‘Bloody Tiger’
Lord Lucius Aldenus the third,
Praetor Maximus,
Legatus ‘Omnis Legionis’
King Lucius III
Alden Sands Road
Part II
-Luciopolis-
Almost seven weeks later
18th of Octavus 195 NC
-Goldwall Peaks south side-
Bonosus Underpass B
Alden Sands Road
The sound of iron hooves reverberated inside the tight confines of the stone tunnel, all sounds did, under the hot desert wind’s company -now ever present, a persistent howling that made the lit torches stir eerily and created dancing shadows on the tunnel’s walls. It could unnerve men and animals in the night, Lucius thought, the thought coming whilst he examined the cracks in the lathered with concrete ceiling.
“You added rebar to this?” He asked Nipius Bonosus and the architect nodded.
“Across and down the walls for support,” Bonosus explained. “Every ten meters we built arches of steel encased in concrete. If we use a line of columns in the center, we could have the second adjoined tunnel opened within a year. Four hundred meters.”
“Tunnel A is longer though,” Lucius pointed out, running his palm over the wall as Nightsilver moved forward. “Not as much quartz in the stone. I’ve seen the sample cuts. Brittle stuff. That’s a lot of mountain over our heads.”
“Aye my lord,” Bonosus agreed, “but you’ve seen the opening between the tunnels. We’ve dug it another twenty meters out last week. A returning caravan could wait there for those coming to pass them by and enjoy the clean air.”
“The town will run these mountain valley stalls. A full guard placed to regulate those with hot temper, or any merchant sneaky enough to attempt to jump to the front of the line,” Lucius added. “We don’t want people fighting, or trapped in the narrows.”
“Strict instructions are given at the Marble Quarry,” Bonosus replied.
“We need guards there as well,” Lucius added. “Else the merchants will start bribing to get their wares through first.”
“Guards might be susceptible to bribery as well, your grace,” Ramirus cautioned and Lucius furrowed his brows. “People love the king, but they hold affinity to coin also,” the LID Director elucidated.
“You heard that Nipius?” Lucius asked the architect riding through the tunnel with them.
“The Director attempted a jest I believe, my liege,” Bonosus replied and Ramirus pursed his mouth in response.
“Vibius rarely cracks a smile Nipius,” Lucius corrected him. “Haven’t heard a joke from him yet. Is he even capable, I wonder?”
“Your grace, is probably right,” Bonosus replied with a shrug. “That’s the general consensus and why I said attempted earlier. A thoroughly unfunny man.”
Ramirus grimaced at the light jibe, but said nothing.
Lucius stood back on the saddle, his throat hoarse from the fumes inside the tunnel and then smiled tiredly. “I love a good talk whilst sight-seeing,” the King decided with a sigh and added. “But I’ve seen enough of these tunnels Bonosus. I now find myself longing for the open skies and cleaner air.”
“The carriage awaits us at the entrance, my lord,” Ramirus informed him and run his palm over his neatly trimmed goatee. “Falx must be getting nervous by now, unless he passed out from this ungodly heat. That was all his water he sent us earlier.”
Ramirus is trying to beat the allegations, Lucius thought.
“Well, there it is then, our answer,” Lucius said, getting his horse going with a click of his tongue. “I was mistaken. Our good Director is a man of wit.”
The king’s answer got a good chuckle out of Bonosus, and the sound mingled with that of their horses trotting towards the exit.
Lucius reached the large royal carriage escorted by Sir Valgus and dismounted. He immediately received a towel to wipe the sweat from his tanned face from the younger Cyrus Falx, along a silver cup of lukewarm wine.
“It’s early for that,” Lucius told the palace official, but accepted the cup before he climbed inside the carriage.
“We have prepared venison sire,” Falx explained standing at the opened door with the towel in hand.
“The army’s menu improved?” Lucius jested, in relatively good mood now that they were outside and despite the desert’s heat being more noticeable.
“The Cohort has oatmeal soup again,” Falx informed him. “It can move the bowels sire, but may I advise your grace to have it after the meal I’ve prepared?”
A sober Severus had approached them in the meantime carrying a bundle of scrolls.
“Thank you Cyrus, we’ll think about it,” Lucius replied, watching the exchange between Severus and Ramirus and added. “Ramirus come inside, and show me what you have there.”
Lucius loosened the buttons on his collar and used index and mid-finger to wipe some of the trickling sweat off the back of his nape. The king took a sip from the goblet next and then placed it on the side desk to his right. He paused for a moment to watch as Severus and Ramirus exchanged notes, the Director’s pack of scrolls growing quickly. Eventually Ramirus sat down on the couch across from the King and Severus climbed out of the carriage to speak with Sir Valgus and Cyrus Falx the younger, under the bright early noon sun.
“It’s a nice spot near the aqueduct’s arches,” Lucius commented. He was talking about the first of the forum’s buildings laid down. It was to be used as a townhall or the governor’s palace. “Near the mountain’s sides and not too far from the underpasses.”
“That’s a lot of marble columns,” Ramirus noted.
“We have a lot of marble at the near. More sent from the mine’s magister Gregorian,” Lucius argued and Ramirus yielded with a nod. “The agora will be built across the street, the horseshoe’s open area facing the covered walkaway leading to the forum first and then the governor’s hall. Using columns instead of walls will afford the buildings excellent ventilation and make them very pleasing to the eye for all those exiting the dark tunnels. This, they’ll say, is truly the heart of Regia.”
“The King’s vision and aesthetic surpass my concerns sire,” Ramirus admitted and glanced at the papers he had in front of him.
