Lucius

"Heard talk, in a tavern"

Half a mountain of stone was used, the locals said, on the construction of the bridge over the Framtond River. It bore its very name, which was of course what the famous Adventurer that first crossed it, a hundred and fifty years back, was called as well.

Ebenezer Framtond, had a statue of him standing in Asturia’s main square, three meters tall and crudely made out the same stone, the bridge was built with. The Holts, the family that ruled most of these lands, claimed they were related to him, a fact difficult to prove or disprove, since the adventurer was lost without leaving any family behind, but the legend of his many travels, over the mountains and into the far north.

“PULL! Haven’t ye eaten yer bloody fill?” Galio Veturius cried out, booming voice cutting over the uproar of the angry waters. Mamercus Sorex, one of the six men doing the pulling, cursed his lineage back to his most famous ancestor with gusto. The former Legion man, answered his former colleague in the same vein and with equal enthusiasm. The tempers flared dangerously for a moment, before calmer heads prevailed and everyone resumed their efforts.

It was grueling work.

Lucius leading most of the laden animals away, stood to watch as the men managed to slowly push and pull the carriage over the washed with mud, stones, broken branches and debris stone bridge. Six meters wide at the top, but thrice that at its base, it was an impressive barrier that could regulate the flow of water under its eight great archways, most of the season. If the rains came early though or were too numerous, the river found its way over it, slowly raising its levels, making crossing the bridge extremely dangerous, but necessary.

If you wanted to continue towards Asturia.

“Bah! That’s it for today, I reckon.” Roderick yelled, approaching him. Soaked to the bone by the deluge that had started the previous night and hadn’t stopped for the whole day, he was barely standing. “It took everything out of the lads.”

“We will make camp, on higher ground,” Lucius explained, drenched himself from head to boots, despite the heavy coat he had on. The ground flashed around them, scaring the horses, the thunder missed behind the noise made by the pregnant river. The skies blacker, than Ora’s heart.

“They will want to visit the city,” His loyal man noted.

“Merchant will, get what we need,” Lucius grimaced, seeing Zofia helping pull the carriage out of the mud and onto sturdier ground. “The less people knowing about our party, the better.”

“It won’t be easy hiding her,” Roderick agreed with a nod. “Or you. People will know eventually.”

“Not if we keep the Hammer Mounts on our right flank, avoid the Ruinall River and pass outside Anorum, towards the mountain passes.” Lucius said to him later, when the man probed him again. The rain had stopped just before night came, which was a blessing. Lucius sat near one of their camp fires, still trying to dry his leather gloves on a flat rock, after he beat them on it frustrated, in an attempt to get the water out faster.

“That’s bandit country, with the occasional roaming warband mixed in,” Roderick replied, teeth probing a piece of salted meat carefully.

“They won’t attack an armed escort,” Lucius insisted. “Unless they are certain of the prize.”

“We could contact the Redmonds,” Zofia said plopping down across from them. The fire making the silver rim of her eyes shine in the darkness. “They will help us.”

“They will want us to hand you over, which we can’t do,” Lucius said defensively.

“Why?”

“It’s what my father ordered.”

“They can give us escort, help us through their lands,” Zofia insisted.

“No lass, they won’t,” Roderick said. “You’re a relative, but they’d rather rot in Ora’s hell, than help Lord Lucius.”

“Because of Macia?” Zofia asked, looking at him.

“Part of it.”

“Which part?”

But he wasn’t going to answer that.

“They can’t be trusted,” Lucius said brusquely and added not liking her stare. “I won’t risk it. We will get you to your father ourselves and he will agree to our terms.”

Zofia chuckled at his words, her laugh a taunt.

“Beyond the mountains, your world ends, Sir Lucius,” She said. “You may find my father, a difficult man to convince.”

“We will see about that.”

“Aye, my lord. We will see,” The redhead replied still taunting. “If we get there.”

Post Antinor waved at them, just outside the wooded canyon’s entrance, his words missed. Seia being closer to him, turned her horse and galloped fast towards their caravan that had stopped, waiting for his report. Two weeks after they left Asturia behind, almost two months into their journey and with the last days of autumn in front of them, rains had turned more sporadic, replaced by chilling winds coming from the approaching mountains. On their right flank they had followed the Hammer’s Mounts southwards to where they touched Uher’s Throne Heights, the wooded canyon plugging the split between them, as they turned gradually towards the North.

