Legatus Lucius Alden

A Hundred Days

Part IX

Battle of the Iron Mines

Part II

-Yours is the advantage Sir Knight-

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)

(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 row of steel and polished iron. Their opponents, men and horses all a hazy blur, the rumpus turning into a unidentified cacophony, the frozen ground shaking, the hard ice cracking and dug out. The cold forgotten and his blood boiling.

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, his shield deflecting a spear, the 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 spear, Stormbolt’s hooves skirting on the frozen ground digging it, 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 of Midlanor, the Griffin of its ‘two daughters’, iron blue for Pastalor and dark green for Farvor. The ashen 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 Tyeus mad tempo, the dance of war ancient and easily recognizable. It smelled of oiled iron, blood and urine. Lucius downed his sword chopped an arm off, gore dousing Stormbolt’s chest, the stallion rising on its hind legs disturbed. He cut the strap on his shield, men dropping right and left about them. Severed limbs on pools of steaming blood, the body next to them not their own.

Stormbolt burst through the lines and Lucius yelled and used his knees to stop him, hooves skirting on the ground. He’d lost his ability to hear and everything had a red hue about him that is until he wiped his face to clean up some of the gore.

Gripa reached him a moment later, 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 and with a deep 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 skewering the armoured man through the kidneys. The knight turned around on his saddle putting both his hands on the slippery 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 pulled 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 he’d swallowed acid.

A number of duels were fought everywhere, most of the horses spend by now, or dead. Lucius heard Gripa calling him and turned 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 spear Gripa held 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 his intention helping, the steel lance missing him. Lucius galloped some meters away and turned his horse around, just as his opponent turned around himself. The Knight was clad in dark blue plate, the head of a Griffin sculpted on his closed helm, the color there an iron blue.

Lucius clicked his tongue and Stormbolt charged 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 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 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 on 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 Northmen that were hacking away at him. Another group of about ten was approaching Lucius’ position.

“Perhaps,” The Knight told him finally and raising his gloved hand pushed his face-cover up. The face underneath of a man younger than Lucius. The Issir’s eyes a warm amber color, his brows a thick white, over a square cultured face. “But it appears you’ve won the field, Sir Lucius and I won’t fight an unhorsed opponent.”

He sighed and stabbed his lance down, then climbed down from his well-bred warhorse. He patted its 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 Pastalor,” The young knight said, 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 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,” He told him, using the archaic form of the famous greeting 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 turn, the tip of his blade cutting his opponent under his left armpit.

The Knight stepped back with a 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, so Lucius immediately twisted his body away to dodge. The Knight switched 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, flipping 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, clanging on the finish of his helm and 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 ruining 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 previous 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 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, the cut above his brow all but costing him an eye. With a deep sigh Sir Walter collapsed on the side, next to his sword and 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 them. You should get Mamercus moving in position first! 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, 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, her 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, he 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 lead the cavalry Decurion. Morgan see to Alana please. And find Eli.”

He turned and walked, his face dark 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. “Gods 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 intend on firing on the backs of the Issirs duking it out with the Centuries.

Baron Heuvel recognizing he was exposed 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 Baron while incensed, had the presence of mind to realize this 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 center still fighting a retreat surrounded from Cavalry, Slingers and the First Cohort without engaging them, with Lucius watching livid from the other side of the battlefield and 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 him 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 be, 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 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, 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, 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 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 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 fact was that when the Cohorts marched again towards Krakenhall the Vanzons rule over the North part of Kaltha and the continent 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