“Is it urgent?” Lucius asked calmly, as he couldn’t help feel a bit worried for his family back in the capital. Perhaps a little guilty for prolonging his stay to watch over the construction done by Bonosus’ crews and the men of Lepidus’ Cohort. “I kind of hoped Mamercus will be back by now.”
“Sorex marched west following the spine of the mountains,” Ramirus replied and deposited the majority of the scrolls next to him on the fashioned from Blacktiger’s leather couch. “He’s trying to resolve his unit’s problems through exploring and exhaustion.”
Mamercus had about thirty female soldiers in his unit (serving as simple slingers initially, but as with all other veterans after swords and spears became available, well-versed in more than one weapon). These mostly Nord women had joined as teenagers years back. Mamercus’ girl-troops had now grown up and after a year living in Cartagen, they’ve started taking care of themselves much better. The red, or blond-haired statuesque female warriors, clad in tight pants, leather armour and exotic weapons had made quite the impression to the locals each time they ventured out of the barracks to indulge themselves in the capital’s taverns. Their songs and heavy drinking fueling many an incidents where the army had to intervene in order to break up quarrels between hot-blooded Lorians interested in coming in touch with the loud females, or other times handsome locals receiving the same treatment from the not that innocent by now Nord women.
“Beth is like a Valkyrie,” Ramirus added and Lucius’ eyes stared beyond the opened carriage-door at the slowly forming stone arches of the aqueduct. “Very fierce was my meaning.”
“The first time Faye painted her eyes with coal, or tried a Lorian dress, my heart skipped a beat,” Lucius told the Director. “The dress didn’t survive the day.”
“Justifiably your grace,” Ramirus agreed. “Mamercus should return any day now, or risk being left without supplies in the desert.”
“He’s too cautious for that,” Lucius said and signed for Ramirus to give him the paper. “This is a brief written in shorthand,” he immediately noticed.
“Sirio Veturius’ was caught inside the Library sire,” Ramirus started and Lucius had to stop him a little surprised.
“Sirio works there. He asked for the post through our Consul.”
“I misspoke your grace,” Ramirus corrected himself. “Sirio is working on a history of our times apparently.”
“I know,” Lucius replied. “He asked to learn about my childhood and tourney years. I had to turn him down. Writing a biography of a living person is untimely and you don’t have an ending, which is as important –if not more- as the beginning… for some.”
“What does the King believe?” Ramirus asked curious.
“Life, is all that’s between the start and the finish. No part of it less important than the other,” Lucius replied steadily. “What was Sirio looking for in the Library?”
“They found him digging through the relics and the myths of the Bronze Era.”
“He’s writing a novel now?” Lucius queried, his mind on thoughts he had more than a month back about the Lorians distant past.
“No sire. What you have there is Sirio’s report/description with plenty of embellishment probably, about Sir Gust De Weer’s assassination attempt.”
“We have this from Prefect Valens,” Lucius replied, skimming through the tiny and very-packed script with a frown. “What’s Sirio’s source?”
“Optio Damian Holt sent a letter to Lord Bernard Holt about the incident,” Ramirus expounded. “Sirio got a copy from an agent working inside the old Duke’s palace.”
“Whose agent?”
“Governor Nattas would be my guess.”
Lucius nodded still reading the brief from the scribe that had been tasked to copy Sirio’s work in his turn. “Is Sirio alright?” He asked without looking at the Director.
“Aye, your grace. The lad is your admirer,” Ramirus replied. “It’s rather evident in his writings. He sneakily casts dirt to our rivals.”
“Perhaps writing what you want to read is a tactic? He’s an intelligent man,” Lucius noted.
“Not that intelligent, sire. He didn’t have permission to open the museum’s vaults.”
“He wasn’t there to steal old relics and brittle papyrus Vibius!” Lucius snapped and the Director grimaced. “Why was Sirio keen to read Laran’s Odyssey? It wasn’t Tacitus original work, but just an amalgamation of oral myths that existed and predated Lord Cyprian’s reign by thousands of years. More fiction than truths in them.”
“The Queen’s eunuch mentioned the Aken to Damian, your grace,” Ramirus replied.
“The Eunuch… assuming he wasn’t lying, why would he talk to the Optio and not Valens?”
“A Holt is regarded higher than a Valens,” Ramirus chanced. “Damian is a less-threatening personality for a Eunuch?” He offered another guess.
“Uhm.” Lucius returned the page to him. “Gust was seriously injured, Damian believes.”
“Aye. By this fake officer, Voges.”
“A Golem. A construct of the Aken,” Lucius continued trying to wrap his mind around the information. His mind backtracking to things he’d forgotten. Small details, seemingly not very important, or just dead ends.
“Sirio does this a lot,” Ramirus elucidated and glanced at the rest of his scrolls. “Here, he offers another piece of unreported info about why the Khan’s men failed to respond during the first day or early in the second, to the Golden Spears flanking move.”
“They used ‘Uher’s Light’ to quickly overwhelm the charioteers, who the Khanate held in a very high-esteem.”
“There were more Aken servants inside the Crimson Forest,” Ramirus added. “According to Sirio’s sources. These are probably things that reached Asturia from across the Canlita, either from Pascor, or Valeria’s Academy and its agents.”
“Flavia is sending a hymn to Alistair’s name every week still?” Lucius asked.
“She does sire.”
“Can you verify whether Sirio is making things up or not? This thing with Gust is bothering me,” Lucius admitted. “We know where the Zilan used to live and what they represented to our ancestors. The Aken… no one has ever seen…” Lucius breathed out. “Would the Khan reach out to them as well? Burzin seems to have had a falling out with the Zilan despite his son’s marriage contract.”
“We don’t know enough about the Zilan surviving factions, sire. We know even less about the Aken.”