“The tracks go into the woods,” Seia said, short black hair hidden under a leather cap.

A patrol from Anorum had informed them earlier in the morning, of a warband sighting on their path. The city was built near the sources of Ruinall River, which was shadowing their left flank and there was some debate, whether they should spend the night there. Continue their journey towards Gudgurth Fort the next day, more directly.

“City is filled with Northmans, now that the Legion isn’t around,” Lucius replied, to Roderick’s unasked question. “They will get a good look at us. Can we chance it?”

“We can’t outrun them anyway,” Roderick pointed.

“How many?” Lucius asked their guide.

“More than ten horses. People, I can’t tell,” She replied.

“They won’t attempt anything, without the numbers,” Roderick said.

“Aye. Can we stay in the open though? This wind could pick up,” Lucius grunted, his beard full blown by now, making him look older. “I say, we go to Anorum then. Rest up, warm our bones. Leave early on the morrow,” He stared at the ex-legion guys smirking at his words. “I mean it, before first light,” He added gruffly.

“Aye, milord,” Galio said, eyeing them both. “I’ll make sure they wake up.”

Anorum, a town built by the Legion around its permanent winter camp, had straight cobblestone roads running next to mostly simple one story buildings, military in style and architecture. The most impressive of them being the Legion’s headquarters’, a square three story height tower at the center of the castrum, which was fittingly, the biggest building in the whole town.

It had as many taverns outside the camp as houses and it was bristling with activity, despite most of its core citizens not present. The Lorian Legion had departed the previous week, taking five thousand soldiers, one thousand cavalry and almost four thousand of its engineering and supporting personnel with her.

Half the town, the locals told them, was on the move.

“Hey lass, how about having a drink wit us?” A Norhman asked Zofia, big cup of ale in hand, later in the evening. Lucius had a hard time convincing her to retire upstairs, in the room she shared with Canutia. His latest effort ending with the woman slamming her cup down, spilling most its contents on the table.

“You’re buying?” Zofia turned her head sideways to look at him, under her red locks.

“Sure, if yer selling,” The large man said with a grin, copper-colored beard dancing under his mouth. He’d a well-worn chainmail on, large sword strapped on his waist.

“She’s not. We were ready to retire,” Lucius said frustrated, getting up. The man stared at him for a moment, surprise in his eyes.

“Is she yer wife?” He asked.

“I’m not,” Zofia replied, before he’d time to come up with an answer.

“Then I don’t see, how is it any of yer business,” The Northman said, looking at Lucius all serious.

“She’s under my care. I would appreciate, you dropping the matter,” Lucius explained, sounding firm, but civil.

“You would appreciate…” The Northman clicked his tongue, glancing towards his friends, four of them, occupying a table at a corner of the inn’s tavern. “Yer awfully well-mannered for these parts. What if I don’t?”

“Hey,” Zofia said, getting up between them. “He’s right, I gotta go.”

“I think you should stay lass,” The man said. “Just keep quiet and let me handle this.”

Zofia blinked, as if slapped in the face. She stared at the empty cup in her hand and then raised her head, eyes all furious.

“Zofia…” Lucius tried to say, but she wasn’t in a listening mood. She made a step forward, into the surprised at her reaction man and without pause slammed the heavy cup on his head, breaking it in pieces.

“The fuck ye think you are!” Zofia snarled, the man holding his head, blood in his fingers. “No one tells an O’ Dargan to keep quiet!” He kicked him hard below the knee and he staggered away, towards his worried friends. “Come here ye lily livered turd!”

“Zofia!” Lucius snapped, grabbing her by the shoulder to stop her, from going after him. Most of the tavern had stopped their talks and looked at her now, hair spilled down, eyes wild and flushed face furious. “You made your point,” He explained, when she turned to snarl at him. He removed his hand slowly.

“Aye,” Roderick was heard from behind him. “She did. Loud and bloody clear.”

“Get the others down,” Lucius said quickly, seeing the patrons, whispering to each other all interested. “We leave now.”

“It’s quite the chill outside,” Roderick pointed, tongue lodged in the gap in his teeth. “The night young.”

“We’re leaving, just the same,” Lucius replied, voice strained and left a silver to pay for their drinks. “Before the news spread.”