> D’Orsi’s Expedition
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> (Late winter of 195 NC)
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> Military forces composition & command structure
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> 2330 land troops (soldiers/scouts/Peltasts/engineers etc)
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> in three distinct mercenary companies under the overall military command of Primo D’Orsi.
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> Second in command Erminio Sardone.
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> Third in command Nico Vardar.
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> Also attached to the General Staff in advisory roles:
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> Simon Mclean
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> Claus Viceroy
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> Phidias Arone
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> Saul Ferrero
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> Land units
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> The 333 (three hundred & thirty three)
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> Mercenary Army Unit (company)
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> Previously (the 300)
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> 800 soldiers (2x 400)
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> 100 Rangers
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> 100 Archers
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> 60 Engineers
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> (1060 total)
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> Organizational chart (circa early 195 NC)
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> Commandant Primo D’Orsi (Atetalerso, circa 194 to?)
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> Adjutant, Trainer, lead advisor of general staff – Adriano Monte (Atetalerso)
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> Captain Gravina (Faro, first group, 1st Captain)
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> Captain Binda (Sava, second group)
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> Master Sergeant Sivero Cerra (Rangers)
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> Sergeant Fulvous Cactus (Archers)
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> Sergeant (of engineers) Scaevola (Engineers)
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> Sergeant (of engineers) Turbot
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> The Owls
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> Mercenary Band (Parmaport)
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> 2nd Commandant Erminio Sardone
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> Adjutant Mark Keitel
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> Captain Freddy Sardone
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> Bo Saxer
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> 450 soldiers (Freddy Sardone)
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> 100 scouts in ten groups (of 10 men) under the Issir Saxer (Edgefort, Duchy of Tollor)
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> (550 total)
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> Band of Silver
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> Mercenary Company (Levacum)
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> 3rd Commandant Nico Vardar (-us) - Levacum
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> Captain Lancelot Grimani, Adjutant (Conium Castle)
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> Captain Ed Leotta (Levacum)
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> Captain Soldano (Armium)
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> Sergeant Larosa
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> Master Sergeant (of Peltasts) Trevisan (Andatelia)
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> Sergeant Calla, rearguard (Andatelia)
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> 500 soldiers (2x 250) Leotta/Soldano
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> 100 Rangers (Larosa)
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> 120 Peltasts -2x60- (Trevisan)
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> (Multiple javelins, half-shield and shortsword type flanking unit. Bronze Age remnant mostly used beyond Andalus River)
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> (720 total)
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> -Total military force combined 2330
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> The Flotilla
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> The Galleass Crying Valkyrie (Captain Col Fark)
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> The heavy Barque Decibel (Captain Ked Laguna)
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> The Brigs (4)
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> Sundew
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> Orion
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> Boreas
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> Bullfrog
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> Six heavy transports -Carrack type ships.
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> 8 land Scorpios
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> 2 Catapults
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> 120 horses
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> 80 mules
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> 40 wagons
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> Over 700 crew and rear areas personnel for a total of over three thousand souls
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Primo D’Orsi
The Wine Wars | Expedition
Part II
-You don’t stand a chance-
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/fWL3sNb8/Mussel-195-NC.jpg]
Hours later
Two Isles Straits
“Rudder starboard five!” The captain’s voice rang covering all other small sounds and echoing in what was a deceptively shallow canal hidden in the thick mist. The large warship creaked, brines splashing at its sides and everyone on its decks, but for the crew busy manning their posts, glued on the black basalt slants sprouting out of the waters on either side.
“Opens up again!” The lookout warned and orders came soon after. Primo D’Orsi standing next to Adriano Monte watching the ship’s port side hull nearing the rocky reefs lurking before the slants as the weather cleared out. The mist dissolving, chased away by a gush of wind coming from the bow.
“Midships! Steady!” The captain ordered the helmsman at the aftcastle, himself all the way across on the forecastle, the massive galleass having two towers as its designer Uranio Briglia had kept informing them back in Cediorum. Everyone else not sharing his enthusiasm for the warship given its prohibitive cost. Even the bank had brought down the number they could finance and build to under ten. Lord Mortymer declaring he’d rather cut off his own cock with a butter knife than bring the proposal to the pressured King Davenport at this time.
