Chapter one: Restless peace
Lavinia awoke gently, feeling the sun’s rays caress her eyelids and beckoning her to wake up. She lay on a grand four posted bed with green silk sheets, draped over her graceful form. The wood was carved with great skill, depicting roses and ivy curling around the posts while red silk drapes hung loosely.
Pushing the sheet away from her, Lavinia stood naked and pulled a silk robe tying it around her. Lavinia’s hair was a pale yellow, her grey strands starting to become more noticeable. Her eyes were a deep blue and her full lips turned into a smile as she looked into her desk.
The desk was where she applied her makeup and pampered herself, and held her most personal belongings. A large mirror was attached to the wall and its draws were well used and opened with great ease. A simple chair of white was pushed under the desk with a small cushion on its hard seat.
Lavinia sat down slowly, feeling her legs creak and winching slightly at the sound. How long until getting out of bed would be a challenge, she wondered.
She gazed into her own image and without looking, opened a small chest and took her hairbrush. Lavinia gently held her hair and brushed it flat, feeling all the knots that her sleep had caused. It calmed her, like it always did when she was a little girl. She used to sit and brush her hair while her mother and father bellowed at one another, and swearing it herself that she would be a good mother herself.
Thinking of her parents, Lavinia looking away from her image. She hated her father with a great passion and missed her mother, and looking at herself reminded her of her loss. Her father was a gambler and a coward, two feats that were the worst to have. He would spend hard earned money that her mother would get from baking all to spend it in a drinking den, making stupid bets and drinking far too much then he could handle.
Lavinia could well recall the times that her father would hit his own wife, and sob uncontrollably about how sorry he was.
And every time mother would forgive him.
Lavinia hissed as she pulled too hard on the brush, sighing to herself at the harsh treatment. She knew she should stop thinking of her past, but could not stop. She was sixteen when her life turned from bad to worse. Her father was in debt to the wrong people, and Calth at this time was suffering from a lawlessness that was still in people’s memory.
In wanting to protect his own worthless skin, he sold his wife and child and fled Calth.
Lavinia remembered as if it was yesterday; the door being kicked in, the screams of her mother and then her own door being brought down and then being dragged from her bed.
They both spent the next three years in forced work to those men, doing whatever was commanded of them and more often than not left with little food and water. That all changed when her to be husband walked into the tavern.
Lavinia smiled at the memory, her anger quite forgotten as she put the brush down and started to place her earrings and rings on.
Isilordil Ventris was a young man at the time, only just into his twenties. His dark hair was long and his green eyes as soft as a leaf. His father limped in behind his son, Caldil Ventris. The father wanted his son to lose his virginity before entering his first battle. Isilordil had been nervous and outraged at his father’s demand, but one look at Lavinia and their fates became one.
They did not join that day, instead sat on the bed and talked. Lavinia’s face light up with golden memories as she rose from her chair and became to look for a suitable dress to wear for today.
They spent a few years courting in secret; Lavinia only ever able to leave the tavern a few times a week for a limited time, but Isilordil proved it worth the risk.
When Isilordil became Legate of Calth, his first action was to resort law and order. In the space of a week, all the gangs and criminal lords had been arrested and some had been executed. Isilordil had freed Lavinia, but the fate of her mother was something neither of them knew. The new Legates pronouncement had forced the criminal lords into panic and Lavinia’s mother was gone in the next morning.
They had married two weeks after the purge and lay together for the first time. Isilordil had ordered the building of their new home on the vine and both lived in happiness for years to come.
Now dressed, Lavinia’s hands drifted down to her belly as the last of her memories came back to her. She had birthed Isilordil two sons, and she was a little saddened that she did birth a daughter. She had always wanted a daughter or a granddaughter if they sons would see to it. Their eldest had walked in his father’s steps and had since become a great captain of men and hero of Calth. Their youngest, however, had not.
Lavinia frowned, remembering that their youngest had caused many augments in the family and was a stain on their name. She loved him, and tried to put him back onto the right path, but he would have none of it. He stayed in Calth, and did as he pleased.
Now pushing aside her memories, she walked across her room towards her door. The bedroom was kept tidy, an impressive feat for how large the room was. Rugs of white fur and a small fireplace, Lavinia kept this room as clean and tidy as she did with her hair. Their house colours were white and gold, and so many of their wooden furniture’s was coloured thus.
Opening the door, she stepped out onto the corridor and found a small pile of letters awaiting her pleasure on a small table in front of her.
She picked the letters up and read from them. They were lists of things that needed to be done by her hand from her work staff, letters addressed from friends in the city but nothing of great importance at this time.
Lavinia’s eyes feel on the Calth Herald, a newsletter that travelled all around Calths lands. She dreaded to read from it today, but did.
