"We are forty against hundreds
In someone else's bloody war
We know not why were fighting
Or what we're dying for
They will storm us in the morning
When the sunlight turns to sky
Death is waiting for its dance now
Fate has sentenced us to die."
-Garth Brooks, Ireland
The wind sifted through the trees and rolled over the ancient hills with an irresistible force; A storm was brewing in Briton.
But it was not the common drizzle and clouds; no, this was to be a far worse storm than many men had ever seen.
It began with the wind.
It rushed furiously across the plains and fields and forests, until it found a fortress of stone. It whispered through the ramparts, fluttering the red capes of General Fabian and his companion who stood upon them. He cursed silently; what the hell was taking Falco so long? He should have arrived a week ago with the new shipment of slaves. The roman's dark, slanted eyes scanned the bleak horizon for any sign of them. He saw nothing.
"Why does he not come?" He hissed to the man that stood beside him. "I need more fighters! These…" Here he waved a frantic arm at the distant woods "…savages will not wait another fortnight, and my defenses are weak. I was promised the remainder of the Sarmatian horsemen from the Irish outpost two months ago, the sarmatians from the Lincoln outpost, and twenty more directly from Sarmatia. And what do I have, Captain? What do I have? Tell me!"
Caradoc, the younger and cooler of the two, calmly replied "Nothing different as of now, General." The General smote his mailed hand on the parapet. "Precisely! I have nothing! I don't even know how many these slaves are, when they arrive, or even if they will be of use to me! Damn that man! He had better have a good excuse for his delay! I have sent Castus for the southern shipment, Falco for the western, and Boreas for the eastern. Why do they not return?"
Caradoc stared coolly out at the dismal land they guarded, as if searching for a reply there.
"My lord General, if I may be so bold I would say this: Whoever survived the dangers of the Irish outpost must be both brave and mighty. The attack was stopped by only a handful of the resourceful men you have been promised. I think that you should trust their strength in arms, as opposed to strength in numbers. I would not think that Falco tries to delay; he is a faithful man to you. The slaves we have stationed in Ireland have learned nothing of obedience or respect of superiors; they do not respect our superior race. Falco may be having trouble traveling with slaves such as these; I pray you sent a substantial troop with him, sir?"
General Fabian remained silent, staring at the distant forest as if it would make his slaves arrive faster.
"Sir?" repeated Caradoc.
Fabian hung his head and massaged his temples, and opened his mouth to speak. As he did so, the watchman called from his post "My Lord! Riders approaching, Sir! It appears to be your slaves from Lincoln Keep sir! "
"At last!" the General muttered to himself as he began his decent from the wall. "Open the gate!" he bellowed to the soldiers.
We shall see what Fortune brings me from the south.
And at that, his first shipment of slaves rode through the gate, escorted by twelve guards and Captain Castus, one of his finest officers. Fabian approached the mounted men, looking over his new property.
And what he saw did not disappoint.