‘If you’re about to get fucked,’ he had finished gloomily. ‘Better to go all the way in and embrace the blasted lifestyle.’
“Deep waters up ahead!” The lookout informed them and simultaneously the sailors with the ‘lead & sounding lines’ signaled with piercing whistles and agitated bells the changing depth. Primo used a cloth to wipe his soaked bearded face, a tensed grimace crooking his mouth.
“BEACH AHOY!”
“Milord,” a Lorian sailor asked moving near them. “We can drop anchor here or move out of the canal following either shore west or east.”
Primo stared at the glowing sun coming through the dispersing vapors and then at the approaching Simon Mclean who was followed by Federico’s right hand man Phidias Arone. The half-breed almost twenty years older than the rich noble scion but moving with the grace of a seasoned seadog.
“What do your maps say Simon?” Primo asked.
“We don’t have time for this D’Orsi,” Simon protested and pursed his mouth. “The men might mess it up at Mussel.”
“If we need all our force to take the port, then we might as well abandon this expedition Mclean,” Primo retorted. “Suddenly you don’t trust your estimates? You were pretty certain back home.”
“It’s not that D’Orsi. Never assume anything is done until it is. No deal is done until the ink paints the page,” Simon hissed, a little pale in the face as the long journey had been an ordeal for him. Half of the time Simon had spent it being seasick and puking over the deck rails.
“Yer father’s old maps show two islets here,” Arone said rubbing a palm over the top of his freshly shaven skull to gather the moisture. “Ilithar to the west and Lyari to the east.”
“What do the names mean?” Primo asked and the bank’s man shrugged his shoulders unsure.
“Some thing or other,” Arone finally replied.
Great.
“We disembark.” Primo decided. “Have to check this. Make certain the maps are accurate.”
“They better be,” Arone commented. “The old man keeps them in a vault.”
“We’ll use a boat?” Monte queried and he nodded. “Tell the captain,” Monte ordered the sailor who sprinted back towards the bow.
“I really don’t want to leave the ship,” Simon murmured with a grimace. “Then again, if I stay on the darn thing, I’ll probably won’t survive another month.”
Yeah.
“Lyari it is,” Arone murmured and used a thin chalk piece to make a note on the copied map he carried around.
“Where does the canal lead?” Primo asked him just as the captain ordered the crew to prepare the boats for a landing.
“If the old saying is true,” Arone replied cryptically with Simon rolling his eyes to the white. “If you travel forty nautical miles in a straight line you’ll find a wall of rocks coming out of the sea, but make a ninety degrees turn to the west for less than five miles and you’ll avoid them completely. Then bring your rudder full to the south again and in another sixty or seventy miles you’ll see Lord Calamer’s tower standing above the port and piercing the clouds over his island. Rejoice for you have reached Cydonia Cazan.”
“Right. That a saying or a vacation pitch? It was a plaguing mouthful.” Monte grunted eyeing Arone sideways.
“Eh. Probably directions taken from a captain’s diary.” Arone admitted. “Some creatures are lyrical even in their everyday expressions.”
“Is that so? What captain or creature be that?” Monte asked suspiciously.
“An Imperial one,” Simon replied intervening. “My great grandfather found the warship wreck on the atolls outside Head at Turtle Isles. Back in fifty-eight. Had to pay off a lot of people in gold to keep it quiet.”
I bet some of them the Mclean patriarch had used cold steel on.
“Running from the catastrophe?” Monte asked curious.
“Nah,” Simon replied and spat down to clear his mouth. “The ship had fossilized almost, the wood parts gone but for anything inside containers or sealed boxes. The wreck was a couple of thousand years old I’m told.”
Interesting.
“DROP BOATS!” The captain barked snapping the contemplating Primo D’Orsi’ out of it.
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Captain Gravina and his men moved forward after disembarking from the boats and Primo D’Orsi followed after them with Adriano Monte. Mostly rangers had come from the warship, as they expected wild animals on the small island but no Zilan.
The wilderness expanding after the whitish gravel beach signaling that no civilization was present at the near. Primo paused to stare at the rising tree-covered slopes leading to the central peak dominating the center of the island that was still half-hidden behind the Reefs mist.
