Lucius Alden

A Hundred Days

Part I

-Lucius Bridge-

Slippery, divine ecstasy

The thrill of battle without the agony

The smell of summer in the heart of winter

A dance on the edge of pleasure’s memory

Your partner’s touch ever tender and oh so comforting

The need to hurry not a requisite

Her voice a soothing caress

All the feeling, every breath and every smell, a new trail

Oddly familiar alike her sweat

Sweet like the taste of wine in your lover’s mouth

Be gone spirits of the past, for you are different

You won’t know it, you’ll never hear its buzz, unless you let go when she does

Be gone horrors of the past, this trail leads us away

You shall own it, never allow it to fester, or vanish, in the ploys of yester

—

Legatus Lucius Alden’s

Now much beloved from all bards’ sonnet**.

Commonly known as

-Divine-

Originally titled

(A sonus* of spirits past)

The foreword to his celebrated

Verses on campaign

(Circa 190-195 NC)

*Sonus, archaic for song (sonnet) in Old Common (Court Lorian)

**Sonnet. A 14 verses long poem

The sun danced behind the dark clouds. It came and went, as if shy, or unsure. The snow that kept falling for two straight weeks had finally stopped. The road leading to Maja Burg more a deep trench now, dug out before the snow turned to solid ice. Lucius sucked the cold air in through the nose, down his lungs and then out of his mouth again. His beard, trimmed the other day and still reaching the collar of his heavy coat, dancing under his chin.

His eyes roamed the finished pontoon bridge, now getting cleared of snow and the men gathering for the morning briefing. There’s a smell when in camp, he thought eyeing the wooden Crimson Fort, O’ Dargan’s people had erected to guard the bridge and block the approach to Maja to the Crulls coming from the Montfoot.

The locals had given it the name, Lucius’s armour scheme color and that of his men already well-known, being their inspiration. They called it Lucius Bridge as well, what they had managed to build over Lud River, again giving him more credit than it was probably fair. Lucius had just come up with the idea, others had built it.

There’s a smell. Sweat, leather and burning wood.

The fire pits smoke and the taste of iron.

The sound of steel blades and spurs, the flapping of banners, but mostly the stench of animals. All mixed in, never changing and familiar. You could feel it and you could smell it in the air.

Centurion Galio, freshly saved despite the bitter morning cold, boomed for the men to hurry up. Rows upon rows of soldiers wearing segmented legionnaire armour started coming out of the fort. They formed lines of ten at the front and ten deep, creating a perfect square. It’d taken Galio months of drilling to have them keep the right distances and he still wasn’t pleased.

The square Legion shields would guard the soldiers left side, their swords attacking from the right. The final four rows of men retreated two steps and then split again, two rows heading on the left side of the main formation, another two to the right. The Century’s front expanded to thirty, the center much more powerful and deeper.

Lucius turned away, as Galio kept testing various formations, the drilling nonstop even a day before their departure. He walked energetically, boots sinking in the hardening snow, towards Mamercus and his light troops. The Slingers only had one simple formation, their usefulness laying elsewhere. Speed in redeployment being the most important thing to them.

And accuracy of course.

“Give me some good news, Decanus Sorex,” Lucius said approaching the ex-legionnaire.

“Well, if the target is standing still they’ll hit it milord,” Mamercus replied, watching the young soldiers checking on their equipment.

“We won’t fight trees, Decanus,” Lucius noted sourly.

“If the boys keep them still for a minute, I can have them fire a volley,” Mamercus defended his slingers. “No guarantees after that and some of the well-dressed lads over there might get a lead-shot between the teeth. I’ll counsel against wide grins when in the field.”

Lucius sighed. “I’ll keep them out of the thick of it. But if I need them, they better give me something Decanus.”

“Give them a battle to wet their appetite and it’ll come, milord,” Mamercus said.

“Where’s Kaeso?”

“With yer… ah, that would be with Lady Faye and her lads,” Mamercus said, after a couple of false starts and Lucius grimaced, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Gossip and the army go hand in hand.

Faye caught Alana’s sign and turned to watch him approach. Her Lorica similar to his, fat red leather strips forming a short skirt at her hips, the epaulettes made out of solid rounded iron plates, their only difference with Lucius’ armour other than size, the letter L engraved on them. The old style Lorian number fifty. It was both the Numbers warband emblem and the Legion’s banner. The armour framed by Faye’s long hair styled half-up half-down that created a fiery halo over her head. The woman’s eyes teasing.

Lucius forgot about Kaeso.

“Milord Alden,” Alana Shields greeted him to get his attention, fierce smile on Faye’s lips warming his blood. “Yer a bit overdressed for the weather.”

The Northmen warriors, about fifteen of them standing around in a semi-circle listening to Kaeso’s instructions for the campaign, burst out laughing and Lucius took it in stride with a shake of the head.

“Just keeping my options open, Alana,” He clarified to defend his warm outfit.

“A wise precaution milord,” She agreed. “The weather might change.”

“Mister Kaeso, finish up here,” Lucius said. “We have a meeting after lunch in the fort. I expect you’ll be there,” He turned to Faye. “Lady Faye, may I have a word?”

“Aww,” Alana cooed eyeing a tall warrior with fierce eyes and an impressive beard. “See now that’s how ye treat a proper Lady, Morgan,” She scolded him and someone standing at the back guffawed.

