Lucius handsome face, showing his disappointment at their behavior. “I ask you not to betray any perceived orders for you obviously have taken yer fate upon your own hands. All I wish is for the First to stop fighting a lost battle,” Lucius continued hoarsely. “This is still a Regia Legion and per the ‘old book’ a recognized Praetor’s wishes in the field stand above even a distant King’s orders! Why is that Signifer Crassus?”
The stout sergeant of standards clumped his angular square jaw tightly for a moment.
Then the young man replied in a steady clear voice, his manner guarded.
“Certainly a Praetor… is the Legatus ‘Omnis Legionis’ sir,” Crassus yielded measuring his words and loud murmurs spread throughout the lines of the gathered legionnaires of both camps, first before Lucius then leaped to the men standing at his back.
“By the Allgods,” Lucius snapped in exasperation that he had to spell it out for them in the end. “This ends now men of Regia! Stand everyone down sergeant! I shan’t condone anymore needless killing this day! That is my wish and it is also an order to the First Legion!”
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“A brilliant victory sire!” Trupo remarked when Lucius returned to the III Legio lines.
“Indeed my Lord,” Sir Valgus commented and raised his knight helm’s cover.
“Let’s see how it turns out,” Lucius tried to play it down but the gratified faces of the hundreds of simple men in the first rows of armoured legionnaires almost brought tears to his eyes. They did succeed in forming a tired smile on his face after days of worry and anguish.
Years.
Aye, Lucius thought reassured allowing himself to relax at last. This was the right thing to do.
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> Lepidus was still planning another assault on the clearly weakened II Cohort’s lines when a 1st Legion Decanus (probably Delius of the 2nd Century) ordered the men Regulus had left behind to stand down. Around two hundred legionnaires lowered their weapons and Scutums, much to the watching hardened Centurion’s surprise.
>
> One thousand nine hundred soldiers of the First Legion were saved from Lucius’ timely intervention and candid words. 1900 out of 4400 that Ligur had managed to train and rebuilt from the survivors of the Battle of the Turncoats. In a bizarre twist of fate the majority of those veterans (now serving with the 1st Cohort) were spared death and indignity by the sacrifice of their Legatus in a sense but mostly the real King’s benevolent character.
>
> The casualties suffered from all participants in the ‘Great Battle for the Lorian Plains’ –the common name under which it is known today- were appalling in trained men, skilled rear personnel and valuable war materiel. It ruined three cities and a village. It wasn’t one single engagement but a series of many smaller ones spread out for many kilometers across the Green Plains. In reality it lasted until the 20th when Lord Draco’s combined Asturia and Islandport men-at-arms (around 450 riders) destroyed Regulus left behind 3rd Century at the edges of Lourmar Forest.
>
> The deeply aggrieved for the loss of his firstborn Duke Holt’s loyal men were unwilling to spare anyone in that bloody scrap but scores of men did survive (mainly from the Rangers left to stall Lord Bernard’s infantry at the bridge) and hid inside the massive woods.
>
> Regulus’ battered 1st Century of the 2nd Cohort (around two hundred and fifty men) slipped through Sir Gatrell’s pickets and Gavros’ arriving men-at-arms in the chaos of the final hour of fighting. It was a magnificent but pointless maneuver by the capable officer. They marched towards Lake Watch through the plains but cut south a week later to avoid the roads and headed for the forbidding slopes of the Tricorn Heights.
>
> Regulus would make it across the dry mountain range and reach Alden Sands three months later with half of his force lost according to two deserters that turned back to save themselves. Regulus then attempted probably to traverse the desert to reach Gold Wall Peaks (a perilous attempt to make another crossing over the mountain range to get to Marble Quarry near Aldenfort) but the 1st Century never made it there.
>
> Nor was it ever seen again.
-
> Seven hundred out of eight hundred and fifty (850) soldiers from Sabretooth were lost.
>
> 450 out of six hundred from Vinterfort.
>
> 280 out of 350 from Tenor.
>
> 300 out of 400 Alden Regulars.
>
> 240 out 240 soldiers of the Royal Guard.
>
> 900 out of a thousand engineers.
>
> 2500 legionnaires out 4400 from the First Legion.
>
> 600 1st Legion Cavalry out of 750.
>
> 26 out of 60 medics.
>
> 38 out of an unknown number of Scaldingport’s men-at-arms.
