My Dear Daughter

How are you? I know it has been many moons since I wrote my last letter to you. Unfortunately, I have been very busy these past weeks. It has only been four days since we first crossed through the Gate, yet already I feel exhausted. The effort of organising such an army as this is monumental and at times I feared I would not have the strength. Yet, each time, I imagined each problem as a step. Each problem I solved was another step back to you, back to home.

Oh Myui, I wish you could see this world. It is a land of rolling plains of brown grass, with tall mountains and hills dotting it. The sky above is a lovely bright blue. Whilst not as beautiful as Italica, it still has a rough charm to it. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to enjoy the views very much. We fought our first battle against the natives of this world yesterday. You needn't be concerned, your silly old father is fine. It was all quite easy actually.

The people of these lands seem quite primitive. They fight with no armour and do not ride horses. In fact, they wear very little at all. Mostly the furs and pelts of strange animals. They were fierce though. I am afraid we took a few casualties. The other lords dismissed it as acceptable losses, saying that they did their duty to the Empire. I'm not sure that will bring much comfort families of those poor men.

I'm sorry, darling, I don't mean to worry you with all this. We have come across some strange animals since arriving here. I think you would like a few of them. In particular, there is a large orange cat, with black spots all over it. You should have seen it run! Would you like one of them?

Give my gratitude to Kaine, Persia and all the girls for taking care of you. I am counting down every day until I can return home.

Your Loving Father, Always.

With a sigh, Colt put down his quill and picked up the newly written letter. His eyes scanned every word, checking for any imperfections. Finally, he was satisfied and delicately placed the parchment back down onto the table.

As he did the, he gave a long yawn, stretching his arms and closed his tired eyes. Finally, after many attempts (evidenced by the multitude of crumpled up balls of parchment thrown into one corner of the tent) he had finished the letter. He almost felt like cheering! He leaned back into his chair with a groan, feeling sleep beginning to overcome him. As he did this the sound of his tent flap being opened made Colt open one eye and look over to see who was disturbing him in his moment of triumph.

A young woman peeked through the tent flap, looking inside curiously. As she saw Colt sitting, her red skin and silver hair shined in the candlelight as she smiled. From her back, two large leathery wings stretched out.

"Ah, Master, you're still awake". She stepped inside and Colt saw that she held in her hands a platter on which a cup sat, with steam wafting up from it. "I made you some lemon brew".

"Oh". Colt smiled and took the platter gratefully. He took a small sip and instantly he felt the warmth and comfort of the hot lemon potion run through his body. "Thank you, Liliana, I needed that".

"It's no problem, Master, I knew you have been up all night writing". Liliana replied, watching the lord drink. "I know how much you like that brew as well".

That was true. An old recipe from the Cat People, Colt had taken a liking to the lemon flavoured drink, particularly its ability to revitalise a man after just a few sips. Most other nobles would have balked at the idea of trying a Demi-Human recipe, much less enjoying it, but then Colt Formal wasn't like most of the other nobles of the Empire.

"Well again, I appreciate it". With those words, he handed back the now empty cup and saucer, feeling much more refreshed. It wasn't enough to replace a full nights sleep but it would at least keep him energised for a bit longer.

"Thank you, Master". The draconian maid said, bowing slightly at the gratitude. "Oh, Master, I needed to tell you as well. As I was making my way here, Legate Galius stopped me and requested your presence at the slave pens this morning".

Colt raised an eyebrow curiously. "Galius? Did he say what he wanted to discuss?"

"I'm afraid he didn't Master. Do you need anything else? Shall I fetch you some breakfast?" Liliana asked, so eager to serve she was almost hopping on the spot.

The lord of Italica shook his head before picking up the letter on his desk, swiftly rolling it up and tying it together with a green bow. "Would you hand this to Crixus, the courier, and have him deliver it to Italica the next time he goes back through the Gate?"

"A letter! For a Lady Myui?" Liliana queried, eyeing the scroll. Her eager expression morphed into a bashful one. "May I... may I write a message as well?"

"Of course! Here, I'll add a post script". With a chuckle, Colt quickly unrolled the scroll, dipped his quill into the pot of ink and handed it to the awaiting Liliana.

The half dragon maid took a minute or so to write a few words in a scrawling font, one Colt thought perhaps akin to chicken scratch. Despite all the lessons Colt had given to Liliana (and all his other maids), it seemed that writing was still a skill she had yet to master. Nonetheless, he gave her a wide shining smile as she pressed down the tip of the quill to make a full stop. Liliana gazed down at the words, her face shining like a newly minted penny. It made the noble's heart glow with a kind of fatherly pride.

