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The Praetorian
Part 6
The Palladum was the largest and most technologically advanced fortress in the country. It was the Federate’s response to incursions from smugglers and militants who used the narrow mouth of the River Nillus to import contraband and to launch raids against Federate outposts. The Palladum was a physical barrier to one of the few accessible entrances to this part of the country and a staging point for sorties against these well-armed factions. Guarding the narrow mouth of the River Nillus, it was a majestic sight.
On both sides of the Nillus, mountains rose to form looming east-west barriers, leaving a gorge between them through which the river flowed. An enormous stone structure five stories high straddled this gorge at its mouth. Beneath it were two portcullises set one hundred meters apart that rested in berths on the river’s bottom. When ships required passage, the portcullises were raised out of the water and into the straddling portion of the fortress. A large complex spread up the sides of the gorge containing exercise and training areas, barracks for several regiments of militia soldiers and a company of Praetorians, mess halls, suites for visiting dignitaries, weapons and munitions storehouses, and residences for the attendants of all these military and civilian personnel. The overall population of the Palladum exceeded seven thousand, including more than sixty-one hundred militia troops and nearly two hundred Praetorians, with enough extra beds to house another battalion.
At the corners of the exterior walls were short towers that supported short-range catapults. Bastions protruded at regular intervals that featured large ballistae capable of firing spear like ammunition that could pierce the hull of the stoutest frigate. Overall, the Palladum presented the appearance of invulnerability.
The fortress sprawled up the sides of the gorge in squares of ever-decreasing width that culminated in two tall, thin towers that provided advanced warning of anyone who approached by land or by sea. Therefore, Captain Milius’ party was spotted well before it arrived at the Palladum’s south end.
Next to the southern portcullis was a guardhouse and a gate that was just big enough to accommodate a large wagon. A corporal exited the guardhouse and motioned for Duncan to halt. A pair of archers on top of the roof trained weapons on the captain’s beleaguered platoon and its train of weary sailors.
It was mid-afternoon. The sky was overcast and a cool wind blew. Overall, it was a dreary day.
The corporal sized up Duncan’s group before addressing the captain. This was the most bedraggled troop of soldiers he had ever seen. One of the officers had a terrible gash in her side and the corporal was surprised to see her standing. About a dozen of them were lying unconscious on stretchers amid stains of blood. There was barely a single soldier who wasn’t bandaged. Then there was the armor — every one of them wore a suit that was torn or mangled in several places. And why were they traveling with hundreds of civilians? Perhaps they had to abandon ship somewhere upriver along the Nillus.
“State your business.”
“I’m Captain Duncan Milius, senior captain third rank of the Eighteenth Battalion. We seek shelter for these civilians and aid for our wounded en route to our return to Valandov.”
The corporal gazed at the newcomer suspiciously. His name was familiar, but few militia soldiers had ever met Duncan Milius. The corporal wasn’t even sure what he looked like. Besides, what would he be doing here?
“We haven’t received any notice of new Praetorian arrivals, and if you’re on your way to Valandov, you’re heading in the wrong direction.”
Duncan nodded wearily. “We’re part of the battle group that was assigned to relieve Fort Ravelin. When we tried to return to our base at Valandov, we discovered that the river was blocked. The Palladum was the only place for us to go. That was eleven days ago.”
The corporal stared blankly at him. “Eleven days ago?”
“That’s right. Eleven days on foot.” Duncan gestured behind him. “Our progress was somewhat slowed by our injured.”
The corporal regarded him suspiciously. “Through the forest?”
Duncan glared at the corporal and fought down his mounting frustration. “If we could get our ships around the blockage, we would have used the river to return to Valandov. But we couldn’t. So we came here. On foot for eleven days. Through the forest.”
The corporal looked past the captain and noted again the haggard appearance of these people. They appeared to have been in a heavy battle, though if they were lying (which was quite possible) it wouldn’t be the first time that a militant antigovernment faction attempted to gain illicit entrance to a Federate outpost by posing as wounded soldiers. A base near Torinn was almost overrun recently by such a ruse. The claim of having walked all the way from the Saar didn’t make sense either since the only route south from the Palladum was the River Nillus. No, they must have a ship nearby. In the end, the corporal returned to the guardhouse and sent a runner to fetch one of the Praetorian lieutenants.
Presently an officer bearing the symbol of a vulturn’s claw over two chevrons emerged from the guardhouse with a squad of soldiers. They all had the emblem of Valor’s Keep etched onto their steel breastplates. She saluted and spoke with Duncan for a few moments before signaling to one of the soldiers on top of the gate. She then led the captain and his group inside. The three hundred sailors and attendants were taken to a different part of the fortress.
The Praetorians continued along the lower rampart that faced the river. As they walked, the two officers conversed quietly. “I apologize for the hassle, sir, but the civvies aren’t quite as familiar with military matters as we are.” “Civvies” was a derogatory term Praetorians used when referring to the local militia. It highlighted the disdain they felt towards local armies — they fought no better than average civilians did.
Duncan waved off the apology. “That’s quite all right, I’m aware of the situation here. Tight security is necessary.”
The lieutenant nodded curtly. “How many of you are there, sir?”
Duncan motioned behind them to the fallen Praetorians who were being borne on stretchers. “Sixty-seven, including eleven seriously injured.”
The lieutenant pointed to one of the arched bridges. “There’s a field hospital across that way. They’ll see to the casualties.”
