Lucius

Blessed be the Five

The downpour lasted three whole days. It washed away the dirt from roads and rooftops, swelled Maiden’s River waters high as its bridge’s deck, so Herion Simo had to sign an order for the caravans to avoid it; nailed it to every message board he could find. Most people didn’t even bother reading it and the merchants seeing them crossing, did the same. Much to the Mayor’s chagrin.

Fall was mild in the plains of Regia, but it brought with it shorter days and more clouds on the sky. Sometimes it meant nothing but a nuisance or godsend, depending on the profession; but others like this, the skies opened up.

Accidents happened, people got hurt. Even died.

This time no one did though.

As if one death was enough.

Stormbolt neighed and he almost didn’t hear him, but for the steam shooting out his nostrils, giving him warning. The early morning chill biting, despite Lucius long coat. The river surged on his right hand, waters pregnant and the noise drowning all other sounds. Maiden’s Bridge stood about a kilometer behind him, the outer walls of Alden on his left hand, far in the distance. But you could make them out, after the mist that came after the rain, cleared.

Lucius put a drenched boot on the stirrups, hand on the pommel and pulled himself up on the saddle, beast’s body warm under his thighs. He clicked his tongue and the horse moved forward following the path towards the East Keep, minding to avoid the swamped parts.

No people here this time of day, but a patrol of four mounted city guards. The drowsy men draped in their greatcoats barely giving him a second look, as he went past them.

The men-at-arms guarding the Eastern Gate did and snapped to attention. An aged sergeant standing to the side, gave him the Legion’s salute, fist thumping his chest, voice deep but vibrant.

“LORD ALDEN, SIR!”

Lucius stopped, pulling needlessly at the reins, which Stormbolt never liked; so it gave him a lash on the back as retaliation with its tail. Earning a half-smile from the veteran. Lucius patted its wet mane with a gloved hand, his eyes staying on the man.

“At ease sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lucius examined his armour, chainmail well worn, but patched up with care and recently oiled; helmet dented, an ornamented cheek guard different in style, obviously newer. The man’s face marred by a cut, where he’d lost the old one.

“That’s not a city-guard’s helmet Sergeant,” He noticed the other men-at-arms cracking smiles, but no malice.

“Aye, milord it’s not,” Came his reply. “But it’s a good one.”

Lucius cracked a smile himself, his first in more than two weeks.

“I’m sure it is. Did you serve with the Legion?”

Seeing him better now, Lucius guessed the man was over forty.

“For twenty years milord. Blessed be the Five,” The veteran replied. “Wanted to sign up for more, but they wouldn’t have me.”

The last part paining him still.

Lucius nodded in understanding. He glanced towards the watching guards. “Got a name sergeant?”

The man straighten himself up. “Galio Veturius, Sir!”

Galio had a drill sergeant’s booming voice.

And a rather famous name.

“Any relation to the writer?” Lucius asked.

“Aye, milord. Was my great-grandfather and I might’ve missed a great there.”

“Didn’t get his talents then?”

“Nay, milord. That would be my sister’s child.”

Lucius nodded. “Sergeant Veturius, you are not part of the City’s guard. Am I right?”

Galio lowered his head, guilt on his face.

“Correct, milord.”

“You just happened, to wait here then?”

“Be doing it for a couple of years, milord.”

Since he got discharged was his meaning.

“Help the lads, guard our King’s city.” The man added.

Duty soaked so deep, it made it impossible to dislodge.

Lucius felt the lump returning on his throat.

“Where you got the scar sergeant?” He asked and watched him gain a couple of inches, old muscles pushing out and pride filling his hard lined face. Galio’s words reminding him in turn, of his own duty.

“Outside Yepehir, place called howlin’ pass. Lost seven friends in an hour, but we held firm milord,” The man said in a breath, his stare haunted. “Winter of seventy three, the day your father broke Sovya.”

The dome of the Five, what most citizens of the old city simply called the ‘Temple’, was located in the walled inner ring of Alden, highlighting the west side of its stone paved central square. It stood next to the smaller Library building. Directly across from it was the black mass of the Guardtower, with the King’s Palace on its south side. The open north side of Alden’s city-center ended at the Spring Gardens, a well-maintained coppice of cinnamon trees with spacious walkways and picturesque flowerbeds.

