Lucius

A loss, he couldn’t spare

The sky was a dark deep blue, almost black. He felt the cold wind on his face, lashing angry like a slave master’s whip, the earthy smell of mud and animals. The stale stench of excrement. People sobbing, excitement mixing with grief and the latter with fear. People alike strange shadows, coming and going, some silent, others bellowing.

PULL HIM AWAY!

FASTER YE FOOL!

Lucius felt gloved hands on his body, they hurriedly lifted him up and carried him away.

WATCH THAT LEG!

WHERE’S CURD?

PUT YER BACK TO IT!

They bumped onto men and women running the other way and he turned his head, eyes blurry, looked where the circle of shields had been, saw an unresponsive Faye helped up, her face bloodied.

BRING THAT HORSE AROUND!

He was pushed on a saddle, a man climbing behind him, hands on his waist. In the distance Lucius saw torches light up the walls. People waiting before the gates, more inside piled on the narrow streets.

“Get ‘em out of the bloody way, Galio!” Roderick roared in his ear, voice hoarse and tired, laced with fear.

“Ye heard the man,” Galio was heard further ahead. “Use yer swords, if ye have to!”

The people parted as they moved slowly through the gates, curious women and children mixed in with the men, the latter more guarded, their eyes cold over their long beards.

Who’s the red warrior? A girl asked.

He cracked Benton’s skull open wit his hands, a boy said; a touch of awe in his voice.

Feral lost? An old timer wondered.

Darn idiot fought without his axe, his friend replied.

That’s the Crimson Knight of Regia, another boy declared, all serious.

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, his body shutting down from exhaustion and when he opened them again, the night was almost gone outside and Kaeso was wiping the blood off of his hurt leg. He tried to seat up on the bed, greatly surprised when he realized that they were inside an actual room, a fireplace burning on one stone wall, a barred window on the other.

“How bad is it?” Lucius asked, not recognizing his own voice.

“We set the bone,” The thin man replied looking up. “Braced the leg. It was below the knee, so that’s a gift in a sense.”

“Can I step on it?” Lucius snapped, the pain returning while the man talked.

“I wouldn’t counsel it, milord.”

Lucius grimaced and tried to move his back, it hurt him between the shoulder blades something fierce and he groaned frustrated.

“Where’s Roderick?” He asked next, just as Galio entered, bringing a plate of food and a cup. There was meat in that plate, Lucius noticed, lots of it, but not much else.

“It’s venison and warm ale,” The old sergeant explained, offering him the plate. “Not much wine in the inn, unless they keep it for better company.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at the affront. “Roderick went to get the others?” He asked harder than he’d preferred to, his wounds a constant bother.

Galio nodded. “Told me to make sure nothing happened to ye, milord. Had me swear it, he did,” Sounding hurt the old hand believed he wouldn’t. Lucius sighed and accepted the cup, when the sergeant next offered it. Gulped it down in one go, not bothering with the taste.

It burned his throat and made his eyes water, but woke him up proper.

A couple of hours later, the morning sun hidden behind the clouds, much as Lucius could see it behind the blinds, he’d managed to move to the edge of the bed, closer to the fire. The heat reaching him pleasant after weeks on the road.

“The Northmen warriors departed after the fight,” Galio reported, his second retelling of the previous day’s events. “Headed north into ‘em woods. I guess one could see a path there, if he’d set his mind on it, milord. But it will take him time.”

“What’s taking Roderick so long?” Lucius asked impatiently.

Kaeso mostly silent on his chair next to the door smacked his lips, as if to say something, but opted to keep his mouth shut instead. Lucius cursed himself. The bodies. He had to bury the dead, afore returning with the injured.

“That was the first time I charged on a host of men, milord,” Galio said to break the awkward silence that followed. “Most times I was on the receiving end. I much preferred it, I reckon.”

“Tyeus favored us,” Lucius replied, looking at the glowing embers.

Kaeso snorted and he turned his head to glare at him.

