Prologue

Merrak Archimo HoundFletcher, scourge of  Romans, slaughterer of Scythians and bleeder of veins surveyed the invading army with interest. He judged about six infantry legions, an infantry legion being ten cohorts strong, a cohort made up of six centuries and eighty men in each century, Merrak made the quick calculation and smiled grimly. They were looking at approximately thirty thousand infantry along with a further two thousand archers and auxiliary cavalry. Frowning he turned away, and for the sake of his troops morale desperately tried to look undaunted by the massive task laid out before him.
Merrak had plenty of experience fighting the Romans, he knew they were commanded by generals who were tough, tactical and experienced in the art of warfare. Merrak also knew that without a good general the Romans were simply a rabble of men and about as useful as a wet fish; unlucky for him then that he was facing the most feared general in the northern continent. Quintius Brutii. Tall, slender and arrogant Quintius Brutii saw it as his duty to rid the world of the small barbaric kingdom that was Merrak’s fathers, Eodrech the wrathful, leader of the Dacians. Merrak knew that he alone could not stand against the sheer numbers of the Roman empire and it was only a matter of time before they decided to launch a full scale invasion. At the moment they were just skirmishing and probing, intent on testing the Dacians military strengths and weaknesses before launching a full invasion. However  What the Romans, and Brutii in particular, did not know was that on the battlefields of the north they fight by altogether different rules…..

Introduction

“Unite? What do you mean unite? Answer me this Merrak, since when has the land of Dacia ever even dreamt about proposing an…. an… alliance!” King Eodrech spat the word out with contempt and the slightest hint of fear, wavering over his words. This was new! It wasn’t how things were done, Eodrech thought about his grandfather and imagined in painfully graphic detail exactly what he would have to say about it were he not in the great sky kingdom, where all great warriors go after death. “father it is imperative we gain allies if we are to fight not only against the Scythians but now against those cursed Romans!” Eodrech flinched as his son mentioned the Romans but Merrak stared defiantly as his father glared back at him anger dancing like fire in his emerald eyes. Both father and son were similar in build, both muscular and stocky but with the agility and skill that comes with fighting long and bloody wars- being part of one of the most feared warrior races it was hardly surprising. Their facial features were even more similar, both had the same matt of thick blonde hair, Eodrech’s greying slightly, but apart from that there was only their eyes that stood out from their scar-ridden faces; Eodrech had emerald green eyes whilst his son had brilliant blue, shining like a beacon from his weather-beaten skin. “ENOUGH” bellowed his father stopping what had become a staring match between father and son, “I will not stand for this blasphemy, I myself shall personally command the greatest army the Dacians have ever mustered, I will march forth and drive these roman dogs out of my land!” The king was shouting now, voice dripping with anger. “Once more the horns of the house of HoundFletcher will sound, once more will the fyrd devastate, once more will the warbands shout, once more will the houscarles slaughter, once more will the arrows of the forest’s own fly, once MORE!”