Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Character portraits
Spoiler
A Hundred Days
Part X
-The Duchess of Krakenhall-
[collapse]
Danger and blood.
Men and animal entrails sowing Tyeus fields
When the dance begins.
Fear not the horrors of the morrow,
For they are distant.
Cover thyself in dignity’s noble garb,
The blade’s truth is persistent
Oh, ye good knight laying in the mud
Neither friends, nor foes under crimson shields
When the dance begins.
Fear not the angel of sorrow,
For she is the Gods assistant
Cover thyself in mourning garb,
For valor’s undying verity is never distant.
Legatus Lucius Alden’s
-Ode to the good knight-
Verses on campaign
(Circa 190-195 NC)
Legatus Lucius Alden
A Hundred Days
Part IX
Battle of the Iron Mines
Part II
-Yours is the advantage Sir Knight-
(right click on the map to open it fully)
The thundering of hooves covered every other sound on the sprawling battlefield. Lucius heart beating wildly inside his chest, his whole body bouncing on the saddle as Stormbolt charged half a horse ahead of everyone else, almost a hundred and fifty horses trying to catch up with him. The large stallion shook his great black mane seeing the armoured riders coming at them, a long wall of steel and polished iron. Their opponents, men and horses all a hazy blur and the rumpus turning into an unidentified cacophony. The frozen ground quaking, the hard ice cracking and splintering under hooves.
Blood boiling and the cold now forgotten.
Here’s my sword, Lucius prayed, right hand raising his heavy war spear, the left arm angling his heater shield just enough and a brief moment before impact, the world froze around him. Lorians, Northmen and Issirs stood facing each other, the horses’ eyes huge and filled with fear, much as the men and women that were about to ruin themselves. A colossal shadow came from the west, the outline of a huge monster depicted on the ground and Lucius felt the beast hovering above them. Above him. It darkened the gloomy day and blackened the ground under the still and frothing at the mouth Stormbolt’s hooves.
The vision menacing.
It felt like a forewarning of a great mayhem descending upon everyone.
Then the moment was gone and Lucius’ spear punched through metal plate, teared through flesh and bone. His opponent’s gurgling scream lost in the sudden return of the ruckus of battle. Lucius danced on the saddle and felt his shield deflecting a spear.
Sharp steel digging in the metal finishing before flying away.
Stormbolt jumped with an angry neigh, a broken man under his hooves and the sound of a hundred spears connecting reverberated all around him. Spears found shields and got deflected. Spears found shields and punched right through. They found plated armour and chainmail. They went through flesh and bone. Chests and sternums. Through arms and thighs. Through faces and the skulls underneath them. Helms got twisted, plate warped.
Many people died in horrifying agony.
Lucius let go of his war spear, Stormbolt’s hooves skirting on the frozen ground digging it and revealing black soil underneath. They twirled through throngs of enemies, several Knights amongst them. Their coat of arms on shields and armour. The gold Chimera out of Midlanor, the Griffin of its ‘two daughters’ as the coastal cities were known. The iron blue for Pastelor and the dark green for Farvor. The black Hydras’ of Caspo O’ Bor and the gray Squids of Krakenhall. The Legatus got his longsword out and cut the head of a Hydra that had attacked him with a flail, the spiked ball ruining his shield.
Lucius twisted Stormbolt around, chaos and mayhem circling them, moving in God Tyeus’ dictated mad tempo, the dance of war ancient and easily recognizable. It smelled of oiled iron, blood and urine. Lucius downed his sword and chopped an arm off, scalding gore dousing Stormbolt’s chest, the stallion rising on its hind legs disturbed. He cut the strap on his wrapped shield next, men dropping right and left all about them. Severed limbs in pools of steaming blood and the body next to them frequently not their own.
Stormbolt burst through the lines and Lucius yelled and used his knees to stop him, hooves skirting on the frigid terrain. He’d lost his ability to hear and everything had a red hue about him that is until Lucius wiped his face to clean up some of the gore.
Gripa reached him a moment later, lined eyes ogling and jaw clenched so hard his mouth looked crooked. Showed him a fresh spear and Lucius sheathed his bloody sword and caught it when his squire tossed it. Turned Stormbolt around and with a deep rugged breath, went at it again.
Three heartbeats and he crashed on a knight that had killed two of his riders, using a steel war hammer. His spear impaling the armoured man through the kidneys. The knight turned around on his saddle putting both hands on the slippery with his blood shaft to hold on. Lucius shoved him kicking his legs to force Stormbolt forward and the knight dropped from his saddle taking Lucius’ spear with him.