“We know their god.”
“A cult, many other cults exist of the old gods.”
“Two of the painted god’s believers were implicated in the murder of my little sister,” Lucius reminded the Director. “My father had them burned. I wish I had the chance to discuss the matter with him. All matters,” he paused with a bitter grimace. “Doris would know more, but he run to Eplas like a coward.”
“Nattas was present at the time and so was the Queen mother,” Ramirus pointed out.
“What’s going on in Novesium?” Lucius probed tiredly, changing the subject.
“The Governor insists he can’t locate any more bodies,” Ramirus replied. “Epolonius died peacefully. Probably from the same malady.”
“I shouldn’t have sent the old man there. The army should have handled this.
“The Dottore insisted sire.”
“Would the fire have destroyed all those missing?” Lucius queried with a sigh.
“It’s a possibility. The matter was mishandled, but the situation was perhaps beyond anyone’s fault,” Ramirus added.
The sun started slowly appear to the east. A giant red disk hidden behind the gigantic Tricorn Heights hundreds of kilometers away, with the dark mauve sky still entertaining the two moons. Lucius breathed out whilst standing at the door to his quarters inside the 3rd Cohort’s Castrum. The chill of the desert’s night had helped him sleep better this time, but the King did also feel that slight melancholy that always plagued him return, the moment the officers had departed.
There was a sense of urgency, something perhaps already present from his younger years, to get as much as it was possible done, because no one else could. Ensure Regia would come out of these troubling times at the top, never again in danger of bowing down to other kingdoms. All other kings would have to consider Regia’s wants henceforth, value her input and respect its citizens. No more fear of a future Issir intervention or Lesia’s white legions of the east.
Military might, economic virility and a sense of pride.
Over land and in the seas.
It doesn’t matter who I like, or what I might prefer to a degree, Lucius thought. Because at the same time we can’t also sink into lawlessness nor can we be too-lenient.
He’d read the reports of the Khanate’s atrocities and felt worried about the Grand Archivist’s vaunted new weapon. For it is weapon, Lucius thought, encased in a phony godly cloak, the Issirs will soon wield against us. Unless we find a way to defeat it, or reach an agreement.
Lucius had risked with Sula at Pascor to ensure vital breathing room between them and the Issirs. Avoid a reckoning through blackmail and diplomacy in the traditional Lorian manner. The civilized man does not fight, if he can avoid it, the king mused. But he must fight if the opportunity is there to secure the domain’s future.
Control the Canlita Sea and the northern borders with Macrinus at Kas.
The thorny western borders question remained though. King Alistair had approached Lord Ruud to solve it, but then Elsanne had returned from Eplas with her exotic allies, twice as ambitious as before and consumed by greed. Brought the cutthroats of the southern seas to Scaldingport and an alien ruler with a wyvern as a pet.
Madness.
The Imperial Fleet spotted operating beyond Regia’s south coast, pirates mooring not a day away from Sabretooth Castle. Foreign mercenaries following her around. With Ruud gone and Gust as good as dead, if the rumors were correct, Elsanne could become a huge problem right at Regia’s most vulnerable spot.
Could Rik steer her away from conflict? Would the younger De Weer and new Duke, stand up to the Queen? What about Jeremy’s children?
Despite what had occurred in Cartagen, Lucius wasn’t as certain as Rik had been back when they had last talked over a campfire, the kids were safer in Scaldingport.
Lord Anker was closer to the Issir Capital, but taking it would be costly and in the meantime, his ‘allies’ at Riverdor stood idle and watched the rebel Queen’s actions passively. Elsanne should have reached out to Lord Anker for a compromise, else they’ll fight again over the capital, even if the Khanate returns to Eplas.
Which Lucius didn’t believe they would with the Shallow Sea open to their ships and whilst still in control mainly of Rida’s massive natural harbor, but also Altarin-port. While they are fighting for the throne and who gets to control the capital, the Khanate will lick its wounds and return, unless something catastrophic happens.
Instead of them having a foot on Eplas, the opposite was now a reality and Elsanne had all but invited Wetull to her court. Antonius agreed with him on this point and in his last letter, the young Legatus wasn’t optimistic about Kaltha’s chances to expel the Khanate permanently.
‘How do you gain favorable terms against your opponent if you’re fighting over your own cities and lands? You may win, but you’re left to repair the ruins, and might substitute one foreign ruler with another in the attempt,’ Antonius had written the king.
Especially if Wim Luikens gets involved on the former, Lucius added. And if the Wetull king is asked to help even more on the latter.
Preposterous.
“What are you doing woman?” Lucius wondered aloud and Sir Valgus stirred outside the Principia’s –the camp headquarters’- open door. A legionnaire sentry sounded a horn from one of the main gates’ Vigilarium –the watchtowers- to announce the morning shift’s start and the night patrol’s torches illuminated the Castrum’s gates just beyond via Praetoria –the camp’s main road.
Lucius could navigate the Castrum with his eyes closed since he was seven.
“My liege, are you wake?” The knight queried in a low voice and Lucius stepped out of the doors and on the porch’s wooden floorboards.
“For a while,” he replied calmly and returned the knight’s respectful nod. “Mamercus?”
“The camp sergeant would have notified us sire,” Sir Valgus reported. “He hasn’t returned yet.”
Not the time to be dawdling Mamercus, Lucius thought a little worried with the Centurion cutting it close considering the supplies and water he’d taken with him.
“Wake Sabinus, get some rest Valgus,” Lucius ordered. “Ramirus’ light is up. I’ll head to the Director’s quarters.”