>
> Legatus Faustus Ligur, Prefect Canus Betto, Commander (Captain of Alden Guards) Betto, Optio Sorio, Sir Sylvan Scylla, Commander Seneca, Cad Seneca, Sir Varenhorst, Centurions Frugus, Tarcus, Crito, Torus and Regulus (?), Slaurus and Trifer, numerous other minor officers and nameless crew were among those that fell.
>
> The III Legio losses were significant.
>
> 802 legionnaires out of 2800.
>
> 301 out of 350 Legion Cavalry
>
> 100? out of 300 Heavy Slingers
>
> 286 out of 290 Rangers.
>
> 85 out of 300 engineers.
>
> 9 out of 58 medics.
>
> 28 out of 40 Royal Knights.
>
> Prefect (Aide de Legatus) Marc Gripa, Sir Maximilian Valens, Prefect (of Cavalry) Long, Centurion (of Rangers) Kaeso, Centurions Capito, Cassius Falx, Dixon (perished from his wounds on the 21st) and many minor officers, work crews and camp followers (around 146 were found after the battle.)
>
> The IV Legio suffered appalling casualties, the killed list extremely long.
>
> 1409 legionnaires out of 2800 (several units were completely wiped out)
>
> 54 out of 130 rangers.
>
> 30 out of 70 warriors
>
> 200 out of 400 Cavalry (100 of 150 Legion Cavalry, about a 100 out of 250 of Sovya’s mounted Karls)
>
> 190 out of 220 engineers
>
> 21 out of 32 medics
>
> 850 to 1000 plus of civilians, crews and rear personnel lost with the supply train.
>
> Around 350 locals perished assisting the IV survive in the woods and inside the city.
>
> 65 out of 500 Krakenhall ‘Karls’ or Regulars.
>
> 77 out of 150 of Ludolf’s and Dirk’s warriors.
>
> 4 out of 12 from Willard’s Clan.
>
> Prefect (of engineers) Isaak Boston (Lesia), Quartermaster Sulpicius Scrofa, Optio (of cavalry) Roger Bailey, Optio (of general staff) Sigma Mercator, Centurions Paulus Didicus (Primus Pilus), Montaus, Levy, Page, Whitt, ‘Jim’ Chad, Thrasea (promoted in the field –killed soon after), also Bear (?) (Willard’s Clan) and ‘Wicked’ Manfred (Krakenhall) with several receiving serious injuries (Garbo, Sula, Jacobred and Bolton). Numerous minor officers.
>
> Around 200 Asturia soldiers.
>
> 32 of Croton’s Regulars.
>
> 92 men-at-arms (mostly at Sir Batas initial attempt to cross the flooded bridge)
>
> Sir Rupert Holt was killed during Regulus attack.
> While the list of casualties was long, it kept on growing even after all fighting near Islandport and the road out of Mercator’s Inn had ceased early in the afternoon of the 16th. The Battle of the Lorian Plains actually finished on the 20th but all histories have marked the 16th of Primus as its ending date.
>
> A relieved but in pensive mood upon receiving the preliminary casualties report Lucius talked briefly with the guilt-ridden Prefect Memon, Damascus and Glycia about the survivors of the First Legion (a still potent force) withdrawing in a new camp and remaining there for the winter.
>
> He then rode towards Islandport where the first of the hard hit by the siege citizens burst out of their houses to welcome the King of Regia with frenetic zeal and loud cheers of relief. Lucius arranged for the army to resupply the city and a fleet departed from Asturia the next day to provide support, while caravans rerouted from Cartagen towards the Lorian Plains to provide relief for Mercator’s Inn and Holt’s Stables that had suffered the worst of the damage.
>
> In late afternoon a tired Lucius (he had slept very little and was carrying an injury to his left arm, along a concussion to his head) was informed that Logan had taken Lourmar from Tenor’s cut off guard with the help of a sizeable force of Croton Regulars that had marched all the way from Nymph’s Shame to help out. In the chaos that ensued Logan informed Lucius in his difficult to read scribblings that ‘none of them frog banners were brave enough to be spared the butcher’s blade so they didn’t.’ (sic.) Which in turn sounded rather ominous for the fate of any potential survivors.
