Rothlin

Rothlin shivered as the wind bit into his spine. He felt chilled to the bone, despite the thick coat he was wearing. Hastening across the clearing, he ducked into the mess tent set up near the edge of the woods. Inside, he was greeted by several of the other men already huddled by the fire. He acknowledged them with a wave, but realised, with a sinking feeling as his eyes surveyed the room, that the man he sought was not present. "Where is Taryem?" he asked one of the men seated at the table. "He's gone out with some of the lads on a raid. With that Roman army coming, it's unlikely any of the tribes are concentrating on policing their towns, and we need a few things," he grinned, and winked slyly at Rothlin.

Rothlin nodded. It would be good to have some more provisions, and the women that Taryem would bring would not be unwelcome either. He ducked back out of the tent, and wandered over to the pickets, where three men stood guard on the horses. He nodded briefly to them, then quickly saddled a bay mare and cantered off towards the nearest town. He had to speak to Taryem urgently, and if he had gone out on a raid, then Rothlin would have to catch him and tell him what he had discovered.

As he rode along, the wind biting into his fingers as they clutched the reigns, he wondered how Taryem would take the news of another Roman incursion into the tribal lands. It had been four years since the last one, and Rothlin still had nightmares about the terrible battle, the blood and the screams of the dying. He still dreamt of the way the Romans had tortured and murdered his family. Rothlin clenched his fists. If the Romans came, he would fight them, despite what Taryem said.

Cantering down the slope towards the nearest village, Rothlin could smell smoke on the air, and knew that he had come the right way. Spurring his horse onwards, he came face to face with a raging inferno, while villagers huddled in a small group and Taryem's men ran around with blazing torches, setting everything alight. Taryem himself strode over to the group of villagers, picked one at random, and then laughing, slit his throat from ear to ear.

Rothlin's vision swept back four years, and saw again the faces of his family. slaughtered by legionnaires during the last Roman War. "NO!" he screamed, and galloped towards Taryem, slipping from his horse. He staggered to his feet, and started throwing curses at Taryem.

Taryem spared one glance for Rothlin, and then shrugged and walked towards him. There was an amiable smile on his face. "Roth, what's wrong? Something happen to you?" he asked, clapping Rothlin on the shoulder. "What are you doing?!" Rothlin burst out. "Don't you realize what you've done to these people!"

Taryem's face hardened and he gripped Rothlin's shoulder with more force. "Of course I know you idiot," he snarled, not even pretending to be friendly. "I'm showing these people who their master is now that the King has pulled all his soldiers out of here." Behind Taryem's shoulder, Rothlin saw the other bandits moving around the square, setting the buildings ablaze. Beyond them, from the direction of the western road, another man stride into the village square. He was wearing a long, billowing cloak, and carried a sword on his back.

"You are no better than the scum who burned my village!" Rothlin shouted at Taryem. "It wouldn't surprise me to learn it actually was you," he faltered, seeing the grin on Taryem''s face. "Oh, mercy no!" "It was amusing, dressing up as Romans," Taryem mused. "I must say though," he drawled, looking pensive, "I really did regret killing your wife. She was, shall we say," and he laughed, "very enthusiastic!"

Suddenly Taryem stiffened and would have fell if he was not gripping Rothlin's shoulder. Looking down, Rothlin could see the tip of a sword protruding from Taryem's stomach. He lifted his gaze to see the cold eyes of the man who he had just observed entering the square. Rothlin stepped back and the stranger pulled his blade out of Taryem with a jerk.

"You have received your judgement," he said in an incredibly cold voice. "Now here is your reward!" In a blink of an eye he pulled a long knife from his belt and casually slit Taryem's throat.

The corpse collapsed, spraying Rothlin with blood. But Rothlin did not move, he stood frozen with terror, staring at the stranger like a bird stares at a snake. The stranger reached over and gripped his shoulder. "Come on lad, snap out of it." he commanded.

Rothlin blinked, then looked around him. Spotting Taryem's corpse, he screamed with released fury, and drawing his knife, stabbed and kicked at the corpse until the stranger pulled him off. "Easy, lad, easy," the stranger grunted, straining to hold Rothlin back. "He's gone now, he can't feel your revenge. Mind you though," and he sounded as is he was furious, "I can't blame you for wanting to stab the bastard as much as you did. I heard what he told you." The stranger looked sadly off into the distance. "There is nothing more painful for a man than to see his family die before his eyes, and be able to do nothing."

Rothlin pulled free. "How could you do that. You.... you just... executed him! You can't do that!" The strangers eyes grew cold again. "Lad, you'd be surprised at exactly what I can and cannot do. But that scum deserved to die, you know it. I was merely dispensing justice. It is one of the things I do best." He turned and began to walk away.