Although not as famous as Uher’s Place in Cartagen, Tyeus Tower in Asturia, and Ora’s Temple in Issir’s Eagle; definitely less visited than Naossis’ Baths on the island of Valeria, the dome held a special place, in the hearts of all Lorians residing in Regia. The royal catacomb below it, held the bones of all its past kings and Alden family members in general. Exceptions were made, as in the case of King Caius the Unlucky, who was laid to rest in Cartagen in 29 NC, five years into his reign or his successor King Titus, who may or may not have buried the bones of a Gish lover, he supposedly had, with him.

King Alistair had decreed his son was to stay in Alden. The message found them on the long road back from Riverdor, two days into their journey. They reached the saddened from the news city a week and a day later. People holding lilies had gathered on the streets to bid him farewell, some singing with the mourners following the parade, others praying to Ora for his soul’s safe passage.

The funeral procession stopped before the dome of the Five, where the Priest’s disciples took possession of Ralph’s body, already in a rough condition due to the heat they’d suffered through their journey and worked on preserving it, the best they could, for the whole night.

The body was laid in state on the altar that marked the perfect center of the dome, for five days. One day for each of the five gods of the realm. Uher came first, followed by Tyeus, Naossis, Ora and Luthos. Life, War, Pleasure, Death and Luck. Each god represented by an ordained member of its faith, but for Luthos, who had none.

High Magister Appius Gordian reigned over the rest, which caused some stir, but thankfully an understanding was reached and everyone behaved according to their station, for the duration of the five very busy days.

With some minor exceptions. On the third day, Priestess Flavia wasn’t initially allowed entrance by the Temple knights, due to her risqué choice of wardrobe, as it was described. When she explained under the gazes of the mourning onlookers that it was her order’s formal attire, an exception was made. The Priestess took her place next to the other dignitaries, much to Mayor Simo’s delight and the wrath of his wife. On the fifth day, with all the major faiths already represented and the visitors waning down, a dwarf was seen dancing inside the dome.

When the five days were over, Ralph’s body was moved quickly to the catacomb. Some said the priests could have waited for King Alistair to arrive, others that it was way past its time and rot had set in. Perhaps a rumor that the King’s ship sailing from Cartagen had hit bad weather, played a role in the High Magister’s decision.

Ralph Alden, second of his name, son of King Alistair, was laid to rest in the city of Alden, on his twenty-third named year.

The first month of autumn, 188 NC.

Blessed be the Five.

Lucius cleared his throat, but the taste of the strong aromatic incense that burned inside the dome for days, had clogged his lungs and despite his long ride to Maiden’s River and back to clear his mind, he’d failed in getting rid of the scent.

He started coughing in his next attempt, earning a pitiful stare from Stormbolt, but he wouldn’t have himself be judged from an animal and walked away frustrated. Kept walking through the busy streets of Alden, the city waking up pleased the rain had stopped, not paying much attention to the people going about their business. A couple of children started running after Stormbolt laughing and petting him, the horse kept following Lucius, as more and more people joined. The unlikely parade reached the stairs of the palace twenty minutes later, much bigger than it had started and Lucius turned to face the small crowd, his frustration forgotten, under the amused looks of the palace guards.

“That’s Lucius!” Someone said, when they realized who the owner of the fine stallion the kids were following was.

“A hail for the Heir!” Another shouted from further back. The small crowd giving an enthusiastic response, as they tried to approach.

“HURRAH!”

“GODS KEEP HIM!”

“BLESSED BE THE FIVE!”

“Sir Lucius!” A chorus came from the children joining in and caught in the moment, he had to step forward to greet them, small hands pulling at his clothes, touching his unshaven face; a smiling man shaking his hand, another patting him on the back, a woman smelling of roses landing a sloppy kiss on his jaw; before the alarmed guards rushed in, pushed and shoved until they managed to pull him away.

Roderick, face grim and strained was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. The loyal man paused to stare at the still cheering crowd, now gathered some distance from the palace entrance, right side of his mouth, where he was missing a tooth, sucked in. He let it go audibly, then turned to face Lucius.

Here it goes, Lucius thought, feeling a knot in his stomach.

“King’s ship moored in Aldenport early this morning, but I couldn’t reach ye,” Roderick told him brusquely. “He’s expecting you.”