“There was no luck involved,” The ex-legionnaire said, returning the stare. “Not out there, milord. That was all you.”

Lucius grunted, not wanting to hear it, but the man pressed on. “Been in a few scraps, some won, some lost. The sergeant over there, probably in twice as many. Good leaders win the day, milord.”

“Aye,” Galio agreed, gleam in his eye. “Lad is in the right, milord. Needs a kick in the bum for running his mouth, but he’s right. We only had one chance of winning and you took it, milord.”

Lucius puffed his cheeks out, blood rushing to his face, the praise making him uncomfortable, when his plan had almost lost them all, but the door to his room swung open and saved him from the difficult moment.

The gods rectified that by throwing him a curve ball out of pure spite, right away.

Roderick’s face looked haggard, his wrinkled cheeks sunk in and he’d black circles under his eyes. The frost on his coat melted and turned to vapors as he went to stand across from Lucius, the heat from the fireplace dousing his front, the two ex-Legion men and the Heir to Regia on his back.

A silence had followed his entrance, a sense of foreboding gripping the men, no one daring to ask, what had spooked the old hand so. The moment dragged and Roderick with a glance towards a spare chair, finally decided to move. He grabbed it, placed it next to the fireplace and sat down with a grunt, this time facing his silent and expecting companions.

“What happened?” Lucius asked, seeing him hesitating, fists clenching and unclenching nervously.

“Bah,” Roderick gasped, scrunching his jaw once, before deciding there was no point in holding anything back. “We found Bryn Bowens and Post, when we got there. Had Faustus and the four mercenaries that joined us after the charge with me,” He glanced at Galio for a moment, before continuing. “Hostus further back, where we’d left him. All dead, frozen solid,” He grimaced, gulping down nervously, before continuing. “Nonus had died next to the carriage, Seia a couple of meters from him,” Lucius sat up straight on the bed, ignoring his pain.

“They were dead?” He asked, stunned at the news.

“Like the others. Flesh turned to ice, hard as rock. The blood as well,” Lucius made to interrupt him, but the old hand stopped him with a wave. “Let me tell it, lad,” Lucius nodded. “Arrun was still in the carriage unconscious. Zofia and Canutia were missing.”

“What? Have Benton’s men run up the ridge after the duel?” Lucius snapped angry. Zofia was missing? “Did she run away?” He asked, trying another way.

“It’s what I thought at first,” Roderick replied. “Northmen came back, killed the others and the girls run away,” He sighed a deep sigh, the alternative grating. “Then I remembered Zofia was hurt worse than Arrun, so she couldn’t run anywhere. Canutia could and she did, came back when she heard us digging up their graves and told us the rest.”

Lucius clenched his fists hard, the pain from his broken fingers hammering the insides of his skull, the rage slowly building up.

“What did she say?” He snapped, hoarse voice coming out like a lion’s roar. “Speak old man!”

“A man rode into camp, she said. Woman is in shock Lucius, half dead from cold. Scared out of her wits.”

“WHAT MAN?” Lucius growled, madness in his stare.

“The half-breed,” Roderick replied, without batting an eyelid at his outburst. “Canutia said, he killed Seia and Nonus. Didn’t chase her, when she run away. Tied Zofia on a horse instead and left.”

Lucius was staring at the flames, both hands on the pommel of his longsword, tip nailed on the floorboards, the weapon turned into a cane to take the weight off his leg. The atmosphere inside the inn’s best room, according to the owners, tense and heavy enough to cut with a blunted knife.

“Why would Curd betray me?” Lucius asked the men present. What was left of the original host, he’d taken with him to this foolhardy journey. Canutia and four former Black Skull mercenaries waited downstairs, drinking and feasting on his coin. Faustus, Mamercus and Kaeso were with him, along with Roderick and Galio. The young Arrun as well, still recovering from his head injury. Post Antinor and Seia Tutor his wife, were buried side by side on the Ridge. Bryn Bowens, Hostus Vindex and the merchant Nonus Generidus near them. They’d lost young Tertius Cantilius much earlier. The North had them now, their frozen bodies thrown inside shallow graves, no markings on them.