>
> A messenger from Galio Veturius arrived later (the Tribune had moved to Sula’s headquarters out of concern for the fate of the Legatus) and informed him that Sula was in critical condition. A troubled Lucius considered braving the seven kilometers (the IV’s field hospital was outside Islandport on the road to Asturia) of distance to see if he could provide assistance stating, ‘I shan’t write Martha her husband has perished. She’ll never forgive me,’ but Ramirus reminded the anxious King that he wasn’t a Dottore and Nonus was too stubborn to die from fever.
>
> So Lucius slept for half an hour in an abandoned farmhouse near the wheat fields, while soldiers and crews worked hard to gather the dead and wounded from the field. At that point an aide had woken the King to inform him that Centurion Sorex had asked permission to look for the body of Kaeso (the Centurion hadn’t been found yet) and a pensive Lucius allowed Mamercus Sorex to abandon his marching towards Islandport unit to look for his friend.
>
> Lucius next received an urgent request from the injured Lord Scylla (he was held by O’ Leary) and agreed to see the captured Baron of Sabretooth when the latter was feeling better. Before the Baron arrived early that evening to stay in the farmhouse, Lucius met with Dirk Curd’s and Zofia’s men in the hastily repaired building.
>
> Per the Praetor’s request no one was present in that meeting.
>
> When Lucius finished talking with him he considered resuming his interrupted rest for the evening. Ramirus who had located Centurion Gratian of the IV Legion near the city (he was retrieving the bodies of those that had been killed during the siege) learned that Scylla’s communications office had been captured as well. While going through the Baron’s latest mail and missives a war pigeon arrived at the site carrying a small scroll. Seeing the Royal markings on the bird Ramirus brought the missive to Lucius.
>
> It had been sent some hours earlier (probably near noon) presumably from Dazzling Opossum where King’s Jeremy’s entourage had camped. The blood stained scroll had a single human name mentioned in it and a few chilly words, hastily inscribed.
>
>
>
> It read, ‘Vile one’s cronies cut him down. Davos.’
-
A grim-faced Lucius stared at Ramirus in silence.
“Davos might be Lord Scylla’s kin sir,” the LID officer replied, probably having thought about it on his way to the farmhouse. Lucius got up from the armchair he had used to rest earlier with a grimace and reached for his scabbard. He wore the leather belt over his armour and stood up straight to stare at the open door. The night bringing a soft breeze from the Canlita Sea into the modest room.
Damnation.
“Is the Baron here?” He asked tonelessly.
A sense of doom had washed away his earlier hopes for an end to his woes.
“The Dottore wishes to examine him first. He can barely breathe.”
“Bring him in,” Lucius ordered.
“My lord we don’t know—”
“This was a royal bird!” Lucius growled losing his temper, which was a rare thing but he was at the end of his tether.
Ramirus gulped down with a grimace distorting his ascetic face and Sir Valgus glanced inside the room curious.
“Bring the Baron in Sir Valgus,” Lucius rustled.
The knight nodded and marched away briskly.
“My Lord. There’s no way someone reached Tenor,” Ramirus tried again. Lucius eyed him intensely. “Though Gavros might be capable of making the journey,” he added pensively.
“See he gets fresh horses.”
“Yes sir,” Ramirus replied and saluted.
----------------------------------------
Dottore Marianus glared at the scowling King. “The man is no condition,” he started but Lord Scylla coughed in his attempt to interrupt him. His chest was covered in a bloody bandage that contrasted his milky colored skin. The Baron’s face was tanned and skeletal, a week’s growth on his sunken cheeks. “You shouldn’t speak at all,” Marianus admonished him.
“I’ll… do what I want,” Scylla rustled his voice cracking.
“Where is Davos?” Lucius asked the struggling Baron. Scylla blinked then narrowed his eyes to stare at the angry King.
“Lord Lucius?”
“In the flesh,” Lucius replied.
Scylla started coughing. Bloody froth came out of his mouth. “Ligur?”
“He’s dead. Had Memon shove a blade down his neck,” Lucius retorted and watched the man deflate before his very eyes.
“The battle…” a devastated Scylla croaked.
“You lost the battle Baron,” Lucius stopped him. “Where is Davos?”
Scylla shook his head. “With the King.”
“In Tenor?”
“The king… is in Opossum.”
Lucius sucked a deep breath in and stared at Sir Valgus. “A village?” The knight guessed.
