The orders had been given.
The ink had barely dried on Julius's war map when General Elheat, commander of the Iron Cavalry, was already moving.
As the sun rose on the Eternal City, casting golden beams across the white-stone towers and bustling squares, the Iron Cavalry mustered.
Twenty thousand horsemen.
Five thousand banners.
Twenty thousand oaths sworn to one man.
To one empire.
To one future.
~
At the outer mustering grounds near the Via Augusta, Elheat rode slowly along the front ranks of his men, his black warhorse snorting clouds of steam into the crisp morning air.
The Iron Cavalry gleamed like a moving wall of metal and crimson: polished breastplates catching the light, heavy iron helms adorned with the eagle-winged crest of Romanus.
Spears were strapped along the horses' flanks; swords and war hammers hung from belts; shields were stacked neatly across backs.
This was no unruly horde.
This was a machine.
A tide of disciplined fury.