"Wait," Rothlin called after him. "Who are you?" The man turned. "I am he who walks with the night. I am Zeltar né Kerath." "And what do you want?" Rothlin called desperately. He had to know. "I seek the redemption of our people. I go to Galeth."

Rothlin sank to the ground. There was not a person in the world who had not heard of Zeltar, the Night Stalker. He was said to have been a tribesman from Ynes Prydein, who had set out to explore the world, before becoming a gladiator in Rome. He had risen to the position of Gladiator One, the best in the Empire. And then he had returned to tribal lands, befriending the chief of the Nervii, and aiding them in the war against Rome, many years before.

Rothlin stood, and walked to his horse. He had known that battle was coming, but now that he had seen Zeltar he knew what he would do. He mounted and cantered out of town, following Zeltar's path. "I swear to you, Romans," he whispered as he rode, "You shall have no opportunities to create men like Taryem again. I will stop you."

As he rode, thunder crackled, and the wind rose again. He shivered, feeling it's icy touch on his spine as he rode towards Galeth, the seat of Bladrath, Chief of the Nervii.


Talia

"What do you mean?" she shouted. "I am the only one able to take command upon my father's death. My brother is dead and I am the only heir. You will accede."

"Silence, woman!" Garvas barked. "Remember your place! You have no privileges anymore. Once your father dies, we will meet in council and elect a new warleader. After that, you will be as nothing!"

"I will not have it!" Talia shouted once more.

"Lady, you have no choice. Good day!" Garvas turned and stalked out of the room. "Talia?" came a weak voice from the bed near the window. She walked over to it, and gazed down at the man lying upon it. He smiled up at her, then whispered, "I told you he would not accept it." "No matter, Father," she replied. "He will have no choice when Zeltar arrives. He will back me, won't he?" But the old man had lapsed back into sleep.

Talia rose from the bedside, and made her way outside. The 'palace' was quite small, no bigger than many inns in Rome, although Talia, of course, would not be able to make that judgement. Still, it was large for the tribes, and signified that here dwelt the lord of their people.

As Talia walked out of the palace, she was fuming inside. ‘How dare he!' she raged. ‘How dare those pompous old men try to tell me I will not succeed to the chieftainship! The Romans are coming and we do not have time for another civil war!'

As Talia walked through the town, she stopped to buy some honeycomb from the hawkers, and then began to walk back to the palace. As she passed a narrow byway, she heard down it the sounds of a fight. Alarmed, she began to head towards the scene. Fighting of any kind was banned in the town, and she had full intentions to confront and arrest those involved. But as she finally beheld the scene, she changed her thoughts dramatically.

Four men armed with long knives were engaged in a pitched argument with a tall stranger about the contents of the latter's purse. As Talia approached, she heard the stranger say ‘and as I told you gentlemen, I have no coin! I am on an important mission to see Chief-" he was cut off by one of the thieves, as he lunged forward with the knife. The stranger swayed away from it, and sent out a right cross that landed the assailant on the floor, face in the mud.

"This is most unwise," the tall stranger said in an incredibly cold voice. The thieves took no notice of his warning, continuing to lunge at him whilst their leader fished himself out of the dirt. The leader's face was covered in horse droppings, and he was bellowing at the top of his voice at the stranger. Lowering his dagger, he charged again. The stranger avoided him once more, but was unable to avoid the thief's dagger, which sliced him along the arm. The stranger glanced at his cut, and then stared at the thief with death in his eyes. "I really wouldn't have done that .." he whispered.

The thieves charged him. Almost faster than the eye could see, the stranger drew a long knife and a gleaming sword, avoided the clumsy lunges of the thieves and killed all four within as many heartbeats. Under their own momentum, the dead bodies continued to fall forward, whilst the stranger moved away. He looked at the scene before him and sadly said "Why didn't you believe me? Now I am again cursed by blood."

Talia ran up to him. "Are you all right?" she demanded. "Why were those men attacking you?"

"They were after my purse. They would not believe that it was empty, and they were unwise enough to attack me. I warned them," he paused, looking again sadly at the bodies, "but... they chose to waylay a stranger. It was bound to come. And now, young lady," he said, looking at Talia, "Would you be so kind as to tell me where the house of Chief Bladrath is situated? I have urgent business with him."

Talia looked carefully at him, and then asked quietly, "Who are you?"

The stranger straightened. "I am Zeltar né Kerath. I have been summoned by Chief Bladrath.... and why should I tell you?" he asked suspiciously. "Because I am Talia Varmas, the only child of Chief Bladrath. Welcome to Galeth, Zeltar." she said, and took his hand. "And now, we must hurry. My father is on his deathbed, and we haven't much time."


Zeltar

"My old friend," Bladrath rasped. "My old, old friend. How long has it been since we last parted?"

"Over seven years, Bladrath," Zeltar replied. "Seven long, hard years." The Chief began a fit of coughing, which eventually subsided. Zeltar felt alarmed at this. How could his old friend, once the mightiest warrior of the Nervii have come to this.