Ps - hopE YoU aRe weLL - LiLianA.

He sent her off with the letter and set out to get changed out of the simple grey bedclothes he had been wearing all night into something more suitable for the daytime. He decided on a simple, yet elegant, white robe with golden stitching along the sleeves and a green silk sash.

As he stepped out of his tent, Colt took a moment to take a deep breath of the morning air. At once, his nose was hit by a myriad of smells. All the staples of an Imperial army camp; cooking meat, animal dung, lordly perfumes and a hundred others. A paradox of odours, coming from the lowliest of peasants to the highest of lords. Although far from a pleasant smell, Colt nonetheless had certain fondness for it. Perhaps it was that paradoxical nature, a reminder that in war, it truly didn't matter what kind of life you came from before as a civilian, you were all equal in battle.

Deciding that he had spent enough time philosophizing on smells, Colt set off down the lanes of tents. This was the camp of the nobles and generals, with every tent seemingly trying to one up the others in terms of size and sheer gaudiness. Each pavilion was stitched in the colours of their lords and their personal flags hung outside on jewelled poles. Colt's own tent was green and gold, with the banner of the fasces hung outside.

As he walked, Italica's lord nodded or gave a greeting to any other noble he saw, most of whom were having breakfast. Bowls of fresh fruit, porridge sweetened with honey and sugar, huge platters of bread, sausages, bacon, whole roasted onions and fried eggs were just some of the meals he saw the various lords enjoying. It was all washed down with ale or freshly squeezed fruit juice.

At the sight of all these sumptuous meals, Colt's stomach growled with the force of an angry dragon. Despite his hunger, he ignored it and spurred himself on. He didn't want to leave Galius waiting.

Eventually he reached the end of the nobility's camp. From here, he could see down the hill where the rest of the army was camped. A veritable sea of small tents, campfires and horse lines. Everywhere Colt looked men came and went, sharpening and polishing weapons, training or simply passing the time with their comrades. The sound of blacksmiths at work, the hoarse shouts of the Centurions ordering their men about, the hundreds of conversations being held between comrades, all merged into a solid din of harsh noise. He could even see a few women moving among the tents, most likely whores, an inevitable addition to any army on a campaign. Overall, despite the grandness of the tents, the nobles camp looked miniscule compared to the regular Imperial Army's.

Turning his gaze away from the army's encampment, Colt looked up at the thing that had got them all here in the first place. At the very peak of the hill, the Gate loomed over them all. The huge structure stood, looking like one of the great temples in Sadera that had been torn from its foundations and dumped into these plains. It's marble body shined pale in the sun and within it, its black maw opened wide and dark. Just the memory of riding through that terrible blackness was enough to send a shiver down Colt's spine.

Banishing the thought from his mind, Colt marched on, tramping through the brown grass toward the sprawling expanse of the slave camp. As he did so, his nose was hit with a new smell. The vulgar odour of thousands of gallons of sweat. Across the field, surrounded by a hastily assembled fence were a dozen or so large cages, crammed into which were hundreds of prisoners. These were the natives of this world, captured after the battle the day before.

He found Legate Cassian Galius standing in front of one such cage, looking at the people within whilst eating away at an orange.

"Galius!" Colt greeted, giving the Imperial general a wave.

The Legate turned and gave a wide and friendly smile. Galius was every bit the warrior; tall, muscular, with hair and beard a fierce red, although a silver streak along his mane did denote his age. Even now, in the morning, he wore his finely crafted armour, his helm with its distinctive scarlet galea cradled under one arm.

"I was almost starting to think I would have to go down to your tent and fetch you myself!" Galius said, giving his deep, rumbling laugh. "What kept you up all night?" His smile turned sly. "Not a woman, was it?"

Colt gave a derisive snort. "No! I was writing a letter".

At that answer, Galius nodded understandingly. "Ah, I see. Your daughter?"

"Yes, I haven't sent a letter to Myui for a few weeks. I thought it was the right time". Colt shrugged. "What about you, Galius? Have you sent a letter to your son?"

With a shake of his head, the Legate looked back to the natives in their cage. "No, not yet. I was... preoccupied with assessing the newest stock".

"Oh yes?" Colt's smile morphed into a frown of distaste.