Lucius yanked at the reins to turn his horse around and away from the dying man. All around them people and animals lay broken and bleeding away on the frozen ground. The white terrain turning into a sinister dark sludge, the ringing in his ears not helping him calm down his disturbed burning stomach. It was as if the noble knight had swallowed acid.
A number of duels were fought everywhere, most of the horses spend by now or dead. Lucius heard Gripa calling his name and turned sharply, the Issir knight riding hard two meters to a panicked Lucius’ left. He followed him with his eyes twisting on the saddle and managed to catch a glimpse of Alana getting skewered through the torso, the spear breaking as she got tossed away from her horse.
“Ah!” Lucius grunted livid and grabbed the fresh spear Gripa held out for him to go after the knight. He started that way, but heard the thundering of hooves coming at him and cut hard on instinct, Stormbolt sensing the knight’s intention helping, the steel lance barely missing him. Lucius galloped some meters away and turned his horse around nervously, just as his opponent spun around himself. The Knight was clad in dark blue plate, with the head of a Griffin sculpted on his closed helm, the color there an iron blue.
Lucius clicked his tongue and Stormbolt charged at the newcomer, a noble knight as few wore their coat of arms so prominently and a sculpted helm’s cost was enormous. The crest on the Knight’s heater shield familiar. The shield itself of an older design, it reminded Lucius of his father’s weapons in the armory. The Knight reached him, slightly bend outside his saddle, a very confident stance that surprised Lucius, until he remembered he’d discarded his own shield earlier.
Damn it.
Lucius turned on the saddle, rising on his stirrups to mess with the knight’s aim, before he cut Stormbolt away. His spear going on his opponent’s saddle breaking a large chunk of it away, but the furious knight got him on the shoulder-guard, just as Lucius was twisting away. The blow and the gravity unhorsing him.
Down he went, Stormbolt stopping ten meters away, the ground hard as rock despite Lucius managing to turn his fall into a rolling tumble. His helm saving his head from cracking open. Coughing up and spitting mud Lucius got up on shaking legs, his left shoulder dislocated. He tried to pop it back in punching it sideways as the Knight approached on his horse, long lance in hand but pointing down.
“Yours is the advantage Sir Knight,” Lucius rustled, almost biting his tongue off when he managed to snap his shoulder back in with the second attempt.
The Knight turned his head towards the field, Lucius’ eyes following his stare. Despite a large number of casualties, Lucius’ riders had slowly grinded down their opponents. The knight that had injured Alana or worse, surrounded by six Norhmen that were hacking away at him. Another group of about ten was approaching Lucius’ position.
“Perhaps,” the Knight told him finally and raising a gauntlet pushed his face-cover up. The face underneath that of a man younger than Lucius. The Issir’s eyes a warm amber color and his brows a thick white, over a square cultured face. “But it appears you’ve won the field, Sir Lucius. Still, I won’t fight an unhorsed opponent.”
The enemy knight exhaled and stabbed his lance on the ground, then climbed down from his well-bred warhorse. He patted its luscious mane a couple of times, whispering some words of comfort to calm it down.
“What’s your name Sir Knight?” Lucius asked, signing for his approaching riders, Gripa amongst them leading the pack, to not get involved.
“Walter Tellman, of Pastelor,” the young knight said steadily, eyeing the riders with a frown. No fear in his face though.
“You can retreat Sir Walter,” Lucius offered, recognizing the famous name. Sir Reinir Tellman, the Iron Griffin, was perhaps the most celebrated Knight in the history of the Three Kingdoms. “There’s no shame in that.”
“This is my father’s arms and armour,” Sir Walter said voice hoarse, crooking his mouth. “The Iron Griffin does not retreat Sir Lucius,” he added with a deep resigned sigh and unsheathed his longsword. The ivory handle on it long and beautifully sculpted in the shape of the eagle-headed lion.
“The battle is over, Sir Walter.”
“Aye, but the war has just begun, Sir Lucius.”
Lucius nodded in understanding and unsheathed his own longsword. Sir Walter raised his head and stared at him earnestly.
“May Luthos guide you out of the Sea of Struggles, Lord Alden and back to familiar cherished shores,” he told him, using the archaic form of the famous salutation and lowered his face-cover. Paused for a breath as if to gather his courage and then walked determined towards the expecting Lucius.