Every one of them weighting on Lucius’ conscience.

Zofia taken captive by Dirk Curd being the biggest blow.

The one loss, he couldn’t spare.

“No one can say for sure, milord,” Galio replied, always brave to step up first.

“He saved my life,” Lucius said unable to wrap his mind around the man’s action.

“He was sworn to Lord Vanzon. Zofia might have seemed a big prize for him,” Roderick noted.

“I would’ve rewarded him. He knew that,” This didn’t make any sense to him.

“Perhaps he thought, returning the girl wasn’t in his best interests,” Kaeso pointed.

“Speak clearly!” Lucius snapped.

“Bringing a Vanzon’s sworn guy along, when we reached the O’ Dargans. There’s bad blood here, milord.”

“He was under my protection. The Jarl would never touch a man sworn to me,” Lucius said.

“Whatever was his motive,” Roderick intervened. “We need to decide what to do. Sir Lucius, you need to decide.”

“Nothing to decide. We will find her,” Lucius replied simply.

“Curd is heading for Krakenhall, if he has half a brain,” Roderick insisted. “He’ll bring her wit him.”

“We will go there then,” Lucius said.

“Lucius, there’s a war going on. If we head there, we need to cross through Crull land, while an invasion by Northmen is underway. If the Jarl is gunning for Eaglesnest, we might have to walk through their warcamp. In the middle of winter.”

Lucius stared at him hard.

“I’m getting her back Roderick.”

“Yer standing on one leg, lad,” Came his retort.

“You ask me to wait for it to heal? While she’s out there?”

Roderick sighed and glanced at the men watching their exchange.

“Curd has to travel with an injured woman through hostile terrain. The Crulls might help, or they might not. Too much on their fuckin’ plate, I reckon. The O’ Dargans have taken Ludriver’s bridges. He might be stuck, or get captured. Either way, he’ll have to wait for snows to fall first. Move again when frost sets in.”

“How long is that?” Lucius asked.

“Three weeks, maybe four. Four five meters of snow will fall,” Galio replied. “After that we need to move through the forest crossings fast, afore they’ll get frozen solid. It'll block everything, trees, stone and ground will turn into one thing. Ice here is like rock and ye have to break it with a pickaxe to open up the paths again.”

“I wouldn’t counsel it, milord,” Mamercus said. “Better to journey earlier and in the blind during the snowstorms, than open up roads in Fetya. Not even the Legion can do that during the ice season.”

Roderick hang his balding head low in despair, Kaeso shrugged his shoulders more partial to the idea, Faustus kept a neutral stance and Galio stood up, ready to follow orders. Whatever these orders may be.

Lucius breathed once, a grimace of pain ruining it towards the end and stared at his hands wrapped around his sword’s pommel before speaking.

“Two weeks,” The Heir to Regia said, his tone resolute, a map of the provinces in his head showing him the road they had to follow. “But we push ahead hard after that.”

He meant it.

After convalescing for two weeks from his injuries at Bloody Ridge, Lucius and his small entourage will head west from Kas next, a strange decision still un-deciphered till this day, following the flat land between the mountains, Fenford Burg on their right, Eaglesnest on their left.

Make a hard northeastern turn, when they touch the road towards Wolvesbane Castle, cut west again through the forest and cross that narrow strip of land between Ludriver’s legs the locals called Stag’s Doab at that time, but was to become famous soon by what is now commonly referred to as Winter’s Carnage in the North, or as historians aptly cite it, the infamous Battle of the Bridges.

-

Lord Sirio Veturius

Circa 206 NC

The Fall of Heroes

Chapter III

Prologue

(Lucius the Third,

Northern Campaigns,

Prelude to the Battle of the Bridges,

Either late 3rd or early 4rth

Month of Winter, 189 NC)