©2016 Gosling Press, an imprint of Goosebottom Books LLC
All rights reserved
Editor Shirin Yim Bridges
Copy editor Jennifer Fry
Typeset in Adobe Caslon Pro and Goblin
Manufactured in Malaysia
Library of Congress PCN: 2015942875
ISBN: 978-1-937463-55-7
First Edition 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
GOSLING PRESS
An imprint of Goosebottom Books LLC
543 Trinidad Lane, Foster City, CA 94404
www.goslingpress.com
Dedicated to the memory of Tuesday Night Writer, Jon Wells, the Peace Corps candidate who was drafted into the Marines.
We miss you, Jon.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About the Author
Author’s Notes
Acknowledgements
My Celts cluster together in the early morning mist. They lift their shields and flex their sword arms. Some of the men joke, but they’re tense, I can tell. So am I.
On my right flank, Iceni cavalrymen jostle to be first in the charge. Behind us, at my command, a great horde of plaid-cloaked Brigantes spearmen stride into position.
When our battle horns finally blast their challenge, I pump my fist. Yes! My spies were right. Marcus Julius’s Seventh Legion marches into the clearing from a misty dip in the forest floor. They appear, as if by magic, just where I was told they would attack. The rising sun is in our eyes and the element of surprise should be theirs, but we’re waiting for them. We clash our sword hilts on our shields and hurl battle cries as if they were rocks. The amassed tribes of Celtic Britain are ready to rip the Romans apart!
“Surprise, Kyler!” I say, glancing up at his face in the corner of my screen.
“Oh man, no!” Kyler groans, trying to keep his voice down so his dad doesn’t hear. He taps furiously at his keyboard, but it’s too late. I unleash five units of swordsmen from the Trinovantes and Silures tribes. They charge in a blur of noise and fury.
Kyler leans forward, shaking his fist as he hisses into the screen, “I don’t believe it. How did you get all those guys together, Mikey? How did you know about my attack?”
“Spies and gold, Kyler my friend. Pure and simple!”
His formation stays tight as my men launch themselves at the wall of red Roman shields—his legionnaires rank really highly on discipline—but then I order my spearmen to let loose, and it’s a bloodbath. Kyler’s Romans crumple under the rain of javelins, fighting to keep their lines as they advance over their own dead.
“Take that, Kyler!” I yell. Kyler’s screwing up his eyes because he hates surprises, and I’m nearly jumping off my chair with excitement because he doesn’t know the half of it yet.
I’ve just bought two whole units of Avernii. That’s a tribe of Gauls, Celts from France; seriously scary guys with awesome longswords and, at ten solidi a unit, seriously expensive! And that’s not even the best part. I’ve got a whole unit of Celtic berserkers, with a druid! They’re my secret weapon. Anyone who plays Romanii: Northern Borders knows that the berserkers are awesome in battle, but totally unpredictable unless you have a druid. Then they’ll obey your every command and become invincible.
According to my military history book, “berserker” is a Viking word for guys who worked themselves up into a frenzy for battle. But the Celts did it too, just ask Julius Caesar. Tall, pale-skinned, and trained for warfare since childhood, the Celts were fearsome. They spiked up their hair with lime, covered their bodies in dyes or tattoos, ripped off their clothes in battle, and fought totally butt-naked, so mad on war and glory that no one could stop them. The Romans were terrified of the Celts and their crazy berserker fighting, but they admired them too. Too bad Roman discipline won out in the end. But not tonight!
Three months I’ve been saving up enough solidi to buy all the units for this battle. Three months Kyler’s Romans have been kicking my butt, but tonight is going to be massive—awesome beyond awesomeness—and my Celts are going to win!
Kyler leans back in his chair. “OK Mikey, you asked for it!” He orders two units of Sarmatian cavalry to come storming down the valley to support his legionnaires.
“I’m not sweating, Kyler,” I sing as I let my own cavalry fly. “I love poker night!”
Even Kyler has to laugh. Once a month Grandpa hosts poker night at our house. It’s always on a night that Mom works the late shift at the old people’s home. All Grandpa’s veteran buddies come