With another big bite of his orange, Galius spoke. As he did, his tone changed from that of a hearty warrior to the cold, calculating tenor of a merchant discussing his wares. "I believe we have a true fortune in our hands, Colt. As you know we've already sorted through all of the prisoners to see which to keep and which to... dispose of".

Oh yes, he knew. Colt had seen the slave merchants that had accompanied appraising those captured in the battle last night. They checked teeth, muscles, anything that might lower a price. Those they had caught were mostly men and boys, but there were also women. They had been stripped of what little clothing they had and those decided to be worth something were herded into the pens. Those deemed to worthless were... Colt felt a deep disgust churning in his stomach as he thought back to what he had seen...

Those considered to be too weak or infirm to sell were given over to the auxiliary troops. The orcs, the goblins, the ogres. All the beastmen conscripted into the Imperial Army, mostly to be used as meat shields for regular Imperial troops. They had been the first into action against the natives yesterday afternoon, when they had come up behind the unsuspecting native army. Despite having the element of surprise, the beastmen still took casualties over the course of the battle, at least until the rest of the Imperial forces had taken to the field. As a "reward" for their service, the surviving beastmen were given a veritable feast in human prisoners. Even from his tent, Colt had heard the terrified screams of the prisoners as they were eaten or cooked alive by the auxiliaries. The smell of blood and burning flesh had carried on the wind, and had thoroughly put Colt off of his dinner.

"The men are strong, so we should get a very good price from the mine owners. The women... well, Akusho always needs more whores". Galius intoned.

Colt could only shrug, not letting his true feelings show for fear of annoying his friend. He knew there was no point in trying to argue again.

"Here, there's one in particular I want you to see". With a wave of his hand, the Legate headed off towards a row of wagons, each of which had a large cage on it.

Galius stepped up to one such wagon and pointed inside. Slouched against the bars was a young native, his muscular black skin shining with sweat. He glared up at the two Imperials and Colt saw he sported quite a few injuries. A busted lip, dried blood around his nose, a big purple bruise on his forehead.

When he looked over to Galius questioningly, the general put up his hands defensively. "He tried to escape".

With a roll of his eyes, Colt looked over the young imprisoned man. "He looks strong".

"Yes, when he was captured, we found several orcs and an ogre surrounding him. Seems he slew the latter by jamming a spear into its eye".

"Truly?" Formal looked back on the slave in a new light.

"Yes". Galius stepped up to the cage, staring down at the young man. "I believe he has a place in the colosseum, don't you?"

"I suppose".

"Mmm, I'm sure the crowds would love him... We'll have five full wagons across the Gate by this evening and the money shall be in our pockets by end of the week". With a chuckle, Galius turned away from admiring the captured warrior.

Colt gave a fierce shake of his head. "In your pockets you mean? I wish for no part in this".

The Legate waved away the statement. "Very well, if you wish to keep your clans treasury empty, then you have my permission".

With a resigned sigh, Colt looked over the rolling fields of the new world, all the way out to the distant and hazy horizon. "Did you summon me just to discuss slaves?"

"No, you've made your distaste for it clear. I brought you here so we can discuss strategy". Galius answered. Recieving a questioning look in return, the soldier then jabbed a finger over to a trio of red and gold pavilions standing solitary on a hill, separate from all of the other noble's. "Come, we'll discuss more in my tent".

With that, he began to march steadily up the hill, with Colt following dutifully behind. Up close, the tent they came to was easily the largest in the whole camp, easily twice the size of Colts own. As they walked through the flap, he could also see that it extravagant size was matched with its extravagant furnishings. With a floor of wooden boards, there were rugs, chests, a long table that one would use for a feast, a huge silk bed and a large desk on which sat maps, books, quills, inkpots and plenty of parchment. A servant clicked his heels and stood straight as the two of them walked in.

"Leave us". Galius ordered and with just a nod the servant strode out.

With a gesture to a smaller table and a pair of chairs in the corner of the tent, Colt and Galius sat.

"What are you planning then, Cassian?" Questioned the lord of Italica.

Galius stroked his beard thoughtfully, putting on a wise and knowing air. "The mages have been studying this worlds native language. Though they are still far from fluent, they have been able to translate a few words. For instance, we now know the name of the people of this land. They call themselves the Zulu".

"Zulu?" Colt quirked an eyebrow. "Strange".

"Yes, I thought so too. As well as that, their capital is named Ulundi and is but a few hundred miles to the south".

"You intend to capture it as fast as possible then?"