“My liege,” the tired Sir Valgus protested, but Lucius cut him off raising his left hand in a semi-salute gesture.
“You are dismissed good knight,” Lucius told him in a kind manner. “The King shall stroll across the yard to the officers’ quarters and he’ll be safe in his legion’s embrace.”
Ramirus had the pale face of a man who hadn’t slept for over two hours, the dark circles visible despite the Director’s tanned from the desert sun skin.
“Light reading?” Lucius asked cheerfully, pausing to listen to the familiar sounds of the camp waking up.
“Robart Holt predictions are bleak. The army needs more coin, my lord. Paying the pensions was perhaps a mistake,” Ramirus said tiredly. “Your town might also be too-expensive even with using material at half the cost.”
“The town shall pay for itself,” Lucius replied and walked to a chair to sit down. “And we had to recompense the men that fought the war for us.”
“What about Novesium? Three quarters of the city need rebuilding.”
“Nattas assured me he can handle it,” Lucius replied. “Did he ask Holt for funds?”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“He didn’t, which is strange. I was certain Nattas would press for monetary assistance, but suddenly the Governor stopped. Where does the coin come from?” Ramirus queried. “A rich uncle died?”
“I don’t believe any of Nattas’ relatives are rich,” Lucius said and stilled his eyes on a map of Regia and most of south Jelin.
“I managed to locate a Calvin Nattas. Goes by ‘Vinnie’ in certain circles. Lesia citizen, recently moved to Novesium. It makes one wonder.”
“A man of coin?”
“Alas, nothing of the sort. Filed papers to secure a merchant license, but word is he owes a lot of money back in Parmaport. He might have had a hand in moving black market wares to repay a gambling debt or two. Quite a character.”
“Nattas accepted him?” Lucius asked curious.
“He had him arrested and tossed in prison to work out the debt, but it might take a while considering what inmates get paid to work,” Ramirus replied.
“Calvin might die in prison,” Lucius noted. “That’s harsh justice delivered by Storm right there, eh?”
“Again, nothing is quite as it first appears, your grace. I don’t believe the man serving Calvin’s time is actually him,” Ramirus replied. “But there’s no way to really prove it.”
“What makes you say that?” Lucius probed.
“This Calvin is a mute.”
“Aha.”
“Yeah.”
“Still, there might be an explanation for his sudden affliction,” Lucius started and then breathed out. “I don’t want to talk about Nattas. I know you don’t like him Vibius, but with all his faults, Nattas is a friend of my family.”
“My lord, with all the respect, the Governor’s whole life story is riddled with scandals and dubious transactions. Some go as far as to implicate him in outright murders. He has several ships controlled by a company operating out of Turtle Isles. Not Turtle Port, but the town of Head on the easternmost side. The place is controlled by pirates, but the Governor feels safe enough to have his offices there?”
“Did you question him about it?”
“He claims it was cheaper at the time and that the company was sold to one of his associates. They are about to move it to Turtle Port. Conveniently the relocation started after we made our inquiries.”
“Not the first merchant to duck the tax bill.”
“The company has minuscule profits sire, there was seemingly nothing to tax,” Ramirus insisted.
“Speak your mind Ramirus,” Lucius said with a sigh.
“Nattas might be the biggest rapscallion in your court, my lord,” Ramirus replied and Lucius raised his brows surprised.
“Goodness me, rapscallion?”
“The streets say he’s a nasty scumbag and a vile blackguard,” Ramirus retorted. “I was trying to be polite.”
“That’s my father’s friend Ramirus, my mother’s protégé,” Lucius said now in a warning tone. “That’s enough. I won’t judge the man based on street rumors and nothing I’ve heard points to him being guilty of a serious crime.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Ramirus yielded.
“What did Curtius Vendor want?” Lucius asked changing the subject after a moment of silent contemplation.
The Baron of Two Rivers Castle, and Regia’s Chief Justicar had the safest dungeons in Regia, but holding two Dukes there was making him nervous.
“Without getting in too much detail, he asks the King to make his decision,” Ramirus replied and got up to search a box filled with scrolls near the table.
“He has a suggestion?” Lucius asked.
“Treason and regicide, don’t offer much freedom for lenience,” Ramirus knew Lucius wasn’t ready to act on the matter. He wanted the kingdom to somewhat recover from the shock of the civil war first and losing a son so soon after finding out what had happened, hadn’t helped at all.
“Leniency is out of my hand, even if I was to offer it,” Lucius replied. “Vendor is right, but the Baron doesn’t rule Regia. I shall not be seen as vengeful, if I can avoid it.”
“You’re justified, my Lord,” Ramirus explained.
“You misunderstood me,” Lucius elucidated sternly. “I have no intention to forgive Brakis, or Ursus for that matter. They showed no mercy themselves, nor did they attempt to ask for it before all came to light. Still, they shall remain imprisoned, until the situation dictates they’ll receive their just punishment. Now is not the time to remind the people of what made us fight with each other. Regia must look outside its borders for enemies.”
“You have to ask Merenda to retreat from Kaltha’s Lakes,” Ramirus once again offered. “We might lose a legion either to the Issirs or the Khanate. Especially if Duke Charles decides to move up the river.”
“Lucius is humane, but Regia can only offer salvation to her citizens, or act to preserve the law of the land,” Lucius replied and signed for Ramirus to follow him near the large map placed on the wall of his office. “Merenda ensures Charles stays put and doesn’t help either party. Elsanne must be forced to talk with Anker and give up the throne, or agree to a compromise. If she doesn’t then she’ll have to fight the High Regent for the capital. Perhaps with the Khanate watching. It is not what a good ruler would do. Young Antoon is the rightful king. He might not be of age and not what she wanted, but there’s no other way around it.”