The papers were sealed together by a small iron clip, and the parchment was of poor quality but it was the writing that made it important.
The heralds had reported that some of the river side homesteads had sited orcs gathering in the mountains to the north in larger numbers, and their doom laden words spoke of hundreds. How there’s orcs had gotten so deep into Calths lands was a mystery, but Lavinia did not pretend to know.
She sighed and put the herald down. Six months had gone by without so much as a skirmish, and it was starting to worry everyone. The orcs attacked the river almost daily, and sometimes would find a breach and raid in inner homesteads. The rangers, wardens and homestead guards were meant to stop those, but this long peace was testing the nerve of everyone.
Lavinia put the letters down and walked down the staircase, already being hailed for work and her early doubts forgotten.
Isilordil sat with this fingers steeled and glazed hard at the grand map in front of him, as if it could give him the answers if he stared hard enough. Isilordil Ventris was not a young man anymore, his once dark hair was now an iron grey, and his once leaf green eyes were now a dark emerald. He bore his houses’ symbol as a tattoo on the back of his neck, something he had done in his younger days that he had started to regret. He was wearing a simple tunic of white, and a small dress sword at his belt.
Deep inside Calth’s keep was a huge chamber given over to the workings and command centre of all the Legions of Calth. Suits of armour that once belonged to heroes of Calth decorated the walls in silent guardianship. There were no windows in the chamber, and only one large door that runners streamed back and forth with orders to their commanders. The table in front of Isilordil was vast, easily able to hold the massive heavy cloth map. Coloured wooden pieces, not unlike a war gaming board that Isilordil was fond of, dotted the landscape. Pieces of white were presentation of Legions; they were large wooden cravings of their coat of arms. The Thirteenth was an eagle of Isilordil’s house, while the Second of a knight bearing a long sword and tower shield, and the Ninth was of a hooded and robed knight.
The black pieces of snarling orcs and beasts were the forces of Mordor, and sadly they far outnumbered the white pieces.
Scouts had seen the orc hoard only a week ago, and the commanders of Calth were thrown into panic at such a large army arrayed against them. The Legate dearly wished that the Rangers could have reported back sooner, so that he may have been able to lead the Legions to the river to fight.
It had taken a week to rally the Legions to Calth and for the Lords of Calth enough time to calm down.
They had to make their stand at Calth, there was no other choice. If they met in the open field against such numbers they would be overwhelmed. Better to fight in the city with its defences.
Isilorbor was granted full power to ready Calth, and felt the weight on his shoulders greatly. He had a number of reports ordered neatly in front of him, and none of it was good.
The Rangers reported that the orc army was only two days away from the river, and also that the orcs within the forests were numbered to roughly one thousand. How so many orcs had gathered stuck Isilordil like a wet towel to the face, and he knew he would get an answer soon.
Reports also came in that the city had enough food and water to last six months in a siege, and if needed the watch could draft every able body into fighting. It looked to Isilordil that the main problem was not how much supplies they had; it was they did not have many men to use them.
Further thoughts of his musing were spared as a series of feet marched to his left and the sound of fists hammering their hearts in salute heralded the Legions massagers. Isilordil glanced at them and saw that each man were light hauberks and bore their Legions coat of arms proudly on their breast.
He had requested that such men also be their Legions voice of reason; advisors to a fashion. Isilordil greeted them and gestured to the map, and while the three men looked over the map the Legate saw others join him and salute.
Isilordil saw that one man of each part of Calth’s army was here. One man drew Isilordil’s attention quickly, the Rivermaster Polion. He was a wide man with a full beard around his jaw that was a shock of white, while his massive fore arms and legs shown he was not a man to anger.
After each man had time to look over the reports and draw their own minds, they looked to their Legate.
‘We need to slow the orcs down.’ Isilordil stated.
‘Aye, that we do,’ Polion agreed, looking more at the river on the map than anywhere else.
‘My lads will give ‘em a fight they’ll come to regret.’ He spoke with a harsh, earthy accent that spoke of his times as a raw recruit to Rivermaster.
‘I doubt that will buy us much time,’ Muttered Felix, a massager from the road wardens. He gestured to the river with a wide flick on his hand.
‘They could attack from anywhere along this stretch and you’d be sitting around, freezing your arses off.’
The Rivermaster scowled at that, but held his tongue.
‘What if we make some hit and run actions?’ Advised Itheilen, the rangers chosen voice.
‘That’s what the rangers would do, but it’d be like spitting at an incoming tide.’ Polion said.
Itheilen nodded in agreement, now seeing the reason.