“Want to look for that tar?” Monte queried wearing his gloves, now clad in leather and mail armour.
“Let’s find water first. It must be on the other side of the island,” Primo replied.
“Mclean said we have until the evening. We need to get back after that,” Monte reminded him.
“We could use the island as a hidden base,” Primo argued. “Venture to the southwest.”
“Not if we lose Mussel. Or the Barons fuck it up.” Monte sucked at his lips audibly. “The Bank wants to reach the Gish. The Barons thing is just a sideshow for them.”
“Gems.” Primo grunted and stared walking again after the spread out rangers.
“And gold. Simon says there must huge deposits there but the Gish are incapable of getting it out of the ground. Civilization demands the resources to be put to good use, the usual bullshit he sprouts.”
“Maybe they don’t need to?” Primo crooked his mouth, waving a huge bug away from his face.
“I don’t believe Mclean cares about that.”
“If they don’t need gold how is Simon expecting to buy the Gish off?” Primo sighed just as he’d uttered the query and glanced at the frowned face of the veteran mercenary trainer and former legionnaire.
“Yeah,” Monte replied to the silent exchange. “You might like exploring, but I don’t see us heading to Cazan anytime soon. Having said that, know that I told your father this is my last tour. I ain’t crossing the Scalding Sea to butcher small pink-haired people. A man got to draw a line somewhere.”
“The Gish are not people Adriano.”
“Wait till you meet one milord,” Monte replied stubbornly, pointing for him to watch his step. “All creatures that speak, socialize and have a soul are people. They are just not human enough, whatever that means. Matter of fact those I’ve met, I liked better than some humans. Want to know why?”
“They can crack a mean jest?” Primo droned as they had talked about this a number of times.
“That’s right.” Monte replied and relaxed his jaw.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
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An hour later a ranger sergeant going by the name of Sivero Cerra, approached them with a leather flask of water.
“The rivulet?” Primo asked and accepted the flask. They had found it spilling out of the trees and followed it through the forest.
“It comes from the mountain,” Cerra informed him. “A cave lake or an underground fresh water spring.”
“Aha. We’ll never make it to the mountain in time.”
“I don’t believe we can at this point sir,” Sergeant Sivero replied and Primo nodded.
“You don’t think Vardar’s and Sardone’s companies will make a mess?” Primo asked. “They have been ordered to land on a remote beach and lay low.”
Cerra glanced at the somber face of Adriano Monte.
“Go on son,” Monte urged him. “You’re not in training anymore.”
“The Barons men are too eager sir,” Cerra finally said. “If the port is as lightly defended as our sources say, then they might not be able to resist the temptation.”
“Ayup,” Monte agreed and Primo stood back with a grimace of frustration. He thought about it some, the itch still there to look around but Primo knew it was time to give up.
“Tell Gravina we’re heading back to the boats.” Primo said hoarsely. “That’s it sergeant.”
“Yes sir,” Cerra replied and saluted.
“You’ve set this up,” Primo grunted when the ranger left to relay his orders.
“I don’t know what the young milord is talking about,” Monte retorted unconvincingly pursing his mouth initially but then he also narrowed his eyes. The veteran mercenary trainer’s expression changing to bewilderment. “Featherless fat chicks and what not.”
Primo lowered the flask from his mouth curious. “Featherless…” he repeated in a half-murmur and Monte nodded.
“And what not,” Monte added and pointed at a naked, blue-green skinned creature watching them half-submerged into the shallow stream.
The human-looking but also covered in fish-scales at the knees and elbows wiry youth blinked its huge black eyes once. It stood up, teeth clacking and head snapping towards the rangers that were approaching following the stream not that far behind from Primo.
“What in hairy rum-lover’s son,” Monte hissed.
“Is that a Zilan?” Primo asked still stunned at the appearance of the creepy-looking creature. He glanced back and saw Cerra with bow in hand reaching for an arrow already. “Don’t sergeant.” Primo ordered just as the young creature started humming, a strange tingling affecting his ears.
“This must be a blasted Ticu.” Monte decided, also armed with a sword he had unsheathed in the meantime. “What you got in that hand?” He grunted a query at the nervous native of the island that stopped making that strange noise and raised his right arm.
