Generally speaking, two types of ships were moored in the Puerto Faro harbor. The harbor itself was protected naturally by the shape of the submerged stone, and had been bolstered further over the generations. There was just enough protection from the depths that ships could be safe from the storms, even if they weren’t seaworthy unto themselves. Along the western edge of the city and just next to the refuge was the Tavina River, although today the city had quite overgrown it and blackened it with their refuse, which brought many barges and floating crafts which would have folded on the sea. Those local craft would ferry up and down to the namesake city to the north, fueling that religious center and bringing jewels back to the market exchange.

When Lucius first surveyed the harbor, the disordered array of bobbing vessels seemed promising. There was far more tonnage than what he would need to bring the garrison in retreat. Not until he descended to the gravel field before the docks did he see the ships for what they were; river barges.

The sea-faring, high-masted rowships had all shoved off. He could see their flickering lights circling out into the South Sea and leaving behind Puerto Faro. They moved sluggishly, half their oars useless for lack of sailors. The captains had elected to abandon those who wanted to fight for the vendetta.

Lucius squatted in the shadows of a popina, a snack bar of the area. There were other, inferior options to getting on a proper ship, and he turned them over in his head while he waited. On a clear day, the sandy dunes of the wastelands could be seen on the horizon. In the darkness of the night, lit only by the stout harbor lighthouses, he couldn’t even see the skies properly.

The time for thinking came to a close as a lone horseman came charging down the main road. A tall, swarthy man dressed in enough armor to be a knight rode down into the harbor. Rather than a weapon in his hand, he swung a lantern pole from side to side as he bellowed out, “The Vassish are coming! The imperial thieves are coming here for your ships! Arm yourselves. Steel yourselves! Medorosa’s vendetta has burst this bloody boil. Tonight is the night!”

A great uprising of men rose up from the harbor. Torches and candles came to life as some clamored for blood and others demanded proof. Nearly every one of them had heard of the vendetta, even if they hadn’t heard of Medorosa Canta before that night, and the horseman’s words sunk claws into them. No man, no matter how complacent with politics he may be, would sit idly by and be robbed. In mere moments, a rabble some two hundred strong milled forward to the main street holding spears and cudgels. Their searching eyes didn’t want for long; row upon row of Vassish infantry came marching down the road to confront them.

Two forces squared up against each other, and Lucius immediately saw that it was the voluntaries that had marched to the harbor. Desertion of the garrison could carry the death penalty for those directly reporting to Lucius von Solhart, but the lieutenant of the battle group had prioritized the lives of his men. Five rows of twenty soldiers marched, followed by dozens of auxiliaries in desertion.

The Vassish were an actual army, and the voluntaries took pride in their skills beyond mere survival. They came down the road shoulder to shoulder with shields raised. As an adaptation from field deployment, extra shields lined the sides, thrust out against shadowed alleys. Despite being half the manpower assembled against them, they had the majority of the steel. The voluntaries were like a great fist, ready to smash down on the rebels.

The horseman trotted out to the front when he saw the Vassish men come to a stop. He seemed to be about to buy time, to talk and goad and hope that the core of the Cynizia would arrive. Lucius didn’t let him. Armed with a bow taken from a slain Cynizia, Lucius waited for the man to square off to confront the lieutenant. When the horseman lifted his lantern there was a pause, an appraisal of the grandiosity of the moment.

Lucius put an arrow through his side, right under the arm holding up the pole. The iron tip ripped through the man’s ribs, into his lungs and robbed him of his voice. Lucius nocked another arrow and watched the man struggle and falter. When the arm came down, it didn’t break the shaft but twisted it inside him. Blood burst from his lips before toppling onto the neck of his horse.

One of the sailors blurted out, “We’re surrounded!” and the rabble of sailors pulled in among one another. There’s a certain nuance to positioning troops, something you have to beat out of their instincts. The impulse to brush elbows with your allies in fact means neither of you can swing your arms. Further, it meant Lucius didn’t even need to aim as he loosed more arrows from the darkness.

A few may have realized where he was attacking from, but the lieutenant of the voluntaries knew what he was doing. Like spearing a fish in the shallows, as soon as attention shifted to Lucius, the troops stepped forward. Shields locked together like a wall, and the lieutenant shouted from the back, “Charge! Break them!”

The Vassish troops sprinted forward in lockstep and hammered their shields into the sailors. Vanity had largely brought the strongest men to the front, and the charge was almost suppressed by a sheer difference in size between soldier and oarsmen; but, then the steel came stabbing in from the second row.