"I do". Galius' smile was full of pride.

Resigned, Colt closed his eyes and asked next. "Very well, when do we leave?"

"Oh no, my friend, you're not coming with us. I am leaving you here to guard the Gate".

At those words, Colts eyes flew open and he looked up at his friend in surprise. Confusion reigned in his mind and he quickly responded. "What? Won't you need my troops?"

"By all accounts, we managed to defeat the bulk of the enemy army yesterday. This Ulundi isn't likely to be heavily defended. We'll march there at speed, capture it and this campaign shall be won!" With that, Galius leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms and smiling triumphantly.

"Sounds... optimistic. Who do you intend to take along with you?" Asked Colt.

"Viscount Maio, Marquis Calasta as well a few other lesser lords". The general answered.

"Maio and Calasta?" Colt repeated, narrowing his eyes curiosly. "They're both quite young aren't they? I would have thought you would have wanted men with more experience, especially if you aim to besiege an enemy capital".

"Ah, I thought so as well, at first. But then I realised... that youth and inexperience could be a blessing in disguise. Those boys, they're hungry for action. I intend to exploit that hunger for all its worth". The grin on Galius' face turned positively vicious as he spoke.

"I see... What will my duties be here, then?" Under the intense stare of his friend, Colt decided it was best not to argue any further.

"Guard the Gate primarily. We don't know if there any other tribes nearby. Though I doubt they could even hope to defeat us, it is best to leave a guard here just in case. Besides that, you will need to ensure the plunder goes through the Gate safely".

"Hm, so you want me to supervise that your slaves are delivered?" With a sigh, the lord rubbed is eyes. "Gods..."

Galius only laughed at the discomfort Colt was in. "Ah, don't be so dour my friend. Remember, everything we do here only helps the Empire grow. Now then, you look starving, lets get some breakfast!"


The sun was reaching its zenith by the time that Lord Chelmsford and his half of the British expeditionary force made it to Isandlwana. The commander led the column alongside his fellow officers, looking positively regal in his black officers uniform and white pith helmet. Behind him marched 2,800 British and colonial troops, ready to reunite with their comrades. Those soldiers already stationed at Isandlwana were stood at the perimeter of the camp and cheered the column in, shouting out greetings and jokes as they recognised their friends and compatriots. The returning soldiers shouted back or waved, all smiles.

Chelmsford himself was scanning the assembled ranks of Isandlwana, his eyes roving over the troops and looking for the distinctive white helmets of the camps officers. He found them standing beside the largest of the tents in the camp. Spurring his horse on, Chelmsford rode toward the awaiting cadre, the rest of the British high command following closely behind.

Lieutenant Colonel Henry Pulleine stood in front of his fellow officers, looking rather sheepish as the lord approached him. He had a naturally weak sort of face, Chelmsford thought, the kind that always seemed to be on the verge of smiling. A suitable face for a man who had never seen real combat.

As one, Pulleine and the officers of Isandlwana all snapped a smart salute, which Chelmsford returned quickly.

"Good to see you again, gentlemen". Rearing his horse to a stop, Chelmsford dismounted and addressed the assembled men.

"You as well, my lord. I rather thought we wouldn't see you again for quite a while yet". Pulleine replied, giving a friendly smile.

Chelmsford sighed. "I thought so as well. If only our reuniting could have been under more... cheerful circumstances".

"Indeed". The Lieutenant Colonel's smile dropped before he gestured to the tent behind him. "Shall we all head inside? I've already had the chaps set everything up for you".

"Splendid". Chelmsford smiled gratefully before striding inside the tent, followed closely behind by the rest of the assembled officers.

Inside were a few rows of wooden chairs, as well as a table and a stand on which hung a map of Zululand. A jolly good one as well, with everything from the highest mountain to the smallest pond marked out on it. The time those who made it must have spent travelling and cataloguing all of the landmarks simply boggled the mind.

Positioning him beside the map and putting his helmet down onto the table, Chelmsford watched as the rest of the gentlemen filed in. Following behind them came several servants, Indians in cream uniforms and scarlet turbans. The senior of them, an older man by the name of Balhaar who sported a thick black moustache, stepped up to Chelmsford and asked in a hushed voice. "Shall we serve some drinks, sir?"

"Yes, it's been a long ride, bring some fruit as well".

