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This Mighty Isle by N6Tc7ce


This Mighty Isle. Part one. Shadow of the Tor                     By L.D Ganis

Fifth century Britain, many say Dark Age Britain, lives born out of darkness. This tale tells it to be a different chronicle.
Born of Brightness as of the earliest Druid Way. Listen as the land sings out to you; catch the whispers contained in the
wind of a long since time.
The era of the Goddess
Leave behind your thoughts of the progress of times past and present, go beyond time and space, into the realm where the
soul journeys.
Nature recounts these events of a time long past, as we listen to the voices of trees, our ancestors, and of the stones,
whisper from this pleasant timeless earth.

Accolon. Young Druid, The Telling

      Growing tall Accolon spent this first stage of his life on Avalon, now he was on the verge of manhood. During the
earlier winters Lady Lile kept him close to herself, her beloved child, the seed of Bors de Ganis prince of Gaul. This
young warrior Bors De Ganis whom she loved even though he brought shame upon her, the shame was not leaving her
with child, but becoming the thief of Britain.
     Special male children of the priestesses would be taught the Druid way until they become of an age to decide a
warrior path or the Druid way. Accolon was now at this cross road in his life.
Many winters amongst the Druids of Avalon life became exciting to Accolon, his inquisitive mind engulfed all the
teachings of the ancient folk, deities of long lost tribes, herb lore, and enchantments all this and more he learned to store
away in his memory place.
     One season he was taken to learn of the alchemist Pheryllt in the magical city of Emrys, known as Dinas Affron the
city of higher powers, that lay among the wild mountain of western Britain. There he acquired his most precious
possessions his druid staff of blackthorn and the curved sickle blade that he kept concealed at his waist, and the white
robe of a druid. Powerful tidings came together at this time in the Mighty Isle as two young minds gathered forces
towards destiny.
      Climbing the Tor of Avalon that arose misted from the marshes, ever looking upwards towards the high ridge his
favourite place to meditate on this wondrous Isle.
    Carrying in one hand his blackthorn staff of a Druid, Accolon pushed hard into the hill pulling him upwards his sight
set on the high ridge. Bringing to mind the dream towers wooden edifies, and the broken edges of the stone circle not yet
visible, as he meander s along the ancient pathway’s of the ceremonial maze. Taking him ever around the Tor and ever
upward, narrow paths to follow turning northwards to rotate upwards to the summit.
   Trekking the pathway Accolon held his eyes fixed, always knowing each sunken footprint of this path leading to the
summit. It would have been easier to track the easier route, but searching this ancient pathway brought him closer to the
Goddess and her way of bringing power to one’s own self.
      To be alone amongst the standing stones, and the dream tower standing tall and majestic, gazing out over the
endless marshes where countless warrior bands searching out treasures to plunder have ended their days, wandering lost
betwixt the mists.
    Walking the circle with the sun three times afor he could enter through the faerie ground, Accolon stepped onto the
sacred ground. Reaching out, his fingers lightly caress the lichen-covered edges of ancient stone as he reverently
completed his way to the centre. Concentrating his mind he allowed the flowing spirit to enter and escape him. Touching
long past memories out the stones glimpsing images of ancient times. The roman legions streaming over to the blessed
Inis Dowil, white-cloaked figures dying in blood soaked oak groves. Giants treading the water from Tara, the cauldron
strapped to their back. Strange beasts with red tipped ears bringing the stag down, now lifted up, Pwyll Lord of Annwn.
 He felt the visions of this Mighty Isle drawing him, pulling him along lines of fulfilment, mists clouding his thoughts as
they didst perchance heal the mind from excessive knowledge at his young age.
    Opening his eyes feeling the suns rays beat down onto the golden threads of his fair hair, the strong featured cheek
bones protruding through the long study face without beard growth as yet, holding tight to the blackthorn staff he carried,
the knuckles of his hands strong liken to the sapling branches of the oak.
      Accolon recalling the images to mind, knowing how genuine they came to him. The pillars of this Mighty Isle “HU”
The Mighty, “Prydain” the sovereignty of this Mighty Isle, and “Dyvwall Moelmud” the laws maxims and customs.
“How didst all this lay with myself” sensing the fragrance of the Goddess, that lingering presence drawing near, recalling
teaching told him “always believe nothing and believe everything supported by reason and proof and nothing without it”.
   This day Lady Lile, Accolon’s mother and priestess of Avalon followed Accolon up to the Tor’s summit. Separated
from him as he learned the ways of Druids these past ten or so winters. Yet she was aware of his thoughts, whilst he
travelled in the midst of his Druid teachers and became learned of this Mighty Isle.
  Time on the apple isle that was Avalon was a truly           wondrous questing, adventurous life for a special male
child. It gave Accolon true respect for the land, and folk who he met, always they seemed drawn to his wide smiling face.
Lady Lile knew about that smiling face, she loved taking her memory place back to young Bors de Ganis.
             Looking east towards the plain of dreams where the giant’s choir dance on special nights, Accolon bringing to
mind the countless sacred shrines that abounded these abred shores that lay across the glassy lake of mist. Knowing that a
time was coming in this land when the thread of the wheel wouldst turn until the Hallows of this Mighty Isle were safe.

