Lucius

May Luthos guide you

“We won’t cut through the mountains,” Roderick explained, more lines appearing on his face every day it looked like and skin painted a rough tan, now mostly hidden under a grey beard. “We make it to Aldenfort, hug the coast of Canlita Sea, straight to Asturia. Cross the bridge over Framtond River, hopin’ it ain’t flooded and then head for Anorum. If we reach the mountains of Sovya before the winter catches on, we might touch Gudgurth fort; rest there and leg it for Kas, before the first snows.”

“You want us to stay on the mountain trails?” Lucius asked. His beard -even more impressive than Roderick’s- bothering him, so he removed a glove to scratch it hard, almost missing the loyal hand’s answer.

“I want us to stay alive. I’ll take the mountain over the forests every goddamn time. Slow movin’ host, civilians mixed in. Every brigand wit half a brain, will want a crack at us. Ayup, ye know I’m right… Anyway, we kinda hope to move through Sovya, afore they realize who we are.”

“You’ll have us trapped in Kas instead,” Lucius pointed, trying to keep his mind focused on the journey ahead.

Roderick licked his front teeth, stooped over and spat something unhealthy between the legs of Butter. “During winter. Even brigands, prefer staying inside. We won’t stay long though. We’ll move soon as we’re supplied towards Fetya. Uher helps us after that,” He scratched his beard copying him, before adding. “This part of the plan, I don’t like at all.”

His father’s clothes were soaked, mud covering his boots and pants. King Alistair had ridden hard through the storm to make it in time, Lucius thought, watching the old man trying to dry himself up before the lit fireplace. The stone throne covered in shadows, the room badly lit, and no servant in sight. He opened his mouth to call for someone, but the King turned and stopped him with a stare. His face unshaven, eyes sunk, but with enough steel in them to give him pause.

“I didn’t bring them along. Not much love for this old place,” His father clarified, mouth softening for a moment. “You’re well?”

Lucius touched his healing shoulder.

“It wasn’t serious,” He wanted to say something more, but words escaped him, those found seeming more an excuse, which wasn’t his intention. “I tried to stop High Magister Gordian, but he asked for a vote, since you weren’t present and won it. Disciple Ventor backed me, but not the others.” Well perhaps Luthos, had he a priest present, he thought.

King Alistair gave a slight nod, a negligible tightening of the lips, the only show of his displeasure; for a time. He used a cloth to wipe the mud off his clothes, managed it fine for a little while, but he got frustrated in the end and threw it in the fire.

Walking slowly, he reached the stone throne and sat on it, every move painful. It upset Lucius seeing him like this, but he wouldn’t dare show it in his presence. He couldn’t insult him so.

“We could go see Ralph—”

“It can wait,” The king interrupted him, voice hoarse. “There are matters of state, we need to discuss.”

Lucius, who had approached the throne in the meantime, was taken aback.

“What matter… could be more important?”

“Regia… comes before us son.” King Alistair explained, face hidden in shadows.

Regia, Lucius thought. He closed his eyes trying to keep his emotions from showing, fists clenched hard enough, to hurt his joints.

“What matters?” He croaked, some of his bitterness spilling out.

His father grimaced in disapproval.

“I talked with Roderick,” He finally said. “He was there, saw the whole thing.”

You weren’t, was all Lucius heard.

“The fault lies with Antoon,” The king clarified, but he’d trouble following him. “He could have stopped the fight. More important, the… Cofol, shouldn’t have participated. That he eventually did, is a matter I shall revisit. It isn’t your fault; you may think it is, same as with that whore, but it is not.”

Lucius glare didn’t deter his father. He pressed on.

“Your wife, is in the past. What she did, is in the past. Ralph…” Alistair’s jaw clenched hard, but he didn’t let his voice break, a show of will, if ever there was one. “He is in the past. We must see to the present. However distasteful, or wrong, it may seem,” He pressed two fingers on his forehead hard, right above the nose, as if trying to relieve a headache, before continuing. “The Queen wanted to come… I didn’t give her leave. Silvia and Jeremy were a mess to deal with. They are allowed to; we are not.”

Lucius sighed, a long drawn out affair. His mouth felt dry.

“What is the matter?” He asked, yielding to his father’s logic.

“Antoon bequeathed his sister to the Khan, with one hand,” The King replied readily, “turned around and ordered the Royal Foot to gather in Caspo O’ Bor, with the other.”

“Both Commands?”

Kaltha’s army was split in two roughly equal divisions.

“Aye. First and second.”

Lucius licked his dry lips, the quiet of the large room haunting.

“What about the fleet?”

“Already at Sallowhall for the winter, word is.”

“What is he trying to do?” Lucius asked worried.

“Reinforce Raoz, within the month. Half the fleet will probably hide near Ripel Island weather permitting, or outright block the port at Ri Yue-Tu. So they can cross safely.”

“Has the Khan declared war? Why give his sister then?” Lucius was stunned at what the King had told him.

“Antoon didn’t say. I don’t believe it. He just asked for our Legion to guard the coastline. In case the Khan comes the other way around to cut him off.”

“What other way? Eikenport? That’s a ruin. Not even pirates moor there. Has he gone mad?”