Sir Walter attacked high but Lucius swatted his blade away with his. The knight pivoted his sword mid-air and attacked again with more force and at the same angle forcing Lucius to retreat. Sir Walter came after him calmly and went for a midriff slash, but Lucius parried sideways and attacked lighting fast in his turn, the tip of his blade cutting his opponent under the left armpit.
The Knight stepped back with a pained grunt, but returned on the same breath, dancing first left then right and attacked Lucius from his guarded side. Lucius blocked the blade, sparks flying, pulled his sword back and flicked it high on the retreat. Sir Walter parried it upwards and made to attack with a downwards slash, forcing Lucius to immediately twist his body away to dodge. The Knight changed the angle mid-move and flicked his blade upwards switching the grip on his sword in the blink of an eye.
Lucius jerked his head away, spinning his sword at the same time and attempting a slash at Sir Walter’s forward leg. The Knight’s blade caught him above the brow and clanged on the finish of his helm afore tossing it away. Lucius stumbled back, blood on his face and blind from the left eye, while Sir Walter groaned and faltered a cut above his right knee.
Lucius blade had ruined his mail there.
“Ah,” Sir Walter said, trying to find his balance.
Lucius advanced on him, the blood running down the left side of his face and down his neck. Sir Walter parried a telegraphed slash aimed at his torso away, turned defense into attack, his sword whistling on the return and carving Lucius chest plate right at the sternum. The steel there holding. Lucius stepped away wordlessly as the Knight faltered. Lucius earlier feint had opened the way for a high flick of his blade, when his opponent went on the attack. The tip of his longsword slashing right at the narrow Griffin helm’s opening below his chin.
Steaming blood was pouring down Sir Walter’s chest plate, his throat cut open. The Knight gurgled trying to breathe but failed and dropped on a knee, stabbing his sword on the ground for support. The ground underneath him turning black with his blood and vapors covering him slowly. Lucius hang his head and raising a hand wiped some of the blood from his face away, the cut above his brow all but costing him an eye. A moment later Sir Walter let out a deep sigh and collapsed on the side next to his sword, his armour painted in gore.
“Milord!” Gripa yelled running towards him. “You’re injured!”
Lucius stopped him with an angry snort and with a last look at the dead knight, turned his head towards the raging battle in the middle of the field.
“Get every horse you can and send them to threaten their flank. Do not charge at them. You should get Mamercus moving into position first! Move. Find someone to do it Gripa!” Lucius ordered him and turned to one of the other riders. “Alana is injured, see to her and find me Eli Sharp.”
“We found Alana sire,” the Northman said with a grimace, a cut on his right hand bleeding freely. “Decurion Sharp was killed earlier.”
Ah, curse it all to Oras hells, Lucius crooked his mouth, fresh blood running down his cheek and his vision blurred. With a grunt he walked to where Alana had fallen, Morgan and another rider holding her hands, part of a war spear poking out of the ravaged woman’s chest. The wound ghastly and her exposed lungs showing a deeper red.
Lucius knelt next to her as the men moved away.
“Lord…”
“Don’t burden yourself,” Lucius said soothingly deeply moved and brushed some of her bloody curls away.
“Win…” Alana asked him, trying to focus her eyes on him.
Not yet, Lucius thought. But he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“We won sweet girl,” Lucius told her stooping closer, tears mixing with the blood running down his strained face. “It’s over.”
Alana smiled a bloody smile, light blue eyes turning on the dark sky and then left them. Lucius stood there for a moment, his hands shaking and then reaching he closed her eyes and got up. Morgan and the young man next to him watching silently.
“Your name?” Lucius rustled, his voice unrecognizable.
“Decurion Long sire,” the Northman said.
“You shall lead the cavalry Decurion. Morgan see to Alana please. And find Eli.”
A dark-faced Lucius turned and walked to where Gripa was standing. Lucius pointed at the dead knight. “Get his sword Mister Gripa. See to keep it safe. We’ll have it returned to his family.”
“You should see to your wound milord,” Gripa advised him, but Lucius stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“I have a battle to win, Gripa,” he rustled and bit the inside of his mouth to stop his grief from overcoming him, the lines on his face deepening. “Allgods know, I owe it to them.”
Just as Sir Tellman’s cavalry got wiped out while causing atrocious casualties to Lucius riders, Mamercus had circled around the frontline with the intention to fire on the backs of the Issirs duking it out with the Centuries. Baron Heuvel recognizing the danger to his exposed rear, pulled half his men from the line reacting fast and tried to push the sneaking Slingers away. Mamercus gang teased them keeping their distance unleashing volley after volley on their packed lines. The incensed Baron had the presence of mind to realize the struggle had turned against him and with Lucius’ depleted cavalry reappearing behind their lines cutting off their retreat, he ordered his men to disengage and force the issue.
