The Wald (The Wald Chronicles, Book 1)
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Two worlds on vastly different tracks collide in the first book of Jason Born’s new series called The Wald Chronicles.
The Wald begins in 16 B.C. when the belligerent Sugambrian tribe leaves their beloved forest to cross the Rhenus River into Gaul. While on their foraging rampage meant simply to gather supplies for the coming winter, they cross paths with the Roman Fifth Legion. An ever-so brief battle ensues. Though short, this encounter will set in motion a conflict lasting more than two decades with the tribes struggling under the might of the professional legions. The outcome of these wars, in forthcoming works, will prove to have lasting repercussions. In fact, we still feel them today in the global order.
The Wald is chock full of heroism, brotherhood, adventure, wit, and even history. Read it today to find out how tribesmen Berengar and his friend Ermin will fare against the likes of Drusus, Tiberius, and Augustus.
The half-cylinder-shaped shields of the Romans locked orderly one next to the other to face their unseen attackers. The silhouettes of spears showed above and in front of the wall of wood and leather shields. Adalbern knew that some of his men and horses would be killed running against the sharp wall. He may even be among the dead when they were counted. But he would not have the invaders in his wald without sending them a message. It was the same wald where his father’s father led his village.
with these invaders from the sea. The beach was broad enough for much of the fleet to line up against it. It was deep – perhaps forty paces. Septimus let his military-trained mind take over. Without thinking, he calculated how long it would take to shift his century down the beach to protect the senior officers’ flagship. “Left face. Run to Drusus!” he shouted, all as one command. Stray projectiles were already crashing into his century’s right side as his small column ran three abreast to
he was a soldier and soldiers all lied to one another. They lied about the number of men they killed in battle. They lied about their conquests of women, slave and free. They lied most of all to themselves. “I figured word of our simple defeats of the Batavians and Frisians reached their ears,” shouted Septimus while taking a hunk of flesh from a fleeing Burchanian’s back. “I thought we should be prepared for a test. Remember, I know the army.” “You do. You really do,” marveled his friend,
somewhat checkered reputation in the eyes of the camp prefect so that he points you out occasionally with the grumbling that comes with age. Once you stepped into my tent, I knew who you were. Not a trick, I’m afraid. Now what is it that you need? Help with a woman back home? Need advice on how to bed down more local girls as we campaign? Want me to tell you where the lost treasures of the gods lie? Quickly, quickly – I haven’t got all day.” Septimus could hardly remember why he came in the
rapid, the column rarely rested, and they marched long into the evening when the sun barely hovered over the western horizon. The legions scarcely had enough time to dig a shallow ditch around their camp each night before the land fell into darkness. Drusus was correct, though. The Cattans were no longer a threat. None of their horseman harassed the march by day. No fires of any shadowing army could be seen by night. It made sense to the men. Their Imperator had challenged a counterpart to a