“I can understand the cock. But where are the tits?” Cerra asked sounding equally shocked and intrigued. “I thought all mermaids have like big ole—”
The Ticu had tossed what he carried with him at their legs. It bounced on the muddy, grass-covered terrain and rolled for a while before it stopped. The human skull, darkened and filthy had no flesh attached to it.
“Motherfucker,” Monte grunted and made to attack the creature that lithely jumped out of the stream on the opposite bank, not even four meters away.
“Leave him Adriano,” Primo ordered and the Ticu stared at him with those soulless eyes. Primo stooped to pick up the skull. “This is an old cranium.”
“You think he just found it?” Monte grunted still unconvinced.
“Black woman with a big hat,” Ticu sang in a metallic voice, scaly tongue visible. They were a lot of small sharp teeth in that inhuman mouth. “Big knife and big black ship with a black flag.”
Primo narrowed his eyes and returned the Ticu’s intent stare. “Is that her?” He asked raspingly and raised the muddy skull.
“That’s her kill.” The Ticu replied. “She killed many, but only ate parts of my mother.”
Good fucking grief.
“Where did you learn Common?” A numb and still processing the words Primo asked.
“Ships come. Humans talk and I listen. Learn.”
“Yeah, this got plenty creepy fast.” Monte decided. “I know I made a case earlier for the Gish but this ain’t it lad.”
“Where do the ships go?” Primo asked.
The Ticu pointed his arm to the south.
Yeah.
“No proper woman… human, would do this,” Primo told him. “That sounds like pirate business. Pretty foul even for their standards. Humans don’t eat flesh like that.”
“Why not? Eat what you kill no?”
Primo licked his dry lips.
“It’s not right. It’s foul, evil.”
The Ticu blinked.
“Where do evil pirates live?”
Primo thought of Tussio and the men of the 300.
“All over the place but I guess you can start at Eikenport,” Primo replied and gave the weirded out Cerra the skull.
“Milord what are you doing?” Monte hissed and Primo turned to look at him a little surprised.
“He’s not dangerous Adriano,” he told the nervous veteran trainer but when Primo returned his gaze to the male Ticu, he realized the naked creature had disappeared into the foliage amidst the trees.
“Anyone saw where it went? You cunts. What are ye looking at me for? Fucking idiots!” Monte growled at the gathering rangers. Primo walked into the stream in the meantime and crossed to the other bank. He stooped on the muddy ground and heard Monte coming across the small stream as well.
“We better get going,” Monte grunted. “Nine out of ten stories about Ticu are horror tales.”
“I know,” Primo murmured digging in the mire with fingers for something. “But I never heard a story about a male Ticu before. You think the old sailors are lying? Makes you wonder what else we don’t know?”
“What are you doing lad?” Monte asked increasingly nervous. His eyes peeled at the silent brushwood nearby as if he expected the Ticu to jump out and gnaw at his foot.
“I found a gold coin,” Primo said and got up to show him the find after cleaning it up some with his fingers.
“One of those big ancient pieces?”
“No.” Primo replied thoughtfully and stared at the bushes the Ticu had disappeared into. “It’s a Gold Eagle. Newly minted.”
“You think the Ticu dropped it?” Monte queried not really sounding convinced himself.
“Who else? Also, how did the coin get here?”
Monte snorted and pointed at the dirty skull the uncomfortable Sergeant Cerra still had in his hands.
Hmm.
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Fourteen hours later
Mussel
Oyster Anchorage elevated east and west legs that ended up being jungle-infested plateaus at the top turned in to a natural very-gradual incline at its center where the ancient port of Mussel had been built. The east peninsula plateau or Gish Lament had been a military settlement before the catastrophe but the main port itself still had some of the mystical architecture of the Empire surviving and visible in its ruins. Also apparent were efforts to rebuild its docks and adjacent buildings. They lacked the vision or even artistry of the old construction, these newer buildings being plainer even outright ugly.
Primo noticed immediately that their transport fleet and warships were already inside the port, mercenaries guarding a merchant sloop moored near them.
Simon Mclean lowered the spyglass and puffed out exasperated, he was standing next to Primo and the captain of the Crying Valkyrie atop the forecastle, before grunting what was now obvious to all.