The Issir regulars pulled back followed by Mamercus on their south flank and attempted to break through the cavalry blocking their retreat. While all this was happening, Galio ordered the two reserve centuries up the slope to assist Centurion Josi Vala, now commanding both centuries there after the death of Sabinus.
Dirk Curd seeing an opening slipped through the ravaged north flank of the Issirs, navigated the Issirs center without engaging them, the latter still fighting a retreat surrounded from Cavalry, Slingers and the First Cohort, with Lucius watching livid from the other side of the battlefield and then charged every man he had towards the rear and Lord Vanzon.
Lord Vanzon’s entourage, a force of about a hundred men-at-arms, had pushed forward to break out his main force, a solid idea on paper as Lucius Cavalry and Slingers were no match for them. If he could catch them between his two forces, he could have turned the battle. Well, Dirk Curd’s Northmen and mix-breeds caught the slowly moving cavalry instead. In a brutal fight that lasted less than twenty minutes they cut through them and reached the Lord of Krakenhall. Curd had no plan, nor tactic to his assault. It was a savage, instinctual attempt. The men under him, fueled by his savagery fought like a pack of hyenas, killing everything that moved.
There’s no clear record on what happened at this smaller in size battle. An account has Lord Vanzon killing himself seeing Curd reaching him, after which the mix-breed sawed his head off with a blunted cleaver. Another has Dirk tackling the fat lord and gutting him like hammerhead fish, like the ones that were plaguing Umlen’s waters. Then he sawed off his head. Whatever the case may have been, by the time an injured Lucius reached the center of the battlefield, Lord Vanzon’s head had been tossed amidst the retreating Issirs and it caused chaos.
Baron Heuvel tried to galvanize his rattled men, some rallying near him, but the majority just didn’t want to risk a similar fate, so they turned en masse and surrendered to the approaching in step First Cohort. The Baron to his credit was killed fighting to the end desperately. A fate suffered by Kroneberg as well who found himself trapped inside the Iron Mines vale and got mauled down mercilessly by the fresh Centuries that wanted to avenge their earlier losses.
It is impossible to give an accurate account on the casualties suffered by the Issirs, but about four hundred of them surrendered according to Trupo. He gives their casualties to around one thousand and five hundred (probably the number was higher), along them some famed names like Lord Vanzon, Baron Heuvel, Sir Walter Tellman and Kroneberg. Lord Vanzon’s inhumane treatment and Sir Tellman’s loss, a personal friend to Sir Shane Est Ravn, the ‘Priest Knight’ of Midlanor, then Lord commander of the Golden Spears and son of Lord Anker, had a deleterious effect on Lucius reputation in Kaltha.
While most of it was propaganda from the Est Ravn, but also the High Inquisitor Kelholt spreading his poison, it turned the people (mostly the Lords) against him. Despite Lord Vanzon’s conduct in the long war that had been marred with unspeakable atrocities everyone wanted to pretend they never happened, the Legatus found himself politically isolated especially when Lesia decided to withdraw its support to his claim. Whether it was due to pressure from the still aggrieved Duchy of Sovya, the High King, or a matter fueled by the political climate in the south, the fact is it cost an unsuspecting Lucius heavily and placed his father in a vulnerable position.
Lucius losses after the battle of the Iron Mines were significant. While men and friends can’t be easily replaced though, the cold hard fact was that when the Cohorts marched again towards Krakenhall the Vanzons rule over the North part of Kaltha and the continent itself had been broken. Dier would hold out for another two months in Rockfort, but while he did perform admirably, in the meantime Lucius crossed the Retford River Bridge unopposed and entered Krakenhall.
Centurion Decimus Sabinus, Decurion Eli Sharp and Decurion Alana Shields names are commemorated on the Wall of the Fallen at Elysium Fort. Alana Shields is the only woman that had been honored by the Third Legion until this day.
Lord Sirio Veturius
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter II
(Legatus Lucius Alden,
Northern campaigns,
A Hundred Days
Volume III, 14th week,
First Month of Spring
1st, 2nd & 3rd Cohort
-The Tiger’s treaty,
Duchess of Krakenhall &
The heavy prize of victory)
Spring of 190 NC
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Character portraits
Spoiler
A Hundred Days
Part X
-The Duchess of Krakenhall-
[collapse]
Danger and blood.