“What does this mean?” Lucius asked and gave Scylla the crumbled bloody missive.
“There’s… blood?”
“I know,” Lucius grunted grinding his teeth.
Scylla tried to read in the oil lamp’s light and Lucius signed for Sir Valgus to lit another and bring it close.
“Eh,” Scylla gasped in the meantime. Lucius turned to look at him but the Baron took a step forward and collapsed, mercifully saved by the timely reaction of Marianus who grabbed both his arms to stabilize him.
“Sit him on the armchair!” Lucius barked and the Dottore snorted while helping the rubber-legged Baron towards the wooden seat.
“It can’t be,” Scylla murmured his head hanging, chin touching his bloody chest. “Curse them all to Oras hells.”
This is the feast of Oras descending upon us, a haunted-looking Sir Rik De Weer had told him the previous night at a remote campsite in the open plains.
Yer court is full of snakes.
Lucius groaned inwardly clenching his fists tight, the injured arm sending jolts of welcoming pain to the King’s brain.
“Uher’s light burns them. Curse their souls!” the Baron of Sabretooth cried out desperately visibly shaking. “They killed him!”
“Killed who?” A worried Sir Valgus asked not fully understanding what was going on.
A numb Lucius closed his eyes, the yellow dancing light hurting them and when he opened them again a sober Ramirus was standing at the doorway. Lord Scylla could be heard sobbing in the background.
“Half an hour Gavros says in order to change saddles,” the LID officer reported and Lucius nodded once. “Men shall take with them what they can carry.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said and Ramirus set his jaw.
“Let me find out what happened sir. You should stay with the army. Write to your wives.”
A scowling Lucius walked towards the door but paused, many smaller expressions taking turns to dance on his face. Pain and shock. Regrets and fear for his family. He nodded, a hand rubbing his throbbing forehead.
“Do your outmost,” he ordered Ramirus and the officer saluted soberly.
-
> Then Centurion of LID Ramirus reached Opossum three or four hours of hard galloping later. They quickly took control of the small sleeping village and located the King’s abandoned camp built at its exit –half a kilometer from the village itself- next to a large road inn called Dazzling Opossum on the road to Tenor.
>
> Ramirus and Gavros were met by a gruesome sight, a score of dead bodies and no survivors while they missed Sir Rik De Weers much larger –slower moving- party for half a day. Even so, they arrested an aide named Telos –a Sabretooth native- working for Lord Scylla that returned at some point during their frantic search of the premises.
>
> According to him, Davos Scylla had been ambushed upon arrival or had fallen on the men that had attacked the King’s entourage. In the brief brutal fight, Davos had been cut down and Telos had escaped after dragging the dying nobleman inside a barn used by servants. Ramirus located the slain Davos inside one of the adjoining barns late that night amidst several other bodies. Near Davos were supplies, furniture, two horseless royal wagons and two boxes that still held some of Regia’s royal war pigeons.
>
> The traumatized Telos couldn’t recognize the attackers, but Ramirus used him to point out the men that had ridden with Davos first and then searched the Inn itself. Nobody had been spared with locals and the owner killed along with his whole family. They were found slain inside the deserted inn.
>
> Ramirus kept searching the premises with the sun coming up for the next day and many curious villagers filtering near the site. One of them, a local 'semi-noble' and distant kin –according to him- to Lord Seneca of distant Vinterfort that had visited the King while he was there, gave them a list of the Council members or their aides that were with him.
>
> Gavros who had expanded his search as far as the trees –part of West Coast Woods- nearer to the shores of the Canlita Sea, sent a runner to Ramirus to inform him he’d found more bodies tossed near a place -deep in the woods- called Standing Rocks, less than an hour away from the royal camp. While the bodies were in very poor condition and had been feasted upon by night predators for hours, (they had to physically fight the beasts to get near them) Gavros believed he had located Jeremy’s corpse.
>
> When they brought the bodies to the building, where they could guard them better, Ramirus quickly identified Jeremy’s headless corpse by the crown of Regia placed on his bloody chest. Next to him at the grizzly site according to a disturbed Gavros, was a heavy-set man also missing his head that the local official identified as Theodor Brakis the 2nd cousin to the Duke of Illirium. It left only one of the remaining prominent officials that were with Jeremy unaccounted for. The Master of Silence Marc Laudus, an appointment made by Jeremy himself to replace Lord Nattas.