  The Lady Lile had matured into a strikingly beautiful woman. Her garments of a high priestess hung from her shoulders
as the creamy whiteness of the meadowsweet flower.
  She slowly tiptoed up behind her precious child, just as she was about to squeeze his sides, the deep broken voice of
Accolon spoke “Grand day Mother” he turned quickly eyes lighting the heavens, reaching out with long muscled arms
bringing his mother into his embrace. He was a full head and shoulders taller than his mother now, (she had not noticed a
time when he grew fast) though she had secretly watched him growing. With her head rested on his chest hearing the
strong beats of his heart, her mind full of planned thoughts, (one untold truth, she wouldst allow fate to decide) of how
she would tell of Accolon’s father Bors De Ganis.
    Holding outstretched hands he gripped his mothers hands and pulled her in wide energetic circles. Smiling broadly,
Accolon slowed the turning and reverently embraced his mother. Lile sought to hold onto her son forever and a day, yet
knowing he was a blessed child of the Goddess and this time now was her brief moment together, afor he travelled to
   Thus the Lady Lile led Accolon to the dream tower to where she and young Bors had spent that fateful afternoon so
many summers ago “ come eat son” a cast of bread, lased with a strong fluid Goats cheese and a horn of honeyed mead, a
growing youth as Accolon always hungry, Lady Lile watched her son eat through the constant thoughts that invaded her
memory, of her love Bors de Ganis.
    Accolon’s increased perception eased his mother’s anguish of reliving past, fateful recollections.
        He spoke first “this time of telling as come mother” “ how is it with my blood”
Lady Lile began; visions and voices came with the Goddess on this sacred mound, while to the west a low sun descended
towards the Otherworld.

Year 446 ce.

Nimue the lady of the lake arrived at the standing stones just as the sun began its dark journey underneath the world.
Standing motionless, she watched the final rays bleed across the horizon to disappear into the otherworld.
Darkness overpowered the great plain, the moon just a sliver of silver veiled by blackening clouds. The stone circle now
standing in the cold night air, once complete now broken. Eons of time lifting several the great stone lintels off their
pillars, thrown back into the earth from whence they came. Yet every year folk journey to the standing stones, leaving
offerings usually pieces of torn fragments from special clothing of a loved one, attaching them to the surrounding bushes.
Nimue came searching the Bright knowledge of the ancient ones, she herself born of the ancient blood, the blood now
diluted, yet enough of the old blood to give her the insight of the ancient ones. She was small with dark red hair, slim like
a fearie folk, her face showing a stern expression to the outside world.
Many times she had entered into the grove of the dark pool on the isle Avalon scrying visions, overseeing this realm.
Soon the time will come when two of the guardians of the Hallows shall travel to the isle of Avalon, together they shall
join as one.

Nimue had travelled to the circle of stone accompanied by two of the warriors from the tribe that served the priestesses of
Avalon. Small sturdy folk, who lived unseen from the outside world, their only task to serve the Lady. Never before had
she visited this giant’s dance, drawing solitary visions of the standing stones in the pool of dark water, watching and
listening as the stones called to her soul.
 Leaving the tribesmen outside the ditch that surrounded the stone circle; towards the faerie ground she walked barefoot
across the ditch. Through the grand circle of stones towards the enormous trilithon portals, reaching with out stretched
arms gliding her hands across the frozen stones feeling the line of fracture in the great pillar that held together as the
ancient ones slid the huge stone into position. Many before her had come to this giants dance to make offerings and join
with the life force of this wondrous place.
Across the heavens the ancient god of the clouds Nuada chased the greying clouds westward leaving the stars to speckle
the dark sky. Frost etched across the face of the stones, as Nimue’s breath smoked from her mouth, numbing coldness
crept into her bare feet as she circled the inner stones, yet she felt no pain, her mind attuned with nature.
          She glides between the gateway turning circles        searching to the sky, feeling this night the spiral tower of
glass shall be seen, spinning faster arms reaching unseen heights. The tribesmen huddle together outside the ditch warmed
by a small fire and covered by heavy furs to guard against the freezing night, as they stare into the night watching Nimue.
As they view her reaching to the heavens swirling mist beginning to flow over the stone circle forming shapes out of
dreams, a lady the flower face Blodeuwedd, the antlered forest God Cernunnos. The tribesmen watch their charge eager to
bring her out of the circle, however Nimue had warned them, to watch, but never to enter the circle, these tribesmen
obeyed their priestess without question.
         Enfolded in the mist Nimue’s spirit body travelled the firmament lifted on high, whilst she gazed down as the
seasons came and went, along with the frosts and sun, she was overseeing this Mighty Isle. Fleeting moments in time as
battles raged and the death crone wandered the land. Horrors unfolding tormented souls dying as a Petrified Forest, birth
and death mingling together, this realm in turmoil. The White Peak temple to the northern most edge of this realm,
sacrificed devoted one, young eye’s meet, strange wooden barges beached on the eastern shore, golden haired warriors
marching as ants across this realm, the sacred Hallows in the four quarters of the realm in danger. Speeding along times
pathway the Tor of Avalon bursting with radiant light, over this realm the bear strides out a shining blade griped with its
claw slicing golden warriors.
Rushing ever spiralling Nimue’s spirit body merges into her frozen form. Freezing and fading she lay in the frozen circle,
her body’s only heat her small heart trying to pump warmed blood around the frozen limbs. Yet she staggers up onto her
frozen feet stumbling to walk to the outer ditch. Disoriented and dizzy Nimue crashed to the earth ripping the nails from
her fingers; nevertheless she crawls on all fours to reach the outer ditch. Between the pillars she crawls not seeing, using
her training as a priestess on Avalon to focus the mind. Only the strong willpower of a priestess kept her frozen body
   The tribesmen gather Nimue up as she crawled over the ditch, bringing her frozen iced body to the small fire they had
kept ready. Still the numbness invades her body. The two warriors of Avalon remove their clothes and throwing the huge
furs over them, with Nimue in-between. Stripping the iced clothes from Nimue’s frosted body,and wrapping themselves
around her small form giving her the heat from their own body’s, slowly their body heat warmed Nimue’s soul.

YEAR 465. ce.