Men and animal entrails sowing Tyeus fields
When the dance begins.
Fear not the horrors of the morrow,
For they are distant.
Cover thyself in dignity’s noble garb,
The blade’s truth is persistent
Oh, ye good knight laying in the mud
Neither friends, nor foes under crimson shields
When the dance begins.
Fear not the angel of sorrow,
For she is the Gods assistant
Cover thyself in mourning garb,
For valor’s undying verity is never distant.
Legatus Lucius Alden’s
-Ode to the good knight-
Verses on campaign
(Circa 190-195 NC)
Legatus Lucius Alden
A Hundred Days
Part IX
Battle of the Iron Mines
Part II
-Yours is the advantage Sir Knight-
(right click on the map to open it fully)
The thundering of hooves covered every other sound on the sprawling battlefield. Lucius heart beating wildly inside his chest, his whole body bouncing on the saddle as Stormbolt charged half a horse ahead of everyone else, almost a hundred and fifty horses trying to catch up with him. The large stallion shook his great black mane seeing the armoured riders coming at them, a long wall of steel and polished iron. Their opponents, men and horses all a hazy blur and the rumpus turning into an unidentified cacophony. The frozen ground quaking, the hard ice cracking and splintering under hooves.
Blood boiling and the cold now forgotten.
Here’s my sword, Lucius prayed, right hand raising his heavy war spear, the left arm angling his heater shield just enough and a brief moment before impact, the world froze around him. Lorians, Northmen and Issirs stood facing each other, the horses’ eyes huge and filled with fear, much as the men and women that were about to ruin themselves. A colossal shadow came from the west, the outline of a huge monster depicted on the ground and Lucius felt the beast hovering above them. Above him. It darkened the gloomy day and blackened the ground under the still and frothing at the mouth Stormbolt’s hooves.
The vision menacing.
It felt like a forewarning of a great mayhem descending upon everyone.
Then the moment was gone and Lucius’ spear punched through metal plate, teared through flesh and bone. His opponent’s gurgling scream lost in the sudden return of the ruckus of battle. Lucius danced on the saddle and felt his shield deflecting a spear.
Sharp steel digging in the metal finishing before flying away.
Stormbolt jumped with an angry neigh, a broken man under his hooves and the sound of a hundred spears connecting reverberated all around him. Spears found shields and got deflected. Spears found shields and punched right through. They found plated armour and chainmail. They went through flesh and bone. Chests and sternums. Through arms and thighs. Through faces and the skulls underneath them. Helms got twisted, plate warped.
Many people died in horrifying agony.
Lucius let go of his war spear, Stormbolt’s hooves skirting on the frozen ground digging it and revealing black soil underneath. They twirled through throngs of enemies, several Knights amongst them. Their coat of arms on shields and armour. The gold Chimera out of Midlanor, the Griffin of its ‘two daughters’ as the coastal cities were known. The iron blue for Pastelor and the dark green for Farvor. The black Hydras’ of Caspo O’ Bor and the gray Squids of Krakenhall. The Legatus got his longsword out and cut the head of a Hydra that had attacked him with a flail, the spiked ball ruining his shield.
Lucius twisted Stormbolt around, chaos and mayhem circling them, moving in God Tyeus’ dictated mad tempo, the dance of war ancient and easily recognizable. It smelled of oiled iron, blood and urine. Lucius downed his sword and chopped an arm off, scalding gore dousing Stormbolt’s chest, the stallion rising on its hind legs disturbed. He cut the strap on his wrapped shield next, men dropping right and left all about them. Severed limbs in pools of steaming blood and the body next to them frequently not their own.
Stormbolt burst through the lines and Lucius yelled and used his knees to stop him, hooves skirting on the frigid terrain. He’d lost his ability to hear and everything had a red hue about him that is until Lucius wiped his face to clean up some of the gore.
Gripa reached him a moment later, lined eyes ogling and jaw clenched so hard his mouth looked crooked. Showed him a fresh spear and Lucius sheathed his bloody sword and caught it when his squire tossed it. Turned Stormbolt around and with a deep rugged breath, went at it again.
Three heartbeats and he crashed on a knight that had killed two of his riders, using a steel war hammer. His spear impaling the armoured man through the kidneys. The knight turned around on his saddle putting both hands on the slippery with his blood shaft to hold on. Lucius shoved him kicking his legs to force Stormbolt forward and the knight dropped from his saddle taking Lucius’ spear with him.