King Alistair shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Mayhap it runs in the bloody family.”

“What would you do?”

“I moved the Legion. So the word, will reach his royal ears. But I ain’t helping him, without knowing all the details.”

“You won’t? Why?”

His father smacked his lips frustrated. His voice a snarl. “I want to crush the Cofols. Find that scum of a Prince and skin him alive, keep his head…” He pointed at the wall above the entrance to the throne room. “…over there, and watch it rot in blissful silence,” King Alistair grinded his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line, until he managed to control himself, but for his right hand that was still trembling. “I won’t though. I don’t trust Antoon. He’s a snake. Something else is afoot. I much preferred his father and he was insane.”

“Still, if the Cofols choose to attack, we should help him.” Lucius insisted, itching for a chance at vengeance.

“Perhaps.”

“I will meet with the Legion. Is Lord Holt coming from Asturia?”

“Lord Hold will not ride with the Legion. He’s my Shield. I need him here,” King Alistair stilled his eyes on him. “And neither will you.”

Lucius took a step back. “I will fight the Cofols father. For Ralph.”

There was a knock on the door. His father, kept his eyes on him though.

“You will not. It is an order.”

“Why?”

“You will return the girl, you brought here. It is your responsibility. I’ve prepared a missive for her father and instructions for you. Roderick has it.”

It was like a slap in the face. Lucius, breathed once trying to keep himself calm, failed miserably and was saved by another knock on the heavy oaken doors.

“Enter!” The King snapped angrily and an officer of the city guard appeared. Almost all the palace’s entourage had stayed in Cartagen, Lucius thought sourly, the Queen’s absence gnawing at him.

“Sir. Lord Nattas is here,” The man announced.

“We will receive him,” Alistair said.

“It is decided. Thou should take care, for it is not an easy journey. Forget about war; I will keep Regia out of it, until we know for sure, where everyone is standing,” His father had said simply, looking old and tired. “May Luthos guide you, through the pending struggles my son. Come back safe. For Regia.”

It was seven days later, still early fall and the weather had held surprisingly well, after that initial three days long sudden downpour. Lucius sat back atop Stormbolt, placed his hands on the iron pommel, a blacktiger’s head engraved on it and watched the small gathering of people and equipment, just outside Alden’s East Gate, preparing for the journey. A large horse carriage, along with a merchant and his Northman bodyguard. Four mules laden with provisions, fifteen horses counting the spares.

Roderick snorted on his side, tenderly chewing on a piece of dried beef, his tooth worrying him. Butter agreed with an even louder one, shaking a large head and earned a pat on its brown mane from the old warrior.

“Ayup. An unruly bunch, if I ever saw one,” Roderick muttered. “And I picked most of ‘em, which is bloody tellin’.”

Lucius blinked once, the sun in his eyes and glanced his way. “Zofia seems in a better mood at least.”

“Huh! If only. It’s that young lad, ye forced upon me. Seems like a hothead to me,” Roderick griped. Failing to swallow the tender meat on the first try, probably a large reason for it, he thought with a smile.

“Galio? Man’s a veteran!” He gave a nod to the energetic sergeant talking with some of the men and the man returned it with a booming greeting that surprised everyone.

“Pfft… lack of hair don’t mean old. Or wise. Lost mine very young, no one thought to call me on it. They still don’t.”

“Is that Faust Vistict?” Lucius asked to change the subject, pointing at the grizzly man-at-arms sweet-talking Canutia their young cook.

“Most of him,” Roderick replied, squinting his eyes to see where he pointed. “Hostus is there as well. Sleeping on his spear.” Both were older warriors that served under his father for many years and were in a couple of good scraps, as Roderick always said. He’d taken them off Alden’s city guard roster, where they’d hid themselves to retire, according to the old hand. “A couple of newer lads also. Tertius Cantilius and Arrun whatever his last name is, sturdy lookin’ and presumably good wit a blade. The latter yet to be decided.”

“What about guides?” Lucius probed, examining in turn each man as they readied their mounts.

“Post Antinor. Know him for twenty years. He’ll get us there,” Roderick deadpanned. “Even got his student wit him; skinny girl might be a problem, if she turns out not taking to his lessons.”

“Seia is my wife, ye nasty bastard!” Post barked stepping from behind his horse, as he’d heard him.

“Rather explains a lot,” Roderick retorted. “Would’ve sworn twas a boy.”

“Enough,” Lucius ordered, not wanting their squabbling spreading to the rest of the group. “Is the archer with Galio then?” He asked the sneering Roderick and watched his expression sour.

“Aye. Ex Legion. Well him and that shifty Kaeso whatchamacallit. Now that’s a lad to knife ye in the back for half-a-coin,” He scrunched his mouth one way, jaw the other; oozing disapproval. “But yer guy vouched for ‘em, so reckon that makes it alright for ye my lord.”

“It does actually,” Lucius answered, taking a breath seeing the men ready and on their mounts. Zofia and Canutia would be riding on the carriage with Nonus Generidus, the merchant and his bodyguard. Pleased, he turned towards his longtime companion. “Any final words afore we start moving, my squire?”

Roderick gave another look to their party, hand screening his eyes from the sun.

“Uher helps us.”