The sailors outnumbered the Vassish two to one, but seeing twenty men die in a handful of seconds was too quick and brutal for untrained men. Rather than rally and swarm, surrounding the soldiers and beating them down, those at the back faltered and fled.

Lucius kept loosing arrows until the press of bodies was too tight, too close to be safe. A handful of vengeful sailors charged his location, and he had to abandon the stolen weapon. He emerged into the street with steel drawn and chest high. Fighting off Aillesian pirates was a common experience for sailors after a few years, and the only ones that didn’t end up in bondage were the victors. On a rocking ship, they may have had the advantage.

When the first attacked, far sooner than his friends were able to surround Lucius, my student executed a perfect high parry. The spear had no crossguard at the tip, a liability in the types of open brawls that would appear on ships, so there was nothing to stop Lucius’ blade from plunging down into his chest.

The blustering man tried to grab hold of Lucius, but a twist of the blade sapped his strength and my student twirled out of his grasp. The second swung his spear down like it had a sword blade instead of a point, and hammered the edge into Lucius’ vambraces. Fighting so close he couldn’t so much as swing his arm, he shattered the sailor’s nose with his pommel

Blood sprayed across the two of them as Lucius put the bleeding man between him and the last assailant. He didn’t have a shield, but the body was just as good. “Move!” the third sailor roared, grasping a cudgel over his head with both hands. Lucius’ sword shot forward, under the arm of the bleeding sailor, and caught the last in the stomach. The cudgel-wielder went down like his knees had been broken. Small minded, first order self-preservation took hold of him as he tried to keep his entrails off the floor.

The last sailor, the one with the broken nose, screamed and grabbed hold of Lucius’ arm. He drove his head back, hoping to return the favor, and split his skin across the steel brow of Lucius’ helm. Prying his arm out of the sailor’s grasp, an oarsman at that, would have been impossible. The infantry sword wasn’t his only weapon though. With his free hand, he pulled his dagger free and plunged it through the sailor’s throat. The man’s strength dribbled across the cobblestone as Lucius was the last man standing of four.

One of the Vassish soldiers started a cry, probably one of the auxiliaries but history will never know for certain. “The commander! The commander is here! He fights with us!”

The mass of soldiers slid across the harbor, closing in on him as the wary sailors fell back. Some glowered at Lucius, gripping their weapons and considering their chances, but with Vassish shields behind them, they retreated to their docks. Then, in the light of a few raised torches, Lucius came face to face with Lieutenant Tyrion, the leader of the as-of-yet-unnamed battlegroup. Tyrion was the only Vassish to have a horse, and he used its height to survey beyond the lines of his men, and to stare down at Lucius. “Commander, where are your men?” the older man asked.

Had he not a mask within his helm, the entire game might have been up at that very moment, for Lucius couldn’t contain his scowl. “Lost. The battle was lost… Lieutenant, the city is lost. I am ordering a retreat to join up with Lord von Raymi to the west. All seafaring ships have already fled however.”

Tyrion lifted his head and gripped his reins. He looked out to the sky. “Our options are but two then. By foot, or by barge.”

“I choose barge. Men!” Lucius shouted, bellowing so every last one of them heard him, even if they couldn’t turn to look at his bloody visage. “Who among you knows which of these ships might survive the sea?” The question got no answer. Those nearest him gawked. “Speak, one of you. I did little travel to the harbor these past weeks. Don’t look so surprised. Do you think I’m going to castigate you for chasing skirts down here or something? We need a barge that can fit all of us.”

One soldier lowered his shield. A few eyes turned to him expectantly, but no one else spoke. “W-well,” the soldier said, his voice barely enough to be heard over the jeering sailors and occasional rock tossed against their shields.

“Speak up,” Lucius ordered, approaching the man.

“There’s the Gull’s Drunk Flight, s-Sir. Under Captain Kallum,” he said, and gestured to the end of the harbor at the ugliest ship Lucius had ever seen. It appeared to be two longboats strapped together with a barge platform between them. It was large enough for everyone to board it however. “They took it to the wastelands once, to resupply von Raymi.”

It looked like a floating death trap to Lucius, but only if a storm blew in. The water he saw then was as calm as a river. “Well, it’s better to do something than nothing. Let’s go. Men! Follow me, and keep an eye out for stragglers! I want no man left behind that we can save!”