Lucius yanked at the reins to turn his horse around and away from the dying man. All around them people and animals lay broken and bleeding away on the frozen ground. The white terrain turning into a sinister dark sludge, the ringing in his ears not helping him calm down his disturbed burning stomach. It was as if the noble knight had swallowed acid.
A number of duels were fought everywhere, most of the horses spend by now or dead. Lucius heard Gripa calling his name and turned sharply, the Issir knight riding hard two meters to a panicked Lucius’ left. He followed him with his eyes twisting on the saddle and managed to catch a glimpse of Alana getting skewered through the torso, the spear breaking as she got tossed away from her horse.
“Ah!” Lucius grunted livid and grabbed the fresh spear Gripa held out for him to go after the knight. He started that way, but heard the thundering of hooves coming at him and cut hard on instinct, Stormbolt sensing the knight’s intention helping, the steel lance barely missing him. Lucius galloped some meters away and turned his horse around nervously, just as his opponent spun around himself. The Knight was clad in dark blue plate, with the head of a Griffin sculpted on his closed helm, the color there an iron blue.
Lucius clicked his tongue and Stormbolt charged at the newcomer, a noble knight as few wore their coat of arms so prominently and a sculpted helm’s cost was enormous. The crest on the Knight’s heater shield familiar. The shield itself of an older design, it reminded Lucius of his father’s weapons in the armory. The Knight reached him, slightly bend outside his saddle, a very confident stance that surprised Lucius, until he remembered he’d discarded his own shield earlier.
Damn it.
Lucius turned on the saddle, rising on his stirrups to mess with the knight’s aim, before he cut Stormbolt away. His spear going on his opponent’s saddle breaking a large chunk of it away, but the furious knight got him on the shoulder-guard, just as Lucius was twisting away. The blow and the gravity unhorsing him.
Down he went, Stormbolt stopping ten meters away, the ground hard as rock despite Lucius managing to turn his fall into a rolling tumble. His helm saving his head from cracking open. Coughing up and spitting mud Lucius got up on shaking legs, his left shoulder dislocated. He tried to pop it back in punching it sideways as the Knight approached on his horse, long lance in hand but pointing down.
“Yours is the advantage Sir Knight,” Lucius rustled, almost biting his tongue off when he managed to snap his shoulder back in with the second attempt.
The Knight turned his head towards the field, Lucius’ eyes following his stare. Despite a large number of casualties, Lucius’ riders had slowly grinded down their opponents. The knight that had injured Alana or worse, surrounded by six Norhmen that were hacking away at him. Another group of about ten was approaching Lucius’ position.
“Perhaps,” the Knight told him finally and raising a gauntlet pushed his face-cover up. The face underneath that of a man younger than Lucius. The Issir’s eyes a warm amber color and his brows a thick white, over a square cultured face. “But it appears you’ve won the field, Sir Lucius. Still, I won’t fight an unhorsed opponent.”
The enemy knight exhaled and stabbed his lance on the ground, then climbed down from his well-bred warhorse. He patted its luscious mane a couple of times, whispering some words of comfort to calm it down.
“What’s your name Sir Knight?” Lucius asked, signing for his approaching riders, Gripa amongst them leading the pack, to not get involved.
“Walter Tellman, of Pastelor,” the young knight said steadily, eyeing the riders with a frown. No fear in his face though.
“You can retreat Sir Walter,” Lucius offered, recognizing the famous name. Sir Reinir Tellman, the Iron Griffin, was perhaps the most celebrated Knight in the history of the Three Kingdoms. “There’s no shame in that.”
“This is my father’s arms and armour,” Sir Walter said voice hoarse, crooking his mouth. “The Iron Griffin does not retreat Sir Lucius,” he added with a deep resigned sigh and unsheathed his longsword. The ivory handle on it long and beautifully sculpted in the shape of the eagle-headed lion.
“The battle is over, Sir Walter.”
“Aye, but the war has just begun, Sir Lucius.”
Lucius nodded in understanding and unsheathed his own longsword. Sir Walter raised his head and stared at him earnestly.
“May Luthos guide you out of the Sea of Struggles, Lord Alden and back to familiar cherished shores,” he told him, using the archaic form of the famous salutation and lowered his face-cover. Paused for a breath as if to gather his courage and then walked determined towards the expecting Lucius.