With a nod, the Indians immediately strode off outside to collect their supplies. While they did this, the officers began to converse with each other, those at who had stayed at Isandlwana eager to catch up with those who had set off in the search for the Zulu. Pulleine spoke up as he walked up to Chelmsford. "I do hope you don't find me rude to say, my lord, but I must admit I almost didn't believe that letter you sent us. I almost thought the rider who had carried it was playing some sort of practical joke on me".

A dry chuckle left Chelmsford's throat as he replied. "Yes, it does all rather sound like something from a rather outlandish penny dreadful, doesn't it?"

"Rather an understatement, my lord. A Roman legion, knights on horseback, monsters... It boggles the mind".

"Quite. Well, you needn't be concerned, I shall explain our plan of action shortly".

Pulleine gave a thankful smile and looked ready to say more, but was cut short as the servants returned, with a platter of glasses and a large decanter of brandy, as well as a silver bowl of fruit. They immediately set about serving glasses of the amber liquor to the officers.

With everyone sat and with drinks in their hands, Chelmsford began.

"Gentlemen, as you know, we are facing a situation which none of us had even begun to dream of when we first set out on this expedition. Our enemy, who we have spent all these weeks pursuing across this land, have been defeated by a group unknown to any one sitting here. I'm sure you all have many questions, and be assured, I have them as well. Who defeated the Zulu? What are their intentions? And most importantly, what should we do with them?"

A voice called up from the back, a chap wearing the light blue and black officers uniform of the Natal Native Horse, with a monocle over one eye. "I'd rather like to give them a drink, they did save us a job after all!"

That sent a wave of chuckles rippling through the men, besides Durnford, who merely rolled his eyes somewhat. Chelmsford simply watched with a light grin on his face. When the mirth simmered down, he continued on.

"We might do just that, if they prove to be on the cooperative side. First, however, we must ascertain where this mysterious army is. That is why I am ordering that we pack up the camp here at Isandlwana and continue on further into Zululand".

Those words set the men chattering but it was quickly silenced by Chelmsford picking up his riding crop. Wielding it with a deft hand, he tapped a spot on the map.

"This is where the battle between the Zulu's and their attackers was fought. A rather grim sight, I'm sure you'll all remember. Now, from further inspection of the battlefield, it appeared that the Zulu were advancing West, most likely coming here to Isandlwana".

Chelmsford could see Pulleine eyes widen and his skin turn pale when he spoke those words. For good reason, the man was a bureaucrat first and foremost, the carnage that would have ensued if the Zulu had made it to the camp would have been immense.

"However, before they could reach here, they were attacked from the east. As the Zulu's were no doubt travelling from Ulundi, it would be sensible to be believe that they were attacked from behind. Therefore, the unknowns are camped somewhere in the general vicinity of... well I would say about here". Chelmsford circled an area between Ulundi and the site of the battle.

"Now, gentlemen, I propose that we travel as we did before, in three columns. Colonel Durnford, you and your riders will scout ahead. If you see anything suspicious, you're to ride back and alert us at once.

I want this camp packed up and the men ready to move by tomorrow morning. We will march east, find this army and discern their intentions. Be rest assured, if they wish for friendship then I will give them friendship. However, if they would prefer conflict... well, I'd say the British Army is more than a match for !"

"Hear, hear!" Crealock called out, standing to his feet and clapping his hands. Following his example, the rest of the officers did the same and soon the whole tent reverberated with the sound of applause. Chelmsford just stood, soaking it all in with a serene smile.


And there we have it, the two powers marching out to war. Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed and (due to the fact that the first chapter lacked a message) I'd like to say welcome to my story. I actually started writing the first chapter in January of last year, so this has been a long time coming. I spent a good deal of last year and a bit of this year bouncing around ideas for Gate fanfics, and I actually managed to write quite a bit for a few of them, but I eventually decided that Clash of the Empires was the one I most wanted to do. I have a plan set out for the story, there's a lot of ideas I wanna do and I'm really excited to share them. I just hope I don't royally balls it up. Now, onto reviews:

ManxomeFoe: I hope I haven't disappointed!

Hakimsohit51: Thank you, that's nice of you to say. Hope you enjoy.

Perseus12: Yes, God save the old hag (just joking, by all accounts she was a nice enough woman, if a bit sour in her old age, which would make sense given the whole dead husband thing)

Dingdang564564: Thank you! I loved Victoria's Gate, you can probably see a few reviews I left for it. It was actually what inspired me to continue on with this fic, once I saw people were interested in a Victorian setting. It also inspired a few ideas I have for future chapters as well.