“Merenda was not acting rogue,” Ramirus noted a little surprised.
“Antonius was proactive, but he understands both strategy and politics,” Lucius replied sternly. “When to ask for permission and when to act according to the kingdom’s best interests, whilst allowing the King to remain unblemished. He acted in the land’s best interests by the way and helped Anker and Elsanne survive this year.”
“Charles might still move,” Ramirus pointed out.
“Badum,” Lucius said simply. “…is the blessing and the thorn in Charles’ sides. It’s a blessing for he now controls the 3rd Foot, but a thorn because with Robert Van Durren helping Elsanne, he can’t approach the Queen. She’ll ask him for the city to appease Robert. It is obvious Charles didn’t want to help Lord Anker. They all come from Ikete after all. The Van Oord, the De Weer and the Van Durren. Anker is Sessi through and through. Common people might have forgotten after two centuries, or not care, but the big families don’t forget and they most certainly care about these things. I’m an Alden, Damian is a Holt and a Sula, will always be a Sula.”
“I think Elsanne sees through our strategy. Is why she refuses to allow us access to the kids,” Ramirus noted with a grimace.
“We shall find out whether what you say is true or not.”
“She won’t yield, my lord. Valens reports she took control of the Old Crow’s court,” Ramirus insisted.
“I don’t want her to yield. I want her to see reason. There is a common enemy and her bid for the throne endangers what could have been a common effort. I could reach an agreement with Lord Anker next month. He gets it. If she can’t understand this, then Regia must do what’s best for Regia.”
“My Lord, you know her. She won’t do it.”
“We’ll see. Let her lead a campaign for a while without Ruud’s input. I know the girl, but not the woman who returned from Eplas,” Lucius elucidated. “Ralph could see no fault in her, but even back then, Elsanne was a difficult princess to be around. Gust knew it better than anyone else, but she won him over.”
“Not easy to do,” Ramirus noted. “Even dangerous. Again, there’s some skill in persuasion there sire.”
“Eh, it was done before she ever left Issir’s Eagle. We all sort of knew or suspected, teased Gust about it,” Lucius replied sternly. “People, love the memory of the young princess, but she’s clearly not her anymore. She married the De Weers, tied Gust to the throne and placed Rik on the throne. The man had lost an eye trying to win her hand. Is this political savvy as you claim? Perhaps. The fact Lord Ruud was warm on her must give everyone pause and I watch her actions carefully. The Old Crow didn’t suffer fools and knew to back a winning horse, but his morals were rather putrid and base. Whatever he saw, wasn’t good. Say, I’m mistaken. Why her? It’s a gamble. Blood is blood, the people will eventually turn to the rightful king. The first big mistake she makes, might be her last.”
“Maye it was just the Pirates after all? Scaldingport found an open sea route to Eplas and Wetull for its ships. Mayhap it was what convinced Duke Ruud.”
“Too big a risk to go against the High Regent. Ruud never committed easily. We might never know, especially after he saw what came with her. A Eunuch has her ear? Nah, that’s just the gravy for sure. A small port can’t be the real reason.”
“Wetull must have a couple of ports at least.”
“I trust nothing coming out of Goras. Wetull’s Monarch is another big question mark. What does a man who controls a flying beast do, after he secures his house?” Lucius asked the troubled intelligence officer.
“Well, they asked for trade rights repeatedly,” Ramirus noted. “And for us to lower our tariffs.”
“A demand. Lesia’s failure emboldened them,” Lucius replied. “We can’t have them operate in our lands freely, when our people can’t do the same. Our ancestors suffered and knew the Imperials can’t be trusted. They only respect strength.”
“We don’t have the fleet to enforce an embargo so far away from our shores. Dealing with the pirates is trouble enough. The Bank—”
“I know what the Bank wants,” Lucius cut him off. “They have to pay a lot more coin for me to even consider it and I’ll need complete control of the planning.”
“We are helping them.”
“We are helping Lesia. These are our brethren Lorians. The matter concerns Regia also, but we shan’t be led by the nose in doing Mclean’s dirty work,” Lucius elucidated coolly. “He’s not even a Lorian. I don’t trust this family.”
Ramirus nodded and added carefully.
“There might be a way to learn more,” he offered and Lucius pursed his mouth, thinking of the gypsy girl Leirda. A fish-folk from the Wolffish Isles. Obviously much more than that. Something… different. “Uhm.”
“Tacitus writes the Aken were fighting with the Zilan while our ancestors tried to reach the coast,” Ramirus said, erroneously thinking the King was susceptible to the idea. “Our enemy’s enemy and all.”
“Your concept applies when the entity in question is equally bad as your opponent,” Lucius admonished the Director of LID. “Perhaps slightly worse. From what Sirio writes and Tacitus alludes, the Zilan considered them evil monsters. Irredeemable. This is a race of peoples that trained and played with wyverns in their backyard Ramirus. A race of sorcerers’ and cannibals’ pointed to the Aken as their boogieman. Wetull is full of all kinds of monsters, the tales say. Yet as far as the Aken were concerned, the Empire drew the line and avoided any liaison with them. They would deal with humans, but not them. This must give you pause, Vibius.”
“Apologies, but this doesn’t make dealing with the resurging empire any easier. Sorcerers might still be around. We know their skill in weaponry and even the quality of their wares. This is a race against time, towards an uncertain future and our opponent might be even capable of having a glimpse of what comes next, if we’re to believe everything Tacitus writes about,” Ramirus apparently had given some thought on the matter.
“Perhaps we can also… have a glimpse of the future,” Lucius replied thoughtfully. “Where’s that girl, Leirda?”