‘Don’t forget about the people in the homestead,’ reminded Felix. ‘We need to give them plenty of time to pack their things and come to Calth.’
‘You know just as much as I that those orcs in the mountains will be amongst them as soon as they are upon the road.’ Countered Itheilen, using his finger to draw the sad event.
‘Aye and those buggers would jump down on just about anyone. My lads won’t be able to fight them odds.’ Polion growled.
Isilordil lowered his hands, now taking his eyes off the map and on the men in front of him.
‘We need to buy ourselves time and keep the orcs already here in their place.’ He said in a tone that suggested no one should question. There was a pause, before Telion from the Second Legion spoke.
‘Can we not order some of the Legions to stand ready in case the orcs attack from the mountains?’
Isilordil thought about that; he did not like the idea of stripping Calth of any defenders but it seemed he had little choice if those people would have a chance.
‘And what of the river?’ Polion pressed Isilordil.
‘Can you destroy the bridges and crossings?’
There was a long pause from Polion. He had his men had spent most of their lives at their posts, and now they were to be ordered to pull them down. There were dozens of stone bridges, and many lesser wooden ones.
‘Aye, sir.’ Polion said heavily, looking at the river on the map as if to apologise.
‘Do it.’ Isilordil ordered and turned to Itheilen.
‘We will need the rangers to track the orcs for as long as they can. Determine their path and set as many traps and spoils as can be set. Every moment brought for Calth is precious.’
Itheilen nodded and bowed turning and leaving the chamber. Isilordil had not dismissed him, but knew the Ranger had much to do.
They all had.
He looked up at the massager Kilor, and knew that only one Legion would be able to save those people.
Isilorbor sat in his barracks with the window wide open and his heart light and carefree. With the Legions recalled he had been uneasy for the first few months but now he did not come to think anything about it at all.
In his thirties, Isilorbor had been leading the Fourth Company for ten years. Ten long years had seen Isilorbor gain a scar across his right eye down to his nose and many honours won for his company, Legion and family.
He was a tall man, hair as black as night and eyes of deep emerald, just like his father. He was broad and strong, sharped face and an easy smile that saw his handsome features the dream of many younger women in the city.
Isilorbor had been in Calth for six months with the Legion, but refused to let the idleness’ to eat away at his men. He ordered a training program that kept them fit and active, and also kept them out of trouble. Only two months ago, Isilorbor remembered members of First Company brawling in their generals’ favourite inn. He grinned at the memory, but knew to do so in company would be unwise.
He looked out the window onto the courtyard to see that the Forth was doing their morning sword drills while he was up in his office sorting through their payments. He had to go over every man in his company and deem that each of them should be paid. All they had done for six months was sit around and wait for orders.
It is a trivial task, but it has to be done, he kept telling himself.
There was a knock at the door and Isilorbor did not look up from his work.
‘Come.’ He said dismissively, dipping his quill into the inkwell and ticking the box by the soldiers’ name.
He heard steel toed boots tap on the wooden floor and knew who it was before they spoke.
‘Captain.’ The new comer greeted with a salute that made a short bang with steel on steel.
‘First Sergeant Tarkin.’ Isilorbor said, looking up and smiling at his friend.
Tarkin was tall and lean, built as strong as a set of walls and the most loyal man Isilorbor had known. He wore his black hair tight to his skull while his blue eyes looked on his captain with respect. His powerful arms were taut with his salute, the breastplate and leg steel leg greaves matched closed to his body.
‘Are the men ready?’ Isilorbor asked, looking down and finishing with blessed relief.
‘They are, sir.’ Tarkin replied, his fist swung down smartly to his side and stood to attention.
‘Good, have the sections break into marches around the yard to warm them up. I will join you after I have changed.’ Isilorbor said, rising to his feet.
Tarkin nodded, his gaze following his captain.
Isilorbor stood at his armour and began to place on his underlining chainmail, when he noticed that Tarkin was still standing there.
‘Anything else you came here for?’ He asked, placing on his arm greaves.
‘Yes, sir. A runner came not five minutes ago and summoned you to the general’s side; this is for all captains of the Legion.’ Tarkin relayed the orders, a mixed look in his face.
Isilorbor stopped tying the arms of his armour to himself, frowning and looking at his boots. That the captains of the Legion had not been summoned together since they had first come to Calth. Could it be that they’re orders were to be given today?
‘Shall I inform the quartermaster, sir?’ Tarkin asked, already thinking the same as Isilorbor.
‘Not until I return, but keep yourself close at hand, Tarkin.’ Isilorbor said after a moment’s thought, getting back to placing his armour on.
There were many thoughts going through Isilorbor’s mind at this moment. With all the Legions summoned to Calth, what kind of war would they be fighting?