Sir Walter attacked high but Lucius swatted his blade away with his. The knight pivoted his sword mid-air and attacked again with more force and at the same angle forcing Lucius to retreat. Sir Walter came after him calmly and went for a midriff slash, but Lucius parried sideways and attacked lighting fast in his turn, the tip of his blade cutting his opponent under the left armpit.
The Knight stepped back with a pained grunt, but returned on the same breath, dancing first left then right and attacked Lucius from his guarded side. Lucius blocked the blade, sparks flying, pulled his sword back and flicked it high on the retreat. Sir Walter parried it upwards and made to attack with a downwards slash, forcing Lucius to immediately twist his body away to dodge. The Knight changed the angle mid-move and flicked his blade upwards switching the grip on his sword in the blink of an eye.
Lucius jerked his head away, spinning his sword at the same time and attempting a slash at Sir Walter’s forward leg. The Knight’s blade caught him above the brow and clanged on the finish of his helm afore tossing it away. Lucius stumbled back, blood on his face and blind from the left eye, while Sir Walter groaned and faltered a cut above his right knee.
Lucius blade had ruined his mail there.
“Ah,” Sir Walter said, trying to find his balance.
Lucius advanced on him, the blood running down the left side of his face and down his neck. Sir Walter parried a telegraphed slash aimed at his torso away, turned defense into attack, his sword whistling on the return and carving Lucius chest plate right at the sternum. The steel there holding. Lucius stepped away wordlessly as the Knight faltered. Lucius earlier feint had opened the way for a high flick of his blade, when his opponent went on the attack. The tip of his longsword slashing right at the narrow Griffin helm’s opening below his chin.
Steaming blood was pouring down Sir Walter’s chest plate, his throat cut open. The Knight gurgled trying to breathe but failed and dropped on a knee, stabbing his sword on the ground for support. The ground underneath him turning black with his blood and vapors covering him slowly. Lucius hang his head and raising a hand wiped some of the blood from his face away, the cut above his brow all but costing him an eye. A moment later Sir Walter let out a deep sigh and collapsed on the side next to his sword, his armour painted in gore.
“Milord!” Gripa yelled running towards him. “You’re injured!”
Lucius stopped him with an angry snort and with a last look at the dead knight, turned his head towards the raging battle in the middle of the field.
“Get every horse you can and send them to threaten their flank. Do not charge at them. You should get Mamercus moving into position first! Move. Find someone to do it Gripa!” Lucius ordered him and turned to one of the other riders. “Alana is injured, see to her and find me Eli Sharp.”
“We found Alana sire,” the Northman said with a grimace, a cut on his right hand bleeding freely. “Decurion Sharp was killed earlier.”
Ah, curse it all to Oras hells, Lucius crooked his mouth, fresh blood running down his cheek and his vision blurred. With a grunt he walked to where Alana had fallen, Morgan and another rider holding her hands, part of a war spear poking out of the ravaged woman’s chest. The wound ghastly and her exposed lungs showing a deeper red.
Lucius knelt next to her as the men moved away.
“Lord…”
“Don’t burden yourself,” Lucius said soothingly deeply moved and brushed some of her bloody curls away.
“Win…” Alana asked him, trying to focus her eyes on him.
Not yet, Lucius thought. But he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“We won sweet girl,” Lucius told her stooping closer, tears mixing with the blood running down his strained face. “It’s over.”
Alana smiled a bloody smile, light blue eyes turning on the dark sky and then left them. Lucius stood there for a moment, his hands shaking and then reaching he closed her eyes and got up. Morgan and the young man next to him watching silently.
“Your name?” Lucius rustled, his voice unrecognizable.
“Decurion Long sire,” the Northman said.
“You shall lead the cavalry Decurion. Morgan see to Alana please. And find Eli.”
A dark-faced Lucius turned and walked to where Gripa was standing. Lucius pointed at the dead knight. “Get his sword Mister Gripa. See to keep it safe. We’ll have it returned to his family.”
“You should see to your wound milord,” Gripa advised him, but Lucius stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“I have a battle to win, Gripa,” he rustled and bit the inside of his mouth to stop his grief from overcoming him, the lines on his face deepening. “Allgods know, I owe it to them.”
Just as Sir Tellman’s cavalry got wiped out while causing atrocious casualties to Lucius riders, Mamercus had circled around the frontline with the intention to fire on the backs of the Issirs duking it out with the Centuries. Baron Heuvel recognizing the danger to his exposed rear, pulled half his men from the line reacting fast and tried to push the sneaking Slingers away. Mamercus gang teased them keeping their distance unleashing volley after volley on their packed lines. The incensed Baron had the presence of mind to realize the struggle had turned against him and with Lucius’ depleted cavalry reappearing behind their lines cutting off their retreat, he ordered his men to disengage and force the issue.