  The Tor on this special winters night when the two queens converged to meet with Nimue, the Lady of the lake, all three
drawn together by the forces of nature, and coming to meet at the pool of dark water. The Tor loomed high from the
marshes clearly open to the stars, no fleeting clouds to mar the pathway to the gods. For this night of special nights when
the lady Annowre Queen of Northgales, and the lady Brisen Queen of the Waste lands travelled the dark road to this
lonely Tor.
Thick frost began to bite into the land, as they both arrived at the lakes edge. Nimue had known of there approaching and
was already waiting within the barge on the abred shore of the lake to guide them over and through the mist to Avalon.
There arrival not with pomp and ceremony, each Lady safeguarded only by their single guardian warriors, both clad in
heavy hooded cloaks hiding there swords and armour yet ready should they have had need to do battle to protect there
charges. Only the faces showing under the hoods, strong dark featured men, the eyes, the only sign that to mar the way of
there passing was a quick way to find the other world.
       Lady Brisen along with the warrior Peredur had travelled south from the far northern land; Lady Annowre together
with Gareth came from the east in the region of Ondred’s dense forested land.
They had made this journey many winters before when Nimue herself was selected and given the rites to become The
Lady of the lake. The Luna cycle of the old ways had passed nineteen winters since Nimue had travelled to the giants
dance, to foresee events that now closed in on this realm, and brought these three wise women to meet at the pool of dark
water to foresee why the omens had spoke to each of the women. Foreseeing the land in turmoil, warlords and kingdoms
battle among themselves, then famine and pestilence would abound. Soon the feast of Imbolc would soon show the sign
of winters ending, the fields for springtime shall need tending, else the land will be easy pickings for the Saxon invaders if
the realm had no High King.
    The warriors made camp by the lakes edge to awaiting the return of their charges as Nimue guided the barge across
the lake carrying the two majestic ladies to Avalon. The barge piloted by Barinthus appeared to glide on smooth glass as
he waited on the Lady Nimue. Standing arms raised, she called on the goddess with words long forgotten by the outside
world, slowly the mists rippled then thinned to nothing as the barge slide through the veil towards Avalon’s shore. The
sturdy warrior guardians of Avalon pulled the barge into the shingle bank then helped the ladies from the barge to place
their feet on the hallowed ground.
     Nimue welcomed the women into her dwelling,                noticing how times age had followed in their footfalls, the
tiredness showed on the faces. Nimue quickly supplied their needs of food and warmth, and then showed them their
sleeping quarters; the merging on the moro would come soon enough, then time enough to talk of things to come.
  Lady Brisen was first to rise as she called Nimue to her, the queen wore a plain brown dress covering her body to the
neckline, with flowing sleeves down and over her hands. As she touched Nimue by the arm Nimue noticed how thin and
bony the hand appeared even though her age did not show on her face, her face had the lines of times passing but nothing
compared to the age of her hands. The queen spoke with Nimue some time, telling her of her land in the far north, and
how the Lady Annowre had shown herself in visions, and how they should call each to Avalon, to meet with the Lady of
the Lake, come she said to Nimue we shall go to awaken the Lady Annowre. There was no need, the lady Annowre was
by now walking along the avenue of apples to meet them, her bright hair the colour of falling leaves blowing wild. She
was younger than Nimue and the lady Brisen, with dark piercing eyes that emitted beauty and intelligence; with a
bouncing step she hurried barefoot through the trees to meet them.
   Times of wonder new births and deaths bring the three together for this short time, during the merging they shall be as
one, save for three days they must now be alone, not seeing or speaking anyone, no food or sleep. There are places on this
hallowed isle to be alone; Nimue showed each queen the bower she had made, away from the many dwellings that
accommodated the priestesses of Avalon. On the third day they shall gather together by the pool of dark water under the
ancient Oaks, there to join with the ancient ones.
   As they where shown each their place to meditate, each embraced the other giving strength through their embrace.
    The appointed time of there joining came in the evening. The grove of Oaks alight with sticks of waxed hazel twigs
giving off a strange odour like sweet blossom, filling the senses with powerful energy. Laid out by the pool were three
bronze cups filled with a clear liquid, each took the cups and drank none needed telling why, all knew their priestess
duty’s, time had taught them well.
 The pools swirling water once calm, now rippled with energy, each in turn searched the dark pool, hands spreading
across the surface as strange shapes appearing then dissolving into nothing, the colours merged into one as the land shone
bright. What each lady foresaw became known to all, each vision of this Mighty Isle more vivid than the first as finally
Lady Brisen scryed the pool.
      Gazing into the hollowness of that pool Lady Brisen hovered between light and dark as she melted down the black
tunnel of water. Untouched by Nimue or the Lady Annowre the two awaited her souls return from Annwn.
Time held still as they waited motionless around the dark pool. Moon and sun arched the sky uncounted, until the fullness
of the moon shone onto the lady Brisen bringing her gasping back to consciousness. Relief for Nimue and Annowre as
they held the Lady Brisen close knowing she had gazed on the bright knowledge. Terrible to behold the visions as the
three women drained of energy return to there dwelling not speaking to each other faces drawn into tiredness needing to
rest to sleep.

The morning came soon enough, yet before the sun had cleared the Tor the three women were saying there farewells by
the lakes edge, each one knowing the others parts to play in these coming dark times. For a time of change was filling the
air, brightness now covered stars, the sun’s bright gleam straining through mists, three women looking to the clouds,
knowing there actions was about to test everyone in this land from the high to the very lowest being. Into the barge the
two queens stepped, no words needed, the oarsmen pulled swiftly away into the bright day. Nimue stood silently in the
barge, raising her arms to the heavens, sparkling mist descended, covering the barge, ancient words of the ancient ones
spoken with commitment, else the veil would not open, they feared not as Nimue uttered the tone of the ancient ones,
silently they glided through the veil across the sacred lake of glass.
As the barge scrapped into the far bank, the two warriors Peredur and Gareth had known to be ready and were awaiting
their charges, packed ready for there long journey to the north and east, the moons glow just visible against the new sun’s
rise, the journey would take time going the way of old, not wanting villages and settlement spreading rumours through the