“Sardone moved into the city.”
Primo nodded trying to find any locals amidst the groups of armed mercenaries patrolling the docks but failing. Then he spotted a team of sailors discussing with a sergeant. Another crew of workers resting under a shade near a warehouse and grimaced.
But no sign of a Zilan anywhere that he could spot.
“What the all-hells happened?” Primo cursed.
“We took the port,” Arone informed them both climbing the stairs of the forecastle nimbly. “Moor the Valkyrie captain Fark, we need to disembark the men.”
“Gravina will do that,” Monte snapped glaring at him. “And the officers of the company.”
Arone smirked and pointed at the transports that hadn’t followed them into the canal. “Half the company is already ashore Monte. You might want to check on their whereabouts.”
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Erminio Sardone was a medium height, heavy build man of forty years, clad in thick leather armour, reinforced with pieces of plate at the shoulders and chest. He had a prominent black beard, squarely trimmed that made his head appear three times its size and height.
“We have casualties,” he told Primo D’Orsi matter-of-factly. “And enemies hiding in the jungle north of the town. About three kilometers from the wall.”
“There’s a wall?” Simon asked with interest.
“An old one. Nothing left to stand behind,” Sardone replied sucking at the left part of his mouth, working at a gap there between two gold teeth. “But you can tell what it was.”
“Right,” Simon Mclean murmured unsure.
“How many casualties?” Primo queried as Adriano Monte took the scroll from Sardone’s adjutant Mark Keitel.
“Your Captain Binda lost eight. That is six dead from the 333. I lost a squad. Ten scouts. Wiped out. All fatalities. Nico Vardar fought the Zilan and is still after them but I’ve counted twenty five cold bodies left behind and six injured. We need more Dottore and the artillery unloaded.”
“The Zilan,” Monte grunted raising his eyes from the casualties list. “You didn’t fight the Zilan then?”
Sardone grimaced and then made a sound with his mouth. “Vardar looped around to cut the north road, we followed the plan and stayed near the coast west of the city but we were attacked by fucking mermaids out of the blue. Jumped out of the water like frogs on a mission. It turned ugly and it was downhill after that.”
“Ticu?” Primo gasped and Monte turned his head to look at him angrily. “Are you sure?”
“Have their heads over there. In that wagon. You might find more body parts in the mix.” Sardone replied raspingly. “Insane, bloodthirsty monsters.”
“Some of considerable allure,” Mark Keitel noticed with a nasty smirk.
“Not everyone is of the same opinion,” Sardone grunted casting a glare at his subordinate until Keitel was forced to comply.
“Yes sir,” Keitel saluted half-heartedly.
“How many Zilan? What kind of troops?” Primo hissed increasing the volume of his voice as behind them the more critical units of the mercenary company started disembarking from the massive warship. Supplies and frontline personnel but also rear units, rangers and war-machines.
“Medium or light infantry. Harpoon and spear units,” Sardone replied. “Some archers. About thirty of them.”
“You… only thirty?” Primo croaked. “And they retreated?”
“To the jungle. Vardar wants to clear the trees out,” Sardone explained.
“Order him to stop and turn back. He’ll guard the port instead. Barricade and repair some of the wall if it’s possible. I want Mussel ready to receive a counter attack.” Primo ordered. “Leave just enough men near the woods to keep an eye on the remaining Zilan. I assume you killed some of them?”
“We did. Seven we managed to cut off at the docks. They are under the sheet by the wall. I’m afraid the men took everything not attached to their bodies and a few things that were,” Sardone replied unapologetically.
“No one surrendered?” Primo asked a little troubled.
“I don’t speak their language Commander D’Orsi,” Sardone replied with a timely dodge. “Now that all you fine ‘n learned folk are here, I’m optimistic we’ll find out more.”
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Primo tossed the bloody sheet over the Zilan corpse again to cover it and stood up with sour look on his bearded face. He set his eyes on the locals detained by the soldiers that waited to speak with him and then turned to Adriano Monte who was still shook from their inspections of the dead Ticu and the men that had fallen victim to their savagery. The mercenaries barely keeping it together after taking control of the port with only three civilians getting cut down as ‘reprisals’.