>
> Ramirus ordered Gavros to send a scouting party towards Tenor to see if he could locate Laudus or his agents (it was the prevalent theory between those present and a still shocked Telos that he was behind the king’s murder) exercising caution. The road was marked with the hooves and carts of Sir Rik’s large host that was also travelling there.
>
> With no other option available or any other information he could glean at that point in time, Ramirus quickly wrote a brief missive for Lucius and send it late that morning.
>
> ‘Your grace, accept my sincere apologies,’ the brief coded missive possibly said according to those that were present near the distraught King of Regia and can verify what was written inside. Ramirus never talked publicly about it since and Lucius destroyed the scroll soon after. ‘Alas, I was too late. The young tiger is dead.’
>
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-
[https://i.postimg.cc/cZjGgSNB/Opossum.jpg]
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>
> Winter of 193 NC
>
> West shores of the Coast of Salt (The Trident)
>
> The important city port of Illirium
>
>
>
> Peter Brakis paused outside the Admiral’s office (his father stayed in the Admiralty building more than he stayed in the palace) and returned the stout marine’s salute.
>
> “Has my father returned?” He asked.
>
> “Let him in,” Sissena Brakis baritone voice was heard from behind the closed doors. Peter walked inside and went towards the impressive figure of his father. ‘Stan’ or the ‘Admiral’ Brakis as he was known in his younger days was standing next to a large map of the Lorian Coast that showed some of Eplas and the isles in between up to the coast of Lesia.
>
> “Son, you need to put some meat on yer bones,” Lord Brakis noted with a glance at his ascetic physique.
>
> “Courtesy of Lord Nattas’ hospitality,” Peter replied bitterly with a glance at the large bronze sculpture of a squid coming out the sea using its tentacles to climb up a standing trident that stood next to the map.
>
> “He murdered your sister, then used his blood-soaked hand to shake yours,” his father said without mincing his words. “He’ll deny it of course and I don’t believe we’ll find a still breathing witness to the fact.”
>
> Peter thought of his much older sister Elvira and pursed his weathered from his time at sea mouth tightly. “Ursus could be lying. The man’s a coward and a snake.”
>
> “Mmm. Even so, I still don’t trust that fucking cripple,” Lord Brakis spat.
>
> “He’s one of us.”
>
> “Don’t confuse a god’s wishes with his supporters even if they are aligned at times, folk are pettier and Nattas is a cold blooded murderer.”
>
> “Nattas assured me that Lucius would accept a favorable truce with Illirium if we stand down.”
>
> Lord Brakis placed his thick fingers on the map and dragged them across the Lorian Coast. Then he returned to his large mahogany office and sat on his massive armchair. His face had even more flesh on it than Peter remembered, but while the Admiral had an almost amusing outer character and manners, he was far from a pleasant man in private.
>
> “Keep your thoughts to yourself,” his father cautioned him. “Is what the Kraken counsels. For there are horrors lurking in the abyss, secrets, best kept from surfacing. Songs leave them unmentioned.”
>
> “I can deal with Nattas even if I don’t like him,” Peter retorted angrily. “What did the Sextus-Brakis decided?”
>
> Lord Brakis grimaced, flabby skin dancing on his thick neck, the armchair creaking when he moved forward on his desk.
>
> “Proclus is a business man. The Lord of Bronze is eager to resume making coin,” he said in his baritone voice. “Sir Vel,” this was the ‘Black Trident’, Proclus son and his cousin. “Wants to take another bite at Sula. I rue the day that family decided to settle at Demames. They don’t belong in the coast but still Vel insists to settle the score.”
>
> “Are they serious?” Peter protested. “He almost gotten himself killed!”
>
> “Well, he has a point with them occupying Aegium. A Sula neighbor at the Salt Coast good fucking grief! They have taken Lady Sandra hostage as well, many lesser Alden brats. Uhm, you know how knights are. Oh come on, because you are not interested in settling down, don’t mean others are as nonchalant about it. Good maidens,” the Admiral made a face at that. “Are much sought after even if they have been sort of ‘shopped around’ a lot. Anyway, the reality of the matter is Vel Sextus-Brakis believes Lord Sula is stretched too thin. On the verge of collapse was the word thrown at me many times. I had sails slap me in the face far less.”