“In Vendor’s court at Two Rivers.”
“What could she possibly be doing there?” Lucius queried not expecting it.
“Wanted to speak with the imprisoned Brakis,” Ramirus grimaced. “I had people shadowing her.”
“What happened?” Lucius asked, catching the Director’s change in tone.
“They had this crazy idea to buy a ticket for Cediorum. Realized they were going the wrong way on the ship,” Ramirus said sounding embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them. By the time they returned to Cartagen with a trading vessel, the girl was gone. Next thing we know, she’s with Vendor.”
Lucius sighed, cast another glance at the map and then turned around to head outside in order to observe the legionaries gathering for the morning call in the Castrum’s square.
“How do you defeat a flying beast, when it can reach our shores and we can’t do the same, sire?” Ramirus wondered aloud to his back and Lucius paused at the exit, pursed his mouth and returned to the map. He traced with a finger an invisible line over the endless blue of the Scalding Sea, as if calculating the distance to Wetull’s shores.
Or the direction.
“You wait for it to appear,” the King had replied, remembering the strange vision he had –back then- of the giant shadow tauntingly flying low over the army at the end of the Hundred Days campaign. “And then you shoot it out of the sky.”
-
19th of Octavus 195 NC
(Issir 3rd of summer)
3rd Cohort Castrum (Castra)
(LG CRU III-CH III)
4th Prefect Placus Lepidus, the three gold Phalera disks gleaming under the rising sun, took a step forward upon seeing Lucius exiting Ramirus’ quarters and stepping foot in the castra forum. The latter meaning the Legion’s Castrum’s main square where all centuries of the 3rd Cohort had gathered in full battle armour for the Cohort’s morning call. Delayed for an hour, as they had waited patiently standing in attention alike sober statues for the King to appear, after Lucius had expressed his wish to be present that morning.
“Centurion Gratus!” Lepidus roared, tensed face and square jaw squeezed under the tightly tied faceguards of his officer’s helm.
“Banners… present!” Centurion Dilus Gratus barked in an almost angry voice at the sight of Lucius. The King was escorted by Sir Sabinus and Director Ramirus to a raised stand erected at the center of the forum -in front of the legionnaires. The royal knight carrying the sculpted tiger’s helm Lucius had worn on campaign. “Gladii… salutation!”
The mass of armoured legionnaires unsheathed their legion swords and in unison banged the flat of their blades on the rectangular scutum with the snarling blacktiger’s head carved on the metal boss. The harsh sound produced by the shields exploded outwards from the packed with maniples square. It made Lucius tense up, before returning Lepidus legion salute, touching a fist on his chest.
“Prefect!” Gratus addressed Lepidus returning the honors of presenting the King to his superior officer.
“Legatus omnis Legionis!” Lepidus boomed in response matter-of-factly and stepped away from the stand as Lucius briskly climbed the five steps engulfed in the thunderous ovation of the soldiers and officers present. Several civilians (from the worker crews, the engineers and a few visiting merchants that had started arriving the previous week) watched from the four corners of the forum as soldiers cheered the moved at the overwhelming adulation cast on his person, King of Regia.
“LUCIUS!” The men of the 3rd bellowed in unison. More a furious beast’s snarl that reverberated in this serene summer’s morning.
“LUCIUS!”
“LUCIUS!”
“Soldiers of the Purple,” Lucius started in a stentorian voice –touching on an esoteric detail, noticing some of the older recruits still wearing their colored armbands- that eventually forced the buzz of the packed with legionnaires square to die down. “Of the lucky 3rd Cohort,” the king continued. “I salute you!”
“LUCIUS!” The men roared his name and Lucius acknowledged them with a respectful nod of his head, his Alden-blue eyes stopping seemingly on each soldier’s elated face. As if he could recognize each individual, although he didn’t given the number of new recruits.
Lucius genuinely felt that he knew them all.
“Have you seen the new forum?” Lucius asked and smiled at the soldiers’ enthusiastic response. “I walked the main street today. It passes just outside Porta Praetoria,” he continued evocatively. “White marble on its tiles, the finest white marble,” Lucius paused to let that sink in and added. “For the carved Lorian columns and even the modest benches. The shaded Stoa, the buoyant Forum and the noisy Agora. The elegant temples and the grandiose Governor’s palace.”
“LUCIUS!”
“They say, it is too expensive. They caution that there is no water at the near,” Lucius continued austerely. “And that men don’t live in the desert!” He roared and the soldiers roared in response. “Well, we lived in the cold and we shall live in the desert! We shall bring water! We shall tame the desert and make a garden out of it!” Lucius continued passionately. “We shall build this town!” He bellowed and even some of the civilian engineers responded with enthusiasm to the legionnaires’ cheers.
“AYE!”
“We shall make trees grow, dates and grain fill our coffers and make a Lorian road from Islandport to Demames and the west gates of Cartagen!”
“LUCIUS!”
“And people shall visit this town Lucius’ men raised in the bloody desert and stand bewildered at its breathtaking glory. At its godly elegance, at its neatness and pure class! Of white marble, because it’s at the near, just beyond these here mountains. Because we can! We shall do it. A place of great grace in its poetic simplicity. We shall master this task out of pure determination! And unparalleled skill,” Lucius swallowed and stared at the soldiers’ sweaty faces in an ardent, but also very gratified manner. His loving gaze showing the King’s appreciation for their herculean efforts to help Bonosus, without forgetting their common struggles in the past.
“Lucius’ town!” An unnamed spectator yelled with enthusiasm out the mass of people watching the famed Regia’s King speech and gave the shaking Lucius his cue to continue.