Sardone has done a good job controlling his men here, he thought.
“Anyone has one of their weapons?” He asked after Monte appeared unwilling to comment on the developments.
The Issir Sergeant Saxer offered him a Kopis-type long front-curved blade. Primo took it to examine it carefully.
“Is that Imperial steel?” Primo asked and Monte gave him a short dagger to test it. The Zilan weapon easily biting into the steel dagger like it was made out of wood.
“Aye sir,” Saxer replied. “Not every weapon is that good a quality, but all their blades are superior.”
“Ancient loot?” Primo wondered aloud.
“That wooden handle is plenty new,” Saxer argued. “Per the contract the boys get to keep the loot sir.”
Primo nodded as it was pointless to argue with the mercenaries on these matters. Profit came first in their minds and it was the main reason they risked their lives. Fewer doing it for the thrill of adventure.
“What happened here?” He asked finally.
“They withdrew in the alley between the two bigger buildings but ambushed the men that followed them there. It was through sheer numbers we managed to push them out sir. They retreated orderly after that, but pretty fast. Right out of the port.”
“You. Come here,” Primo ordered one of the Cofols watching them. He stood next to a couple of unsavory Lorians. “I’m Commandant Primo D’Orsi. You will not be harmed. This operation isn’t directed against you. Are you a local citizen?”
“I’m a merchant out of Taras Commandant,” the Cofol replied and paused as if to evaluate the situation. “The name is Oba-Sif. You killed one of my slaves.”
“An accident. Our men were attacked by Ticu.”
“And then they attacked the Monarch’s people?” Oba-Sif queried before adding with a careful bow of the head. “Supreme Commandant.”
“You’ll be compensated for your loss,” Primo assured him and turned to the approaching Simon Mclean. “We have a small insurance budget for things like this.”
“What things?” Simon asked less polite than he originally intended.
“The loss of a slave. He had at least forty years of work ahead of him,” Oba-Sif explained sadly. “I have purchased him for ten gold pieces and spent at least a hundred to teach him the skills required.”
Primo pursed his mouth trying not to backhand the Cofol and remain diplomatic given the circumstances.
“You don’t expect the Bank to pay for this cretin’s slave?” Simon snapped losing his cool and Primo turned around to glare at him.
“It’s an order Simon.”
“You don’t order me around D’Orsi,” Simon grunted very annoyed and more centered now that he stood on stable ground.
“At this point I am.” Primo warned him.
Simon narrowed his eyes and glowered at the slightly smirking Cofol.
“Milords,” Oba-Sif said and bowed in response to the Mclean scion’s glare.
“How much?” The latter hissed and signed for Arone to approach them.
“Given the loss and the trauma I sustained seeing your unlawful attack on the Monarch’s port, I believe three hundred,” he paused to read the carved insignia on Primo’s armour. “And thirty three gold Dinars.”
Simon started coughing violently, his eyes gawking and tearing up almost drowning in his own spit in the attempt to speak.
“That’s outrageous and we only have Gold Eagles,” Arone grunted at the startled Cofol that faked interest in the coughing Simon’s condition.
“Three hundred,” Oba-Sif said sobering up.
“Fifty,” Arone grunted warningly.
Oba-Sif shrugged his shoulders. “Two seventy five.”
“What?” Simon croaked coming about. “Are you fucking serious? You slanted-eyed sleazy crook—!”
Primo put his hand on Simon’s chest to stop his outburst. “A hundred gold.”
Oba-Sif looked at him for a moment with understanding. But it was a ruse. “Two fifty.” He finally said his face sobering up.
“Mister Oba.” Primo warned him.
“A hundred and fifty Gold Eagles,” Arone spat disgusted.
“Two hundred,” Oba-Sif haggled shamelessly.
“There’s no way you’ll get that kind of coin out of me!” Simon hissed as livid as Primo had ever seen him.
“I’m a member of the Merchant’s Guild,” Oba-Sif replied without losing a beat. “A representative of Phon-Iv Sopat and his local interests, whom I’ve already informed of the events here. Does the Mclean refuse to offer proper compensation? Whatever happens to me… your man in the Guild we’ll be notified to pay the fee make no mistake about it. I imagine it will be greatly increased by then as the Guild’s Board won’t be happy to hear of your conduct here.”