>
> Peter breathed out and stared at the map his father was looking at. “Nattas left a veiled threat that retribution might fall upon those that put Jeremy on the throne. Or Alistair’s killers. We need to take this opportunity to get out of this bloody affair.”
>
> “Empty threats,” Lord Brakis cut him off. “We were not involved.”
>
> “I know,” Peter replied a little anxiously. “Can you convince the Sextus-Brakis to stand down?”
>
> Lord Brakis got up from his armchair. “I already have,” he said and Peter stood back surprised. “What? I’ve listened and then explained how things are with Cartagen in Lucius hands. Proclus immediately saw the writing on the wall. We’re a practical family son. Abrakas commands no sentimentality in such matters. All matters.”
>
> “Can Ligur pull it out?”
>
> “Against two legions and Lord Holt?” Lord Brakis shook his head and walked around his desk to approach him. “Well, he’ll try since he’s a goal-oriented man but the dead fish have come ashore son.”
>
> “What does Theodor say?”
>
> “The King believes they can win, what young man fears defeat? But then there’s the Queen’s father. He might eventually be convinced to help, drag darn Castalor into the fight. It could change things but honestly it will just prolong the inevitable in my opinion whether Lucius survives or not. The people won’t accept an Issir cucked king or a mix-blood heir kept on the throne with the help of Issir troops.”
>
> Peter watched his expression. “You don’t want that either.”
>
> Lord Brakis shook his head. “I don’t care either way. Our Proclus is of mixed-blood but common folk are different. It is just not viable. The ship needs a sturdy hand,” he said with a deep sigh and smacked his fat lips. “Jeremy shouldn’t have taken the darn throne but then he did. People got too greedy and Miranda just couldn’t keep her legs closed for a couple of months whomever the father is. They started their own crap. It was a… unfortunate outcome.”
>
> “Doris and Ursus should take the blame for that,” Peter said. “It was their idea and Ursus might had a hand in Alistair’s death.”
>
> “Might?” Lord Brakis smiled and then walked to the map, placed a finger on the Salt Coast. “Jeremy asked him to step down, give Sir Gillmor his seat in the Council. Doris feared they’ll lose Ursus troops such as they were,” he grimaced thinking about something. “Ursus is a dead man walking. Either Lucius or Nattas will get to him sooner or later.”
>
> “If we stand down Jeremy will have to negotiate with Lucius. Give up the throne for a Duchy. Nattas seems to believe this is an open avenue.”
>
> “Of all of Alistair’s skills Jeremy had to inherit his stubbornness,” Lord Brakis said sadly.
>
> “Can’t you convince him?”
>
> “I’ll never reach him in time, the fool left Tenor to ‘see for himself’ and I doubt they’ll listen to me afore disaster stares them in the face.”
>
> “There’s nothing we can do?” Peter asked anxiously trying to sort out the mess in his head.
>
> “Mmm, perhaps someone else will take it upon himself to provide much needed solution. The God provides and sees to remove obstacles,” his father murmured and returned to his seat. “You should have never risked your life for Valens,’ he told him changing the subject.
>
> “I wanted to help,” Peter protested.
>
> “There are twelve new warships all but finished in the shipyards. We shall visit them tomorrow,” Lord Brakis said. “We’ve enough now to strike across the Scalding Sea if opportunity arises or around Krakentrap Straits. Take control of the seas. With Kaltha mixed in with the Khanate, who knows what the future will bring? He who controls the seas shall rise to the top son.”
>
> “Where did you find the funds?” Peter asked confused.
>
> “The Bank assisted in that but they wanted a deeper water fleet and shared their designs with us, which is why you shouldn’t have gone to Cartagen. It was a sideshow,” Lord Brakis explained. “It matters not, we’ll rework the plan. Lucius is also a forward-thinking man.”
>
> Peter Brakis stood back alarmed. “Alistair had said publicly that he wanted a transport fleet,” he noted measuring his words.
>
> They both knew that, the constant delays had caused great tension between the admiral and the late king.
>
> His father nodded, large fist opening and closing slowly. “He did. It forced the crews to work nightshifts which all but ruined us, burning through our funds, not to mention keeping the shipyards under lock and key to avoid word getting out.” Lord Brakis stared at his horrified expression with black Kraken eyes. “As I said son. The God provides and sees to remove all obstacles.”
>
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
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