      Bors de Ganis the second son of King Bors of Gaul, sent by his father on a mission to this Utherpendragon warlord
King of Dumnonia. King Bors had heard tales of the ancient land of the mighty being torn asunder, and the small
kingdoms vying for power. This Uther a warrior aged by battles that hid his tender age, standing tall with a huge body
mass of muscles with a large bony face covered with a dark beard that carried warrior rings of iron woven into the strands
of hair. A truly fearsome looking warrior who would he be the next High King of this Mighty Isle.
Prince Bors always looking for advancement in his father’s kingdom saw this as an opportunity for favour with his father.
Prince Lionel was the edling and heir to the throne therefore King Bors kept him close at hand.
 At twenty five winters Bors was well built strong muscles dark hair worn long about his shoulders, wide set eyes looking
ever past folk, his mind ever searching.
  Bors de Ganis the Prince of Gaul attending Uthers hill fort at Caer Baddon, where many of Uthers warlords came
together at this time of the spring festival of Beltane. Uther had chosen well, most of the warlords descendants from the
ancient blood, the time afor the Roman legions invaded the Isle of the Mighty.
    At this special time the fires of Bel would be lit on Beltane eve, when fertility and life forces were celebrated and
couples would join together in forest glades bringing new blood into the tribe. This Uther looked not to the union of man
and woman, but of allies.
 The hill fort became a bustling community, warriors from far distant corners of the realm joining together, old feuds held
at bay under a truce sworn before Mydryn, Uthers chief druid and advisor, the tribes would uphold a truce sworn before a
druid. The settlements around Caer-Baddon came together at this time of celebration, bringing fresh slaughtered meats,
the kitchens overloaded had begun to enlarging and overflow into the outdoors to roast the meats, and prepare all manner
of food for the evenings feast. Special brewed clear liquid from the northern tribes in wooden containers, omitting odours
making the folk merry at the smell, along with the fermented apples ale from the south, warriors and chieftains would
soon be merry.
Uther knew how to entertain folk well, making sure the fields on Beltain night would be alight with countless fires
burning through the night all over his kingdom. Men and women who followed the old ways and even those who had
chosen to followed the desert nailed god, yet lived between worlds, burned with passion on this night of nights as they
couple together around the fires of Bel. Assuring that before Imbolc new souls would be born out of these passions, and
those strong in the blood would survive past the harsh winter to fulfil the tribe’s needs.
    Prince Bors young and searching adventure, this Isle of the Mighty seemed to fulfil his needs, he loved the life of a
prince, but always yeaning to rule, however knowing his brother Lionel was the edling of Gaul. Could this be his time
join with Uther promising support from Gaul, knowing his father would merely be storing riches for the edling Lionel,
this made Prince Bors angry, he had skill as a swordsman, knew all the kingly crafts, nevertheless knowing also he lacked
the courage to standing up to his father, no!! He thought my future lies here.
    Realising This Utherpendragon to be a strong leader, young Bors found that he liked this warrior and noticing that
Uther also wore the spiralled serpents about his wrist as he did; thoughts returned to the old ways of chieftains gaining
power by the strongest, this Uther has shown the way.
           The silver had been paid; how to stop his fathers plan, these thoughts rushed into his mind as the mead and new
ale flowed. Warriors required sport after festivities, Uther a great horseman and boar hunter had arranged with young
Bors to hunt the hart of grease that is the fat deer. In the cold light of day he knew that was to come, Bors knew he should
feel obliged to join the hunt.
   Mornings at this spring season are cold, the warmness of the sun not yet burning the mists away. War lords and
chieftains at this hill fort retched and heaved the excesses of the evenings festivities into the soil buckets until one by one
they regained a form of awareness for the days hard ridding hunting the Hart of grease.
   Bors felt in a state of lacklustre as he and Uther rode ahead of the liegemen at arms who accompanied them on the
hunt. Riding towards the summer country were the hart grew fat. Destiny had now become reality for Bors, the new plan
he had formed was about to come crashing around his head, he could not change Uthers mind about this hunt on such a
fine spring day, two warriors of the old order both joined with the spiral serpents a grand sign inferred Uther.
            Ridding the morning through forests where the hart grew fat, the liegemen and warrior guards who
accompanied Uther and Bors checked their horses, as from the edge of the tree line a war band appeared, similar to how
the Saxons wear the war gear.
   Uther never the shrinking violet rallied his men form a shield wall, but with the small numbers of warriors and
liegemen it would be a pitifully short wall.
       Counting their numbers Uther realised he was outnumbered and hunting with his liegemen he knew these would not
survive battle against hardened warriors. Shouting to Bors to remount, Uther had chosen, Bors shocked, knowing that
Uther now plans to charge headlong at these invading warriors, with him along side. Six Horsemen, against twelve huge
brutes of warriors, and a cluster of fur clad followers, Bors decided, spurting his horse away from the battle he rode away
without looking back.
 Clashing blades the sound of dying men, Uthers small but efficient horse warriors took the heart from these warriors on
their failed mission to kill Uther.
Uther rages, “In truth my hands shall choke the life’s blood out of Bors.”
Out of sight Bors gallops headlong into the mists.