Duncan beckoned to Blaine and relayed this information to her. She motioned to the ones who carried the stretchers to follow her to the hospital. Blaine looked like she was ready to collapse. Duncan ordered her to get her own wounds seen to, as well.
“We’ll set the rest of your platoon up in the extra barracks,” continued the lieutenant. “The civvies will take care of the sailors you brought with you. Captain Marcus has been informed of your arrival. He’ll surely want to meet with you. At the moment, he’s in his office.”
“Very well. Escort my troops to the hospital and inform them to remain there until my return.”
“Shall I send someone to take you to the captain?”
“No, thank you, I’ll find my way.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant saluted and Duncan returned it. She then headed up a flight of stairs with the beaten group of soldiers in tow.
Duncan stood there for a moment breathing in the cool mountain air. He folded his arms and leaned into a crenel. A few paces from him, an archer had her sight trained on a passing ship. The captain watched as it slowly passed beneath the bridges and reached the south portcullis. It would be boarded and searched before being given clearance to enter the country.
Duncan closed his eyes and recalled the plan he once saw for this fortress. The last time he was here, the place was still under construction. As he thought about this, Duncan absently rubbed the scar on his left cheek. He had been on leave and had decided to tour the northern regions with his foster-father, Premier Leodore Milius, who was in the midst of an election campaign. They were accompanied by General Cyril Hawkwin, the commander of the national army. Even though Hawkwin was a career militia soldier, his reputation was so great that most Praetorian officers deferred to him. Hawkwin was largely responsible for pushing Duncan into the Praetorship in the first place.
The captain smiled at this recollection when he suddenly remembered that Jarren had mentioned something about joining Hawkwin’s retinue in her last correspondence. Duncan’s heart always warmed when he thought about her. It was with a regretful pang that he noted that they were both too invested in their careers. Things could have been very different between them. As it was, they only saw each other a few times each year, though their sense of mutual devotion hadn’t dimmed in spite of it. The frequency of their meetings left an enormous ache in him — perhaps that was why he pushed himself so much.
The grating sound of the portcullis lifting brought Duncan back to reality. He had reports to file and a platoon of wayward Praetorians to deal with. Plus, he had to convey the unfortunate news about Ravelin’s fall. With a resentful sigh, Duncan continued along the walkway. He passed by two arched bridges before veering off to ascend a stairway on his right. This exited onto a large plateau that was being used to run combat drills. He watched a militia regiment practice the defensive box formation that Marshal Wallace had so stubbornly clung to. He shook his head and continued. Duncan passed by several administrative offices before ducking into a small building with an arched entrance. The standard of Valor’s Keep hung limply overhead. There was a door ahead of him and he knocked politely.
“Enter,” came the response.
Duncan opened the door and walked into a room that was about the size of an antechamber at a high court. A single window provided light and formed part of the inner defensive wall that backed onto the Palladum’s northern flank. There was a large table off to one side with several maps pinned down to it. In the opposite corner, next to the door, was a small desk covered with piles of papers.
Behind these piles sat a man wearing a gray uniform. The likeness of a vulturn clutching a bow with a sword and pike crossed behind it was sewn over his breast. Shoulder epaulets showed two wolvan’s teeth above three chevrons — the same rank as Duncan. The man was short and stocky. A tuft of black hair complemented his dark skin. He stood up and extended his hand.
“You must be Captain Duncan Milius. I remember reading about your appointment to Marshal Wallace’s battalion in the marshal’s last missive. I’m Captain Alhane Marcus. Welcome to the Palladum. Please forgive the disorganization; Marshal Wallace isn’t due for his next inspection tour for another two months, so we didn’t expect your arrival.”
Duncan accepted the handshake and sat down opposite his counterpart. Paperwork, he thought. Duncan suddenly found himself missing his own uniform. Although he disliked the bureaucratic side of a ranking officer’s job, he longed for the respite from conflict that it brought. Sometimes the ability to delegate wasn’t so bad.
“Thank you,” responded Duncan. “The last time I was here was two years ago. The place has changed a great deal. I’m almost tempted to say that it rivals Valor’s Keep in its appeal.”
Marcus smiled. “Perhaps, but you wouldn’t say that if you were stationed here during the winter.”
Duncan chuckled. “You’re probably right.”
“Duncan’s a Federate name, isn’t it? Central provinces?”
“Yes — Gath, to be specific.”
“I’m from Torinn, myself. You don’t sound like you’re from Gath. Kennedor, perhaps?”
Duncan shook his head and looked away for a second. “I’m Teivan, actually.”
Marcus folded his hands together. “Interesting.” He leaned forward, assuming a more businesslike tone. “Your armor is slashed open in many places. It looks like you ran into a few grimms on your way over.”
“You could say that. My company was stationed in Valandov. We were assigned to the Eighteenth Battalion.”
“Ah, Marshal Wallace’s own unit. He went with you?”
Duncan nodded.
“The Federate hasn’t built any new outposts in this province that I don’t know about, has it?”
“No.”
“Then you traveled nonstop from Valandov. That’s a risky move with the nearest supply depot days away. It practically begs for a grimm attack.” Marcus leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. “So if you were stationed down in Valandov, what are you doing all the way up here? And what happened to the rest of your battalion?”
Duncan inhaled deeply and took a moment to compose his thoughts. He then slowly related the events of the last two weeks.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
Buy Harbinger’s End: Herald in print or ebook for maps, extra material and a preview of Harbinger’s End: The Time of Meeting.