The Issir regulars pulled back followed by Mamercus on their south flank and attempted to break through the cavalry blocking their retreat. While all this was happening, Galio ordered the two reserve centuries up the slope to assist Centurion Josi Vala, now commanding both centuries there after the death of Sabinus.
Dirk Curd seeing an opening slipped through the ravaged north flank of the Issirs, navigated the Issirs center without engaging them, the latter still fighting a retreat surrounded from Cavalry, Slingers and the First Cohort, with Lucius watching livid from the other side of the battlefield and then charged every man he had towards the rear and Lord Vanzon.
Lord Vanzon’s entourage, a force of about a hundred men-at-arms, had pushed forward to break out his main force, a solid idea on paper as Lucius Cavalry and Slingers were no match for them. If he could catch them between his two forces, he could have turned the battle. Well, Dirk Curd’s Northmen and mix-breeds caught the slowly moving cavalry instead. In a brutal fight that lasted less than twenty minutes they cut through them and reached the Lord of Krakenhall. Curd had no plan, nor tactic to his assault. It was a savage, instinctual attempt. The men under him, fueled by his savagery fought like a pack of hyenas, killing everything that moved.
There’s no clear record on what happened at this smaller in size battle. An account has Lord Vanzon killing himself seeing Curd reaching him, after which the mix-breed sawed his head off with a blunted cleaver. Another has Dirk tackling the fat lord and gutting him like hammerhead fish, like the ones that were plaguing Umlen’s waters. Then he sawed off his head. Whatever the case may have been, by the time an injured Lucius reached the center of the battlefield, Lord Vanzon’s head had been tossed amidst the retreating Issirs and it caused chaos.
Baron Heuvel tried to galvanize his rattled men, some rallying near him, but the majority just didn’t want to risk a similar fate, so they turned en masse and surrendered to the approaching in step First Cohort. The Baron to his credit was killed fighting to the end desperately. A fate suffered by Kroneberg as well who found himself trapped inside the Iron Mines vale and got mauled down mercilessly by the fresh Centuries that wanted to avenge their earlier losses.
It is impossible to give an accurate account on the casualties suffered by the Issirs, but about four hundred of them surrendered according to Trupo. He gives their casualties to around one thousand and five hundred (probably the number was higher), along them some famed names like Lord Vanzon, Baron Heuvel, Sir Walter Tellman and Kroneberg. Lord Vanzon’s inhumane treatment and Sir Tellman’s loss, a personal friend to Sir Shane Est Ravn, the ‘Priest Knight’ of Midlanor, then Lord commander of the Golden Spears and son of Lord Anker, had a deleterious effect on Lucius reputation in Kaltha.
While most of it was propaganda from the Est Ravn, but also the High Inquisitor Kelholt spreading his poison, it turned the people (mostly the Lords) against him. Despite Lord Vanzon’s conduct in the long war that had been marred with unspeakable atrocities everyone wanted to pretend they never happened, the Legatus found himself politically isolated especially when Lesia decided to withdraw its support to his claim. Whether it was due to pressure from the still aggrieved Duchy of Sovya, the High King, or a matter fueled by the political climate in the south, the fact is it cost an unsuspecting Lucius heavily and placed his father in a vulnerable position.
Lucius losses after the battle of the Iron Mines were significant. While men and friends can’t be easily replaced though, the cold hard fact was that when the Cohorts marched again towards Krakenhall the Vanzons rule over the North part of Kaltha and the continent itself had been broken. Dier would hold out for another two months in Rockfort, but while he did perform admirably, in the meantime Lucius crossed the Retford River Bridge unopposed and entered Krakenhall.
Centurion Decimus Sabinus, Decurion Eli Sharp and Decurion Alana Shields names are commemorated on the Wall of the Fallen at Elysium Fort. Alana Shields is the only woman that had been honored by the Third Legion until this day.
Lord Sirio Veturius
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter II
(Legatus Lucius Alden,
Northern campaigns,
A Hundred Days
Volume III, 14th week,
First Month of Spring
1st, 2nd & 3rd Cohort
-The Tiger’s treaty,
Duchess of Krakenhall &
The heavy prize of victory)
Spring of 190 NC