                               Morgaine the early time

   Life at the hill fort of Tintagel could be like living on the very edge of time, far away from the centre of the kingdom,
Igraine with her three children, all girls the eldest Margawse, next Morgaine, then the youngest Anna.
   Gorlois had married Igraine some five winters past, the children came quickly one after the other aiming to fulfil
Gorlois’s need to have a son, but year after year girls only girls. For the last two years no child came, yet Gorlois loved
Igraine with all his heart, from the first time of seeing her standing on the lake’s edge.
 The barge had carried her from Avalon, she was leaving         the sacred isle, the safe time of severing the goddess was
over, and she was to be wife to the war Duke Gorlois. Igraine had spent all her memories on the sacred isle she knew no
other life, she was conceived at the Beltaine fires. Her mother a priestess also and of the Wledig line bloodline, now
deceased, but giving Igraine her dark looks, the image of the fairy folk. Igraine was tall and slender, the sun tanned skin
gave her a striking beauty, Gorlois stood entranced the first moment he saw her at the age of fifteen standing tall at the
lakes edge, as she watching the barge that carried her from Avalon drift silently through the mists returning through the
veil betwixed the worlds.
        Since leaving the sacred isle to join Gorlois at Tintagel, the lady Igraine had not seen the outside world, her mind
drifting from indifference to awe at the thought of spending her eternity with Gorlois a man she did not know. Her only
thought was to serve him as the priestesses on the isle had taught her.
 Igraine at nearly twenty-one winters blossomed into a striking beautiful woman, she cared for her daughters herself not
wishing to send them away early to be fostered by some wise woman. Gorlois had allowed her this indulgence for a time,
even though she knew at five winters Morgaine the middle daughter would soon be called to go to the isle to be taught the
ancient ways of the hallowed mother. Morgaine always eager to learn followed her mother always, watching the way she
picked the special herbs that grew in the wildwoods outside Tintagel sea fortress, learning the names of herbs such as
Hawkweed, Vervain and Orpine, forever curious as to there uses. Igraine talked constantly to Morgaine as they went
about the days duty’s in the hill fort, explaining how to crush and heat up the herbs and plants, even how to grind the Ivy
flower to add to the barley mash that helped clear the Ale during fermentation. All these things she learned, of the plants
that coloured cloth, plants that healed the body and where to store them away from prying eyes of Margawse who knew
not the ways of the ancient ones, and Anna the youngest who yet suckled at the wet nurses breast
  Morgaine with the similar features as her mother other than Igraines height, the browned skin, flowing raven hair and
dark eyes of the ancient ones, delicate limbs small body, ancient lives reborn to perfection, thus the old faith gathered life.

                                 Bors De Ganis

 Bors riding away fast not looking too far ahead, concerned only what is behind, checking to see if any warriors are
 chasing after him. Through the thickets of the forest, down ditches, splashing over brooks and always galloping away,
 not seeing not caring about the mist he is ridding headlong into.
Only when his horse sweating the flanks to foam does he finally slows down, it seems the horse is yet smarter than Bors,
he looks about him the sweat he is carrying turns cold on his farrowed head, realising this strange mist is not like the
rolling fog of the sea of his yonder home he is missing now. Does he notice the small folk along the shores of the sacred
isle! Watching, to feel him, he slowly dismounts his horse. Looking about him, every noise terrifying him, his mind races,
in truth this place is the very end of any realm I know, am I yet in summer country. Instantly he brings to mind the old
tales told on every Samhaine evening, the realm of Annwn, the Hy Brasil or other world were the souls of the dead abide.
  The cold sweating turns to ice in his blood, the horse is no use to him now, starting to run hoping against all he holds
dear, not even allowing himself to believe he as strayed into the faerie ground, never to live out his high office of prince
in his home land of Gaul. Suddenly the mist began thinning out on what seems a low mound, turrets gradually escaping
the mist, in his mind he sees the spiral fortress spinning, he turns to run the other way, just running now, away from that
dolorous fortress, he can not stop himself thinking if he enters that place, he is but lost forever.
     The lady Lile, a priestess of Avalon at the pool of dark water, the dark glass like water motionless, never rippling
unless the priestess smoothes her hand over the surface. She is searching the realm of what is to be or what can be, visions
in the dark pool of warriors on wondrous adventures in the far northern land, a shadow forming over the water, the mists
clearing a man running through dense undergrowth, a look of terrible anguish on his face, she gasps and suddenly all
knowing, braking from out of her dream state she know all the ancient ways of this sacred isle’s.
  Running barefoot, liken to a small hart through the forest she darts, Bors can feel the breath on his neck, not looking
back headlong he falls into darkness a fleeting glimpse of the spiral fortress then darkness, total darkness.

      Lady Lile screams that terrible wail, time spinning faster no time to call on the Goddess; she has learned to use all
the forests power in her years of training to be a priestess. From deep inside her being the primordial forces of nature
eluded from this delicate priestess, turning her form into one of all knowing and avenging apparition. Instantly and
unwilling to battle this new adversary, the power that held Bors slumped body, quickly dropped him to the floor in a
tangled heap. Smiling eyes spin the leaves of over hanging trees, rippling air spirals, only the mist remain. Lying among
the forest floor Bors his head against a moss covered rock dark blood matting his flowing hair, tenderly Lady Lile kneels
beside to cradle his bleeding skull.
           He is too big a man to carry away Lile must stay with him the long night, tending a deep gash on his skull, Lile
staunches the blood and uses her sickle knife to close the wound with twine, together they are in darkness she will guard
him through the cold night.
  Early morn the suns rays splinter through the forest          canopy, shafts a light glow onto the couple. Lile had stayed
awake the entire dark hours guarding him, and finding water to clean the wound on his thick skull. Bors horse had not
wandered far; Lile could use it to get Bors back to the safety of the dwellings beside the Tor. Two poles broken from the
thicket should be good enough with Bors own cloak set between; Lile knows it will bear him safely.
     Back in lady Lile’s own dwelling Bors drifts between dark and light, too two days later, his first sight of the Lady
Lile, she is small and slender her face delicately framed under loose curls of golden hair. Bors blinking his surprised eyes
to keep them open, her beauty stirs in him thoughts of lust, quickly all carnal thoughts swept from his mind as bolts of
pain seared through his head. Lile stopping Bors from touching the wound that jolted him back to reality, holding his
shaking hand, calming the unbearably pain helping him to sip the cool liquid, then slowly he drifts away to sleep and heal.
  Awakening fully, days later Bors lays daydreaming of the beauty that administers to him daily, does he care that his life
so nearly lost, away in the faerie ground. Bors never a man to have a conscience about such matters, his royal life bred
him to be totally self-preserved in king like ways; he so wanted to be king. All his life had heard tales of this mystical
Isle, and the changes that could be brought about by a high priestess of Avalon.
  Bors as the second son, life was all about the wait, hoping against hope the first-born brother would fail to inherit the
kingdom. Lionel the edling of Gaul stayed close to his realm, never the adventurer, always ever willing to envelop his
father’s tasks, the kingdom of Gaul looked in safe hands.