“Aye, a proper lady! What’s that got to do wit you?”

Everyone found it hilarious, but none more than Alana herself.

Faye chuckled along with the others, but allowed him to lead her towards a longhouse near the gates of the fort, Lucius had commandeered for his brief stay.

“First ye sweet talk and then drag me by the arm,” Faye gasped, when he closed the heavy wooden door behind them.

“Friendly bander with your people can turn into a duel in an instance,” Lucius found himself explaining again and Faye raised a red eyebrow pryingly.

“And you think this is safer, Lord Alden?” She queried and walked past him to add a log into the stone fireplace. “Now they’ll think we’re coupling.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Lucius teased and approached her. The young woman stood her ground and just raised her head.

“Lord Alden, ye are overdressed for that too,” Faye countered, looking into his eyes.

Lucius found himself unable to disagree again.

A soft gasp and the heat engulfing him. Slippery, divine ecstasy. The thrill of battle without the agony and the smell of summer in the heart of winter. A dance on the edge of pleasure’s memory, your partner’s touch tender, oh so comforting. The need to hurry not a requisite, her voice a soothing caress. All the feeling, every breath and every smell, a new trail. Oddly familiar is the sweat, sweet like the taste of wine, in your lover’s mouth. Be gone spirits of the past, for you are different. You won’t know it, you’ll never hear its buzz, unless you let go when she does.

“What are ye thinking?” Faye asked him, mouth leaving a moist trail on his deltoid.

“Verses,” Lucius murmured and raised himself with an elbow to look in her sweaty face.

“What’s that?” She asked with a frown. “Should I be worried?”

Lucius cracked a smile and brushed a red curl away.

“You should have stopped me earlier,” He told her. “Now it’s rather late milady.”

“I couldn’t,” Faye replied with a shiver. “The fire is out.”

“Aye, my back is turning into ice,” Lucius agreed. “For a while now.”

“Maybe you should get out of bed,” She teased.

“I’ve thought about it, then got distracted,” Lucius admitted, still smiling.

“With verses,” Faye said.

“It’s a noble people thing,” Lucius boasted playfully and pushed himself up. Faye stretched out on the bed without shame. “Your words do not match your actions Lady Faye,” He noticed.

“This? Eh, it’s for you,” She replied. “To see if you regret it.”

“Did you?”

Faye stared in his face for a long moment, before he answered him same as before.

“I couldn’t.”

Galio pressed his mouth tight, lined face almost hidden behind the cheek-guards of his new Legion helm. He raised his right arm, gloved fingers in a tight fist and held it. He turned to look at Lucius standing rigid on Stormbolt’s saddle. Lucius himself glanced at the nervous Faye and then at the anticipating standard-bearer, the bronze blacktiger’s head at the top of his staff polished so much, it resembled gold.

Lucius breathed out, eyed the pontoon bridge and the pregnant river’s waters trying to picture the coming struggles in his mind. Realizing it was pointless, when reality was a stone’s throw away, he tied the cheek-guards on his own helm calmly. His face shaven underneath, the skin cold and the metal burning where it touched it. Lucius turned and looked at the unyielding figure of Galio still waiting for his signal, the aged officer’s eyes telling him to get it over with.

With a head nod to Centurion Veturius, the man’s arm came down and the men moved forward. The crimson banners flapping in the soft morning wind, the weather cloudy, but holding. There was a touch of mist near the river’s banks and the soldiers marching in tight step formation were engulfed in it as they reached the wooden bridge. Rows upon rows of red clad legionnaires crossed Lucius Bridge into Kaltha.

In the first month of winter, the year 190, blessed be the Five, Sam O’ Dargan crossed Lud River with a force of one thousand Northmen and made camp on the opposite bank amidst the Whitebark trees.

Lucius Alden, followed the heir to the Jarldom of Fetya later that same day, bringing with him a newly formed Century, twenty mixed cavalry, the same number of slingers, ten wagons with supplies and an unknown number of scouts, mainly the Numbers warband, led by the then known as ‘Scarlet’ Faye Numbers. Over two hundred warriors from the nearby Crimson Fort were to reinforce him that first week in a separate command.

Lucius’ men marched much like the Lorian Legion they had styled themselves in, down to the arms and armour. A mix of Lorians, mercenaries and Northmen that had sworn fealty to the soon to be exiled heir to Regia. Amongst them the renowned named warrior Logan ‘Gray’ Barret and even a giant from the lands of Yalca, if rumors were to be believed and there were many.

The campaign received almost no interest at the beginning and by the time it ended everything had changed so much for the Realm in general, it would have gone unnoticed. Had Lucius stopped, or died soon after, perhaps it would have, but he didn’t.

Either way the fact it shaped the borders in the North of the continent to what we know today, would have been in this scholar’s humble opinion enough to place it prominently where it belongs. One of the most important campaigns of the war, still influencing Jelin’s political climate today, perhaps to an unhealthy degree.

Culturally, politically and strategically Lucius’ a ‘Hundred Days’ campaign has reached a mythical status in our days, much as everything else the charismatic general did, but it was far from perfect.

Lord Sirio Veturius

The Fall of Heroes

Chapter II

(Legatus Lucius the third,

Northern campaigns,

A Hundred Days

Volume I, 1st week,

First Month of Winter

Group Red (Lucius)

-The Tiger’s foray and the Battle of Ludriver Castle-)

Winter of 190 NC