“We shall build this town, tame this desert,” Lucius started again and the whole square hanged from his words, the bonds tying the King with the men everlasting. “For it is what we do! We build the land and don’t shy away from heat or cold, hardships or great distances, like our honored ancestors! Centuries upon centuries and into the myths of the long past. We are the Lorians,” Lucius said simply and saluted extending his arm outwards the cheering men of the 3rd Cohort.
Greatly affected by the display of affection Lucius climbed down the stairs and was immediately intercepted by Decanus Balbus of 1st Century’s, 2nd Maniple.
“Praetor,” Balbus reported raspingly. His unit had been tasked with guarding the Castrum while the King spoke to the troops. “Centurion Sorex has arrived.”
Praise the gods, Lucius thought.
-
Twenty minutes later
The still unfinished but working market behind the 3rd Cohort’s Castrum right side gates (facing to the north)
“Good Praetor,” the covered in desert, powder like and fine sand Mamercus, saluted the approaching Lucius. The Centurion’s tanned face, showing many freshly added wrinkles. You have a few of those too my friend, the King thought and returned the Centurion’s salute.
“Mamercus, you had me worried for a moment there,” he lightly scolded the former ranger, with a glance at his tired troops. The slingers, once a completely unarmored unit, were now clad in different pieces of armour and weapons looted or bought, after many years of service and numerous campaigns. The once young northern men and women, now well into their primes and battle hardened.
“Twas nothing sire.”
“How did the bonding go?” Lucius asked, after clearing his throat, some of the females standing between the unruly mass of heavy slingers rather impressive in stature.
“It was mostly marching under the sun,” Mamercus explained, not wanting to offer more details under the other officers’ standing behind Lucius critical scrutiny.
“I’ll take your word for it Centurion,” Lucius replied. “I was informed you have something to share?”
“Aye milord. I believe we found Regulus,” Mamercus replied. He tried to wipe his sweaty face with a tanned hand, but got it worse as it turned into grime and spread about. “Three days march to the west.”
“Give the Centurion some water,” Lucius ordered Balbus, who had followed the King’s entourage.
“I’ll take some wine Praetor,” Mamercus jested… no he was being serious, Lucius realized.
“We have a market. The Cohort’s stores are depleted. I’ll buy you a bottle Mamercus, not to wait for a week for the resupply wagons.”
“Gratitude,” Mamercus replied and signed for the Nord Decanus Bill Wallace to come forth. “We found this gladius, half-buried in the sands. An officer’s sword.”
Lucius accepted the sword the Decanus offered him hilt first and examined it under the strong desert sun. The double edged blade rusty and brown-gold in color. The hilt and guard simple and the pommel fashioned in a bronze knob, with dips at the carved white handle for the fingers.
“Balbus, you have the badge of the Immunes unit. Weapon repairs, yes?” Lucius said and gave the blade to the Decanus for him to examine it closely. “What was Regulus doing? Why head that far out to the west? He should have marched straight south for Demames and the coast. The shorter path.”
“Lost his way? Men turn delirious without water and they should have run out of water by then Praetor.”
“This is an ivory handle,” Balbus said. “Nicely carved. Not an Anorum product Praetor. We don’t import it. This is a custom job.”
“It’s an officer’s weapon,” Lucius reminded him with another glance at the rusty blade. “Why is it so ruined? Not even two years in the desert can do that Balbus?”
“I suppose. Haven’t really put a blade to the test Praetor,” the Decanus replied.
“What else did you find?” Lucius asked Mamercus.
“Ruined garbs, some boots. Everything was worn out by the sun sir,” Mamercus reported. “Ah, an old helm also… ehm, Beth has it.”
Lucius stared behind the Centurion of Slingers and located the statuesque blond-haired girl with the fierce green eyes. Beth had an ancient looking legion helm on her messy head, her tanned skin, sweaty and covered with freckles. The brazen female grinned in response to Lucius’ gaze and the King furrowed his brows a little annoyed with himself for staring.
He missed Faye.
Damnation.
“Where did you find it exactly?” He asked Mamercus sharply, who gave a shrug with his shoulders.
“About a kilometer south of the mountain range. Deep in the desert we spotted what looked like ruins from afar, but when we approached, we realized they were just a couple of standing boulders about four meters apart. They did look like obelisks randomly fashioned to look like a gate from afar, for what is worth sire. Right at the edge of a sand dune. No ruins, but several pieces of garbs at the near. The sword and the helm.”
“Menhir,” Beth said in her throaty Nordic accent. “A place of magic.”
Lucius licked his lips slowly and then eyed the still examining the gladius Balbus. “Let me see that helm soldier,” he ordered the grinning female. “Mamercus your lot, is still rather unruly,” he added whilst Beth removed the helm from her messy head. She had it secured with a leather string as it was missing its cheek guards.
“We are working on it Praetor,” Mamercus replied after clearing his throat nervously.
“Another decade, you think?” Lucius queried. “They’ll approach retirement age by then Centurion.”
“It won’t take that long sir.”
“I was jesting Centurion. Obviously, it has taken long enough,” Lucius scolded his friend austerely.
“I was as well milord,” Mamercus replied with a nervous grimace. “Alas, not as well as the good Praetor.”
Ah, this is the best version of Mamercus we’ll ever get, Lucius decided with a smile he tried to hide.
“I found it,” Beth told Lucius, who raised his brows surprised and then accepted the helm. “The Bloody Tiger can have it,” she added meaningfully.
Oh, boy. Wallace was not at fault it appears.
“Thank you slinger Beth. I just want to look at it,” Lucius started, now amused at the young woman’s flirty tone.
“Beth Wolvesbane,” she said with a pleased grin. “A trade.”