           The days in Avalon for Bors where the kind of days he had only dreamt of, lost in wonder, always thinking
how fortune had led him here, knowing the Lady Lile was the one person in all of this Mighty Isle who could help him in
his pursuant of the throne of Gaul, yet first he must gain her trust. Spending endless days in the apple isle, one such
journey took them to the base of the pyramidical hill that loomed out from the marshlands of summer country.
Bors looking up in amazement to the top of the Tor with it’s covering of mist in the early morning haze. Lile carried food
wrapped in a fine cloth, bread, honey and a full wedge of cheese as off they set to journey to the summit of the Tor.
  From the lake’s edge it looked so easy to ascend, just follow the path, Lile had made this walk often, she would not take
Bors by the ceremonial way, taking the easier and less arduous route, only a meandering pathway towards the summit.
The Tor in reality was three hills, the first one the easiest to ascend from the land bridge side, they made that walk so
enjoyable, playing about in the heath grass, and bushes, he could be so charming when needs be our Bors, he very much
needed to gain the trust of the lady Lile.
  Through the thickets and tangled bushes they trekked uphill, onto the mystical Tor, looking up they saw the spiralled
troughs around the Tor formed by the ancient ones the lady Lile can not explain them to Bors, only the stories told by the
visiting bards of processional mazes that followed ancient track ways. Now only the folk who inhabit the hollow hill
know the truth, some day Lile will discover she knows the time will come.

