Antioch Burns

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The countryside flew by at a prodigious rate, the horses of the auxilia scouting unit eating up the leagues of rolling hills and farmland. The double score of men rode two abreast, sunlight shining off their scale armor. The detachment of horsemen sent up a thin cloud of dust from the dirt road as they crested a low rise, their leader reining in his steed. Decanus Marius Quinctius Regillus reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a map. He traced their route with his gloved finger.

“According to the merchant’s report, he saw the burning villas down this way. He also said there was a lot of Easterner cavalry. Probably one of those damnable tribal disputes lighting up again,” Regillus quipped to his auxilia. “But still, orders are orders. Let’s check it out. Eyes open, sing out if you see anything.”

Out here on the eastern border of the Imperial Roman Empire, the massed cavalry forces of the Mongolian Khannates were the main threat, and the Romans had been forced to develop their forces in kind. The boys originally drafted from the cities and towns were no match for the veteran steppe riders. Most of these boys had not survived the first Roman-Mongolian War. Those that did were tough, wily, and exceptionally tricky to lead. But once you gained their trust and fellowship, the bond was unbreakable.

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