“He could be lying. We could just cut him down,” Arone offered and it wasn’t a jest.
“Eh,” Simon puffed out and stared at Primo.
“Mister Oba,” Primo said. “How big a force does the Monarch have in Taras?”
Oba-Sif raised a painted a dark red brow mockingly. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally said.
“Indulge us.”
“Most of the Phalanx is stationed at Dia Castle and some parts are at Ani Ta-Ne with the Fleet.”
“Wait…” Monte argued not expecting the existence of enemy ships.
“The… Phalanx,” Primo murmured well-versed in the fabled Imperial unit.
“Oh, for the love of Uher that weasel is lying!” Simon hissed.
“So not much of a force is there,” Oba-Sif added with a lecherous smirk. “But it doesn’t matter,” he added annoyingly.
“How many Zilan soldiers can they field at this moment? Is Taras unprotected?” Primo insisted anxiously.
“I told you. The army is not there. Most other Zilan are spread about. Lo-Minas, Abarat.”
“What are these?” Simon asked suddenly interested.
“Cities,” Oba-Sif replied.
“Never heard of the names. Does no one trade with them?” Simon grunted not believing him.
“No. They are out of the trade routes and won’t deal with non-civilians but you could see them if you join a caravan. Travel the roads, see the realm and sell stuff for much-deserved profit!” Oba-Sif replied vivaciously without getting rid of that smirk. “Maybe you’ll come along one time Mclean. See how real coin is gained.”
“Pay him,” Primo ordered Arone who stared at the scowling Simon. “How much Oba-Sif?”
“Two hundred Gold Eagles,” the Cofol merchant replied sternly.
Simon groaned physically hurting and Arone pursed his mouth in solemn contemplation.
“Simon I need to talk with the officers,” Primo said raspingly. “Get this done.”
“Go ahead,” a seething Simon told Arone.
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Primo asked the pleased Oba-Sif and the Cofol furrowed his painted brows seemingly unsure of Primo’s meaning. “You said it not five minutes ago.” Primo grunted at the poor attempt at theatre.
“Ah,” Oba-Sif said standing back. “I was talking of the wyvern mister D’Orsi.”
You have excellent ears I see, Primo thought before the Cofol’s words fully registered.
“The wyvern?” Monte queried beating him to the punch with Arone’s reaction coming a close second.
A simple gasp followed by the scribe’s Saul Ferrero’s query as he happened to stand really close.
“Did he just say…?”
“Umm. Yes.” Oba-Sif agreed with a demure half-apologetic smile and reached to retrieve the two heavy leather purses from the stunned Phidias Arone’s hands. “As I said to all your acclaimed lordships already. You don’t stand a chance against Hardir O’ Fardor.”
Nonsense.
“We’ll have to see about that mister Oba,” Primo grunted animatedly.
-
> It is unclear whether Primo D’Orsi changed his plan because of the Cofol merchant’s words or not. Perhaps he had already decided to march inland towards Taras and the Monarch’s seat in Tenebrous Castle. We’ll never know. He ordered Erminio Sardone’s ‘Owls’ to keep the still hiding inside the jungle Zilan Marines under control and marched the ‘333’ alongside Vardar’s ‘Band of Silver’ north following the fine Imperial road.
>
> Three days later Trevisan’s Peltasts that were leading the army at the time fell on a force of Taras’ city guards rolling down to intercept us. Trevisan retreated towards the main body of the army to inform Primo D’Orsi. The Commandant fearing the imperials were part of a bigger force ordered Captain Binda’s 2nd Group to block the road and deployed his full force for battle.
>
> The imperials attacked Binda’s shield-bearing soldiers, but made little headway. They took heavy casualties instead and had to retreat. D’Orsi ordered Vardar to advance his own infantry and sent Cactus’ archers to lob arrows in the lines of Taras’ guards. Vardar attacked the shieldwall but started losing men as the local enemy soldiers were performing better with each passing minute. This was Captain Horton’s newly recruited guards as we learned later.