          On this pleasant day they have no thoughts but for each other, the trek is hard for Bors breathing heavy he at last
reached the mounds flat summit, whilst the Lady Lile with rosy cheeks smiled effortlessly sprinting the final few stride
onto the summit. Amongst the ancient stones atop the Tor quietness invade the ears, whilst the windows to the soul
sparkle with bliss at the sight o’er summer country across the glassy lake below. Perfectly placed a building of wood,
hidden from view on their ascent, a dream tower built by Mydryn.
  They walk around this hill of visions searching every detail. Looking out surveying the area Bors notices save for the
lake of glass, the surrounding land is marsh and sea, armies would disappear like fleeting spectres, and Bors tells Lile “we
will stay up here forever”.
        Hunger rumbles inside Bors as they unwrap the food they had brought. Seated on the slope beneath the dream
tower they eat the bread and honey, food as this never tasted as good to Bors as it did that day. Lile ate only small
amounts, the lady has learned to control her life forces, the lady is a priestess of Avalon
Lile has strong feelings for Bors knowing that their souls are revisiting this time and space together again from the clay of
their life form, even though Bors may not yet realise. Lile gazes at him with love in her eyes, he catches her gaze they kiss
such passion from them both it worries Lile, but she puts the thoughts away only thinking of Bors. No other soul up here
on this Tor, all she sees is the sun shining on them, slowly Bors unloosens the ties of her gown. Lile strangely does not
worry the passion is overtaking her, his hands explore her body, she feels the hot passion of Bors now, she knows what to
do, her upbringing as a priestess covered every aspect of life. Bors covers her with his body blocking out the suns rays ,
time stands still for the two lovers, was it night or day, they have no care , she feels his manhood hurting however giving
pleasure , they are hot for each other ,she knows the time comes when his life giving blood enters her, she feels it bursting
into her, at that instant she knows that the quickening of the womb has started, a blessed child with deeds of the goddess
to perform .
   Do they sleep for an hour a day, it maters not, they have been one for that moment in time and space.
             Bors awakens slowly; Lile sat and watched him breathing contentment in her soul. Bors standing to gaze out
into the marshes as Lile washed herself by the tower, he looks at the lady knowing he as gained love, for the first times in
his short life, for this day he as found life for however long it lasts.
The two fated souls amble back to the priestess dwellings         beneath the Shadow of the Tor, hand in hand talking of their
great love, Lile knowing in a little while she will be enduring the pain of the quickening of the womb, to bring forth a
child into this Mighty Isle.
          Over the next few day Bors time is spent learning all he can of Avalon, he knows the story’s told on long winter
night’s by passing bards earning there nights shelter with songs of old, but he wonders how can all this be true we are on
Avalon with the order of priestesses, yet he knows kings were made here. To be King chosen by the old ways, one had to
marry the land to demonstrate his devotion to its sovereignty, this way kings are foretold to ensure the blood of the old
people remains true.
  Lile spends most of her time now with Bors showing him all her world of Avalon, including the pool of dark water,
where she had searched the waters that fateful day and saw a warrior lost and in danger, smiling she touched the wound to
his head.
  The pool of dark water is yet shadowy even on the brightest day lit only with burning torches. Behind the grove, hewn
out of the stone she guides him into the store cave, gently holding his hand, he squeeze it back they are lovers. The
passageway hewn out of the rock led them into a natural cavern, worn and shaped by a constant running stream that never
in memory had slowed. Strangely to Bors he thought, this place appears as cavern in the northern hills of the High Peaks,
he remembers that place well, the moors, the wind, he feels sure he will glimpse that wondrous wild land again. Recalling
his father King Bors, when he gave him title of Fortress of the Peaks on reaching manhood.
   Around the cave covered in the most part with aged cobwebs, never moved by time or draft, old on top of old thick
webs of time. Bors tried to avoid the webs clinging to his fine shirt, Lile laughing as she lit the waxed tapers, watching
him has he stoops and blunders in the dim light getting more covered with the time webs. She explains the pool of dark
water and the hewn out cave to him, and how she foresees events and visions. Impatient as ever, Bors wishes to be shown
the magic of the pool of dark water. No Lile explains only at the waning moon time, and always alone, else with the
highest order of priestess to gain the transfixed state of mind, Bors accepts, but would so dearly wish to discern all the
future. Lile tries to explain yet knowing, for one not of the sacred isle tis is better not to know the future, because there are
many futures, not all full of happiness, some full of sorrow and grief, only for a priestess trained to control her mind else
her mind doth become crazed seeing all.
      In one corner of the cave amongst all the strange possessions old cups, wooden shields emblazed with all manner of
animal images, armour habergeons, helms, spears, battle-axes, he asks Lile
‘Why are these items of war in the cave’’, she explains to Bors the names of several of the thirteen treasures of Britain, the
sword of Rhydderch named “Dyrnwyn” the sword of Avalon, including the dish of Ryngenydd that possess the ability to
make kings, and some that are lost, and those found remain here on the sacred isle, Bors eyes light up, treasure is he so
blind his mind only thinks of wealth and ambition,
  On the dirt floor leaning against a strange alter like stone, Bors noticed a circular dish an arm’s width across appearing
to be of bronze, beaten out and raised at the edged to the shape of dish. The surface of the dish covered with years of
grime and dirt the colour of black peat. It had been left to long in the damp air, aging it to a mouldy grey. Yet his hand is
drawn towards the dish, touching the flat edge he removed some aged dirt, his finger moves away fast as his eye catches
the first glint of the under surface material. Thoughts race franticly through the elements, gold, bronze, no his heart is
thumping he realises it is Silver. Looking round to check on Lile, she is across near the pools edge smoothing the surface.
Bors thoughts return to his world of greed and power, judging how to remove the dish from this Isle of Avalon, this is
worth a kings ransom, his kings ransom all he ever dreamed to help him in his quest for the kingdom.
     It shall be so easy he tells himself, no one guards the dish. Turning away to look at Lile and leaving the dish he walks
over to her and puts his arms around her and gently holds her, she falls back into him aware of only him, she as no idea he
is calculating his way off the sacred isle.
   The following days are filled with impatience for Bors; he has no cares of how the Lady Lile shall survive when she
finds him and the dish of Ryngenydd gone. Each day Bors hides food near the edge of the lake, planning to swim across
the lake of glass, not to far he thinks, the cave of treasures a short distance from the lake, and he feels the lake easy
enough to cross with the dish of Ryngenydd.
   The day of his slipping away came soon. Spending the morning planning then later talking with Lile. Bors gives details
to Lile of his fortress in the wilds hills of the High Peaks, informing her that she will have a sanctuary at the fortress of
the Peaks whenever she feels tis time to leave Avalon. Lile wonders why Bors should tell her this, yet only a fleeting
thought, Lile thinking, “doth he care for me”, even Bors can not make up his mind about that, all he knows and cares for
is the kingdom of Gaul.
    The afternoons on Avalon are a time of great peace most of the works of the day done. Time for Bors to spend the last
few moments alone with Lile, she knows a place in the woods not to far from her small dwelling. Lile is sure now that in
her womb she carries a child a boy child, the sight as served her in good sted up to now, does she tell Bors or wait until
after the event. As the bright afternoon sun warms this mystical Isle, Bors seems strangely affectionate and Lile needs the
closeness this day, for the first time she is in love. They locate the clearing in the woods; sitting among the leafy forest
matting, alone to the outside world these two souls find peace together in each other’s arms.
  Why today Lile must tell Bors of his child, Lile does not know a feeling a inkling of the sight who can say, yet the
words do not come easy. How will he react, the true Bors she knows wants so much to be king in his own land of Gaul.
Will he stay near, in her heart knowing that this is not           possible. No sight by the pool of dark water to help her, she
knows there is no shame for a priestess to bear a child, many more through her time here in Avalon have born children
following the beltain fires. This special time when chosen maids from Avalon make there way to the fields of fire, when
the fertility rites must abound for the good of the realm.
      In his mind Bors is planning his slipping away, hearing the words of Lile and showing affection, but always planning.
There is only one way for Lile to tell him, in a rush the words came; she didn’t really hear her own words, only the word
     Bors, his mind suddenly flooding back from some far away place, similar to the first words of scolding from a father.
All the planning now lost in wonder, this child was never in his plan. He sees the look on Lile’s face, the look of
anticipation; he holds her tight realising for the first time in his short life he as created something good.
       Lile relieved to see Bors so strangely happy she as told him, now he will give the child a name and a land to call his
own. What child of this realm born out of marriage can ever hope for, now her child will be a prince of the priestess
Avalon his name shall be Accolon.
  Bors enlightens Lile that soon he must leave this sacred isle and return to his father; not telling her the time is imminent
following the suns descent to the Otherworld. Bors asks Lile too keep the child on Avalon until his early manhood,
thence to send him to the northern realm to the fortress of the High Peaks. Next if lady Lile cannot travel with the boy, to
send one other person with him, there he must remain to be taught the skills of a warrior and prince. Bors knows his son
would never reach his adult years if his father ever knew of his birth.
    Bors knowing this will be the last kiss he and the Lady Lile shalt share, for that he is sad, but his kingdom is all to him,
he tells Lile ‘my life and my honour I gave to thee dear lady thou hast shown me great cheer my service is forever thine ‘.
He leads her back to her dwelling and in the afternoon sun he walks from her. Tears suddenly well in his eyes, quickly
wiped away, Lile does not see him wipe them away s, she is to busy wiping her own sad tear’s. As Bors walked away that
afternoon, he hoped this child one day he would meet, the child would be Accolon, prince of Gaul.
  It was so easy at the dark fall slip into the cave by the grove, find the dish of Ryngenydd and away. The first part of his
plan was effortless, yet by the time he had reached the lakes edge events started to change. Covering the distance from the
cave to the lake appeared different during the veiled night, and as Bors reached the lake the dish seemed as if it had grown
in weight so that his arms ached “perchance my time of tranquillity on Avalon had softened me” no turning back for Bors
now, only thoughts of his future kingdom in his mind.
    With a length of twine Bors managed to strap the dish to his back and place the secreted food and dry cloths into a hide
covered basket, hoping he would be able to push through the water has he swam across the lake. Bors envisaged the swim
to the far bank easy enough; in his foolishness he had missed the obvious Avalon lay behind and between these abred
shores, hidden by mists of time and space.
        Into the water he wadded the cold water up to the knees, to the chest his feet dragging in the mud, pulling one foot
first out of the mud then trying to push up with the other, still stuck fast. Bors heart pounded inside his chest, thinking
why didn’t he try for the barge, but knowing the barge is kept protected with the sturdy warrior folk who row the craft on
command of Barinthus and guided by a priestess.
   Trying again pushing against the foot that was stuck, this time it freed, quickly his arms started stroking the water, at
last he thought, the dish felt heavy on his back but Bors a strong swimmer, pulls himself through the water as silently as
he could, into the blackness of the lake. Silently treading the icy water Bors looks up to gain his direction in the darkness.
Overpowering fear gives him the urgency too strain his sight, he spots what he thinks is the lakes edge and a low patch of
grass near the edge of the marsh. Stopping whilst he paddles the water to catch his breath, feeling the breath rasp at his
throat not wanting to cough. Fearful of making any noise that might awaken folk, surely he was halfway across, he looks
around hoping the fullness of the moon would not give him away, thus far only the stars in the clear sky watched him.
       Stroking the water again he sets off, this time his legs and arms do not seem to moving his pace far. He is labouring,
struggling; Bors feels his heart banging harder as if inside his throat, his muscles drain of power, the freezing water as he
gulps for air flooding into his mouth, the bitter cold biting into his very soul. Everything around is peaceful, there is no
sound the quiet is deafening, “is this how it all ends”. Slipping slowly and silently into the Otherworld, descending
through the icy water, he can see, yet can do nothing to stop himself drifting downwards to the murky depths.
         Time as no start or end to him, now comes the strange the feeling of peace lingering between worlds. Bors can feel
that he is held fast, that he is in a kind of limbo between dark and light. Suddenly before him a face of immense beauty,
hair of golden strands, hearing a voice so mellow calling his name “Bors the choice is thine, I take the dish of Ryngenydd
you return to thy homeland, moreover only your blood shall be able to demand its return”. In his mind he is screaming
take the dish the burden is to great to carry, darkness filling is mind nothing only darkness.
     Awakening to the impression of cold slime about him, Bors stares into the bulging eyes of a toad. Realising he is
lying in the marsh mud, with the grass of the abed shore above him on the overhanging ledge, “ I made it to the far bank
but the crossing was hard still I have the dish” soon realising he had no weight on his back. Scrabbling about in the mud
feeling for the dish, the sudden awareness that the dish of Ryngenydd had gone.
  Soon the thoughts came slipping back into his mind that face, that beautiful face giving a choice, my life for the dish.
Was it a dream or was it reality, examining the twine it showed no breaks, trying to recall all that was told him. Only my
bloodline can demand its return, Realising that the goddess had spoken to him and saved him, the message will stay
with him, his only consideration now was to find a way to return to his homeland of Gaul.

