Realm of the Runes: Blood Right

Chapter XXVI

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He smiled, satisfied with his effort, as he watched a screaming Roman calvary charging down the slope. A small group of ragged Gauls were gathered at the bottom, standing stoicly as the fearsome bringers of their imminent deaths hurtled toward them, chunks of mud flying under slashing hooves.

At the last minute, as the Romans reached the bottom of the hill in a glittering cluster flying manes and polished armour, their horses stopped dead and the Romans went flying from their saddles , dropping straight through the ground. Matthaios watched in amazement as rank after rank of Romans tried to pull their horses to a stop. All their efforts to slow down the momentum they’d gained from descending the steep hill were in vain, as soldier after soldier toppled out of sight. Their heavy armor was their downfall.

Literally.

Matthaios sprinted over for a closer look - ignoring the strange sensation of having people running through him - and grinned at the ingenuity of the plan. 

There was a deep trench - perhaps three meters deep - dug into the ground and shored up with tree trunks. It had been covered with a camouflaged carpet of sods of grass and held up by thin branches. The horses hadn’t been fooled. 

He was thankful there were no spikes in this trench. He’d read about that gruesome variety. Apparently the Gauls were planning to hold the Romans for ransom, and he laughed a little as he watched the triumphant Gauls  taunting the furious soldiers. Several Gauls collected the freshly riderless horses, leading them by their bridles. There were at least fifteen of the magnificent beasts, all heaving with exertion as they followed their new masters. 

He eyed the remnant of the Roman calvary at the top of the hill, and could identify their decurian pacing furiously back and forth, gesturing wildly in frustration. Matthaios was biting back a laugh when a steady rumbling beat sounded behind him. He turned around quickly and caught his breath.

A magnificent black horse was galloping toward the scene, a heavyset man riding it with masculine ease. The horse had no saddle or bridle, and the man was directing the stallion with only the simplest of ropes around its neck.

This is the leader of the Gauls, Matthaios realized, a lump rising in his throat as the horse thundered to a stop only meters away. It was tall - higher that Matthaios's head at its shoulder - and sweating, tossing its head in excitement, dark eyes wide, and elegant head held with pride.

Good gods…

The stallion's eyes were like liquid fire, and he swallowed hard.

There is nothing I wouldn't give for a horse like that…

The Gaul dismounted in one was movement, and stalked toward the trench, sneering as he observed the trapped soldiers. Matthaios could only guess what he was thinking, but he turned around and clapped his clansmen on the shoulders, muttering his praise. They had immense respect for him, Matthaios could see.

He clenched his jaw in determination.

That will be me.

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Matthaios lifted his finger from the map and opened his eyes.

My god… That was incredible! 

He hurried to sit down at the huge desk in middle of the room, pushing aside the maps that were strewn across it. A small sheaf of parchment lay beside him and he took a page, dipping a quill pen into an inkwell, thoughtfully.

He mapped out the skirmish, absently doodling a black horse’s head once he was finished.

The amazing thing was… nobody died in that skirmish. Maybe Chronos is right. If I use my brains and be smart about it…

He chewed his lip. 

Yes. Tactics are definitely on the agenda…

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GLOSSARY: (Ancient Dialects)

Cymru: Wales

Isle of Eire: Ireland

GLOSSARY: (Latin)

Physicorum lux flexibus: “Physics of Light Manipulation”

Homo sapiens ex hujusmodi navitas: “Magical Energy of Humans”

decurion: Roman leader of a troop of cavalry (14-30 men on horses)

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