>
> D’Orsi fearing an intervention or the potential appearance of reinforcements ordered Trevisan forward again and his Peltasts flanked the massively outnumbered Goras soldiers’ lines. Their javelins caused considerable casualties and the human soldiers lost cohesion rapidly. The battle finished before D’Orsi had the time to issue any more orders.
>
> ‘Devil’s spawn,’ Adriano Monte had commented when Vardar informed the expedition’s leadership that the local force had effectively been wiped out. ‘That merchant was right. There are no forces guarding Taras!’
>
> While there were local troops available to the Monarch, Oba-Sif of Lai Zel-Ka was truthful in his report and accurate in his prediction. D’Orsi paused after the successful battle on the road to Taras for our supply train to catch up with us and three or four days later we marched again but at a slower pace.
>
>
-
The mounted Primo D’Orsi scratched the side of his bearded face, the blond hairs darkening somewhat after days on the road and looked at Sergeant Cerra’s returning squad of Rangers that had been replaced by one of Larosa’s, both squads tasked with keeping the road ahead well-scouted.
“Much of the same. Granite tiled sidewalks and cobblestone-paved main body,” Cerra explained. He was talking of the wide and very impressive boulevard they were following. Trees could be seen on every side and several flying monkeys had annoyed the men leaping across the breadth of the road cackling maniacally whilst throwing rotten fruits on their heads.
“But no traffic at all?” Monte asked and a horn sounded from the front of their column. Primo raised his head and spotted one of Larosa’s rangers returning. The man was sprinting fast.
“Commandant, I believe the local caravans are held back,” Cerra replied and turned to watch the ranger approach the officers as well.
“A force is blocking the road sir, about three kilometers up ahead,” the ranger reported breathing heavy from the exertion.
“How large?” Primo asked pursing his mouth.
“About twice the size of that we fought earlier but they could be receiving reinforcements,” the ranger replied.
“Stop the column,” Monte grunted at Gravina that had approached to see what the holdup was. Primo nodded his agreement and turned on the saddle to glance back at the rows of soldiers coming after them.
“This is a sloped part of the road,” he grunted turning his head back to stare at the route cutting through the jungle. “The ground is raising constantly. We need to pull back a little Monte.”
“Have them attack instead?” Monte queried.
They have to.
“Aye. But on flatter ground. This is a spot they picked, better not to indulge them,” Primo decided. “Issue the orders Captain Gravina.” He added in a clear voice and heard a loud awed murmur ringing up and down the columns of mercenaries. Primo raised his gaze to the sky a little disoriented when the poor light of winter dimmed momentarily and managed to catch a glimpse of the large black wyvern flying fast south following the road. The beast’s long swaying tail and extended semi-diaphanous bat-like wings what made the strange image click in his numb brain.
“Well, that sight sucked the piss out of my cock,” a bewildered Gravina blurted out and Monte that stood to Primo’s right side pursed his mouth tight, a strange expression creeping up on the veteran’s lined face the young aristocrat hadn’t seen before.
Mother of all gods.
“Eh,” Primo grunted snapping out of his reverie. “Gravina I’ve given you an order!” He barked at the stunned officer. “You get our men moving back to better positions now. Sergeant Cerra inform Commandant Vardar that the ‘Band of Silver’ is tasked with defending against the enemy infantry. Retreat five kilometers back to where we fought with their first group. Do not allow them to advance. The moment they commit we’ll flank them and repeat what we’ve done earlier. We have the numbers still. We remove this new threat and then march to Taras. Move your feet soldier!”
“Lad,” Monte said hoarsely and Primo turned to glare at him. “There is no reason to move forward.”
“We can still reach the city Adriano. Roaming Wyvern or not,” Primo hissed not liking his fatalistic tone. “The trapped Garth will offer to negotiate the moment we enter Taras. You heard my decision!”
“Milord,” a depressed-looking Monte insisted in a more reasonable tone. “There was a man riding on the back of that beast and I wager what time I’ve left he’s heading to Mussel. I fear we are the ones trapped.”
“Damn you old head. Snap out of it, the men are looking up to you! You’ll have us defeated by fear afore our blades even touch?” Primo cursed angry and pulled at the reins of his nervous horse. “We won’t just lay down and die here without a fight!”
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