“No, it was an order,” Lucius replied, let out a sigh and then stared at the old helm. Turned it around, checked inside but found the lining was gone and then puffed his cheeks out. “This looks like a museum piece Mamercus.”
“I can polish it,” Beth assured him, before the Centurion had the chance to answer.
“Eh,” Mamercus said. “It’s an old fucker… aye. Piece of junk was my meaning sir.”
“I can now see who their soldiers take after Mamercus. You got any cleaning oil on you Decanus?” Lucius asked Balbus, who nodded that he had. “I can see the ‘I’ number of the First Legion here or perhaps the sub unit’s name. Even the officer’s, if Regulus was fully committed to expend coin on his outfit.”
Balbus took the helm from Lucius and started rubbing oil on the rusted surface to it clean as best as he could.
“We have witnesses claiming Regulus never made it out of the mountains,” Lucius informed Mamercus, who shook his head. “The distance is impossible to cover.”
“Yes sir. Yet, they somehow managed it. A legion can march far.”
It can indeed, Lucius agreed, but opted not to remark on Mamercus’ words.
“That’s not an ‘I’ sir,” Balbus said a little surprised, still rubbing oil to clean some of the rust off of the old helm. “Not only. There’s an ‘X’ right after it. A couple of other letters afore that.”
“Regulus was 2nd Prefect, was he not?” Lucius asked, but no one could give him an answer. Lepidus, who had approached as well pursed his mouth, deep in thought in his attempt to recall the First Legion’s officer roster and ranks during Ligur’s tenure.
Lepidus and his late colleague Centurion Falx had faced the industrious Regulus’ legionaries during the battle for the Lorian Plains.
“That’s a Lorian army marking for sure,” Balbus continued and removed his own helm to show it to Lucius. “Very similar Praetor.”
Lucius read the marking carved on the left side of the legion helm. LG CRU III, for third Legion, Balbus’ helm read. The second abbreviation meaning the ‘Bloody’ written in archaic Lorian. Then he glanced at the letters Balbus’ efforts had revealed.
LEG HISP IX.
The ancient legion helm had carved on its left side. Lucius furrowed his brows trying to understand what he was reading and failing. He stood back and then breathed out slowly.
“It is gibberish sire,” Balbus explained sounding a little spooked. “Lesia is rumored to be training a new Legion in Armium. It would be the Sixth, with Macrinus ‘Nordic’ already claiming number five.”
“He’s right Praetor,” Lepidus added. “That’s the highest number of legions the Lorians have ever fielded historically.”
“What does the Hisp acronym mean?” Lucius asked not expecting an answer and a familiar voice replied, Leirda’s head appearing behind the sturdy backs of Lepidus and Sabinus. She almost gave the usually stoic Ramirus a heart attack, as the Director was caught unawares and flinched greatly startled at her sudden appearance.
“The fabled land of rabbits,” Leirda had replied in her exotic accent and then added, seeing that her words meant very little to the officers present. “Baron Vendor decided to pay the great general a visit,” the weird young female explained with an unnerving chuckle. “And asked me to tag along.”
If Lucius had a copper solidus for every time Leirda had appeared out of nowhere to speak what usually appeared to be nonsense, the King would have three or four of them. And while this was nowhere near a fortune for the King of Greater Regia, it was something. Which in turn was much more than whatever value Lucius had gotten out of the weird female’s per usual cryptic words.
Assuming Leirda knew what she was talking about.
-
Praetor’s town in the desert, or Luciopolis as it soon came to be known was just an idea at first. Predominantly birthed from the need to halve the distance of a difficult –very long- journey and navigate some of the problems Nipius Bonosus had been plagued with since the beginning.
No one expected the town to ever be more than a remote village, but not a month after the first building was erected and with the aqueduct still under construction –though operational, the first Cofol merchant caravans arrived to negotiate the acquisition of warehouses and stables.
Soon prominent Lorian merchants followed and even scores of Issir refugees displaced by the war looking for work. Before the first month of winter and more lines than houses carved in the sand next to the fast completed aqueduct, a known to the king ‘Eplas’ merchant named Ryfon arrived with company we shall talk about in another chapter and rented a shaded stand at the newly opened marketplace. The nicely written in bold calligraphic letters label above it –in three languages- read ‘Samblar & Ryfon’ and just under it ‘Leather Amenities’, while with even smaller letters it added impishly ‘since the 2nd Era’.
When asked why he stopped at Luciopolis of all other Lorian cities, a then very tiny town in the middle of nowhere, Ryfon had revealed that it was the most attractive and efficient of all cities he had ever visited. ‘It was unexpected to discover such a place could exist here,’ the ‘Eplas’ merchant had admitted, not offering further explanation on where such a place could be found instead.
Luciopolis, the hauntingly beautiful marble-adorned town of the Alden Sands, was founded and personally designed by King Lucius III in the summer of 195 NC, who oversaw some of its initial construction before the kingdom’s affairs forced him to leave it behind. Even so, Lucius did spend almost six months in the desert and departed around late fall of 195 NC for Aldenfort to meet Legatus Merenda’s first son Antonius Niger. He was soon to be thirty six years old and had already built two cities in four years of reign.
Speaking of Wetull, and with the rest of the human Kingdoms –both in Eplas and Jelin- embroiled in a brutal war of attrition, the mysterious King beyond the Pale Mountains, Arguen Garth was busy readying himself to interfere with the humans, patiently awaiting for an opportunity or an excuse, whilst his fleet crept closer to Jelin’s shores.
Unfortunately no records of the cunning Monarch’s -surely- constructive activities during this time are available to the public by the cryptic Zilan officials.