Bladrath spoke again, "You know of course about the Romans. They are coming, Zeltar. I see it in my dreams. They are coming here once more to crush us. The last time was not enough. Fifty thousand dead, and yet not enough," and he coughed again. When at last he stopped, he said "Zeltar, I want you to lead a force of our best men south against the legions. You will have to prevent them from reaching us here for at least two months. In that time," and he raised a hand weakly to stave off Zeltar's protests, "We should have mobilized our entire forces, and we will stand a better chance against the legions."

"Bladrath, think this through," Zeltar's voice was urgent. "You want me to stop Caesar, the greatest general alive, with ten full legions and prevent him from crossing the Great Mountains... for two whole months! It is impossible!" And he rose and paced the room. "There is not a force in all of Belgae strong enough to prevent the legions from crossing." "You need not prevent them, my friend" Bladrath whispered. "Merely delay them long enough for us to prepare."

"And what of you health, dear friend," Zeltar said gently. "You cannot last more than two weeks. This you must know. In your letter you mentioned you daughter, Talia. Is she really that capable?" "Yes. She has a head for ruling, and a gift for logistics and command. However, she is female, and the chieftains will never accept a female leader. That is why I have decided to appoint you as regent after my death, until the war is over."

Zeltar was aghast. "But Bladrath, I know nothing about ruling! I only know how to kill!" Bladrath stopped him speaking by raising his hand and continued, "As regent, I said. You will merely be the figurehead, whilst Talia rules the tribes, but behind your cover. Eventually, you may step aside for her, if prejudices ever decrease. Then you can return to your mountains." He erupted into another fit of coughing, which finally ended, and soon afterwards Bladrath fell asleep.

Zeltar rose then and stalked from the room, in search of Talia. He did not like this new role of his. Always he had been a fighter, not a lord or a general. Yet now, he was being asked to govern a force of men, an action that he had never been properly trained to do. Although he was one of the deadliest warriors in the world, he was willing to concede that his skills at ruling were indeed not quite up to the task he had been set. He sighed. He would have like a less central role, but still, his lord had commanded. He would do what he could.

Zeltar searched the house for Talia, but was unable to find her, and so he asked a tribesman the directions to the council chambers. He was given directions, upon which he headed towards a rough building near Bladrath's house. As he entered, he could hear the sounds of a heated argument within. Zeltar squared his shoulders. Anticipating the protests of the power hungry clan chiefs of the Belgae, he resolutely walked into the council, to issue Bladrath's orders, and his own commands.


Caesar

The men marched in front of him, a long, gleaming serpent of steel moving resolutely forwards. In front of him were the first legions, the Claws, tense and ready for action. His gaze swept out, to the looming mountains, barely days away. In some places he could just glimpse the movements of the scouts, as they fanned out along the path of the march. The cavalry screens were also moving. ensuring that there were no tribesmen hidden to ambush his troops. Not that he was expecting any resistance until the other side of the Alps, but it served his purposes to keep his men alert, ready for action. "Caesar," a soldier called from behind him. Wheeling his horse, Caesar shielded his eyes, and saw Marcus Brutus riding towards him. "What is it, my friend? What news?" Caesar questioned, all the while watching how his men moved in formation. "To your request back in Italia, the staff have worked out a new plan for the march on Belgae. With their estimations, we should be able to crush the Nervii without losing a single legion." Brutus leant from his saddle and handed a parchment to his general. Caesar scanned it quickly, and then frowned.

"It sounds reasonable in theory, Brutus, but in reality I fear that this strategy...." he trailed off, rolling up the parchment and tapping it against his thigh, face thoughtful.

"No, what we need here is a double pronged attack. The hammer and the anvil, if only there were a way to take a secondary force over these mountains."

"But Caesar, there is another pass." Brutus interjected. Caesar looked at him in surprise, then motioned for him to continue.

"It lies approximately twenty five miles northeast of here. It is only small, barely wide enough for four men abreast, and it is long, but it provides a relatively safe march down to the plains in Gaul, ending seventeen miles further north than the main pass."

Caesar stared into the distance, then turned his horse, and motioned for Brutus to follow him. He was deep in thought, one hand on the reins, the other stroking his chin. A plan was beginning to come to him, one that could crush the Belgae entirely, leaving his forces almost unscathed, provided it all went correctly.

"Signal to the legions," he commanded to Brutus as they rode down the hill. Prepare to stop in one hour. I need to think."

"Yes, my general," Brutus said, saluting, then galloping off to the leading legions. They would halt before long, and Caesar would soon tell him the new strategy that he was working on. Whatever it was, Brutus knew, it would be an excellent tactic indeed, and if all went as Caesar planned..... Brutus knew his fortunes should improve rather dramatically. As a commander in the army, fame and glory would be his..... and surely power as well.