                    The dark alliance to help him gain the High kingship

    Utherpendragon had arranged a meeting between himself and the King Agwisence of Tara, also invited to this
meeting king Meric of Kernow. The realm of Kernow at the foot of Britain was a rugged land of hills and moors, with
several mines of tin and iron ore that helped make Meric one of the wealthiest kings in Britain. However with the realm
being at the very edge of the kingdom, Meric was always on the edge of decision-making, which kept the rich Meric only
interested in himself. The realm of Kernow held warriors enough to guard this realm, which meant he would never send
warriors to help with the battles against the Sias, this insular protectionist policy kept Kernow isolated from the other
    Agwisence the King of Tara had decided to travel across the western sea for two reasons, king Meric sought another
young wife and Agwisence knew Meric’s appetite for young females, his forth wife of fourteen winters of age had died in
childbirth the previous year. Agwisence had many daughters Issolt at fifteen was the age Meric liked them to be, Issolt a
beauty typical of the young maidens of this isle. Slim with hair so red it almost flamed, a perfect wife for Meric and a
bargaining tool for Agwisence.
           Without trade a kingdom would collapse, Agwisence required trade with the southern lands over the sea from
Britain’s south coast. Kernow with its rugged terrain, and small inlets to land boats from across the sea, an ideal trading
link for the King of Tara and perfect to defend against the Saxon’s ever looking to land it’s people on this Mighty isle.
  Both kings with a mind that Dumnonia and the southern kingdoms could never defend against the Saxons without a
strong High King to draw the realms together against the latest settlers, with only Utherpendragon likely to gain the High
King a suitable ally.
    Uther was under pressure at this time, as the two previous battles he fought had not ending as he planned. Barely
attaining victory with the previous battle against the Saxon leader named Horsa, who had landed in the spring with many
warrior and families to settle the eastern lands.
     This battle cost him dearly, many of his most wondrous warriors either died in battle else those wounded horribly
began the slow tortured death, some of which would survive those would need time to heal their broken body’s
    Uther quickly needed to enlarge his forces before other’s found the weakness of his realm, and quickly. All depended
on this meeting he had arranged, he required warriors, good fighting men, trained warriors Uther had no time to train
levies of his own. Uther wanted warriors looking to advance their status, and fortune. Fortunes would be made when
Uther gained the High kingship, thus Uther was about to trade with an enemy of Britain.
     Utherpendragon would have preferred the meeting closer his encampment of Aqua Sulis but Agwisence chose a
small landing site on the Seven-sea coast. This choice meant Meric and Uther had to travel to the meeting without
alarming the bordering settlements, thus rumours where limited.
    The three rulers now could only travel each with a small war band which gave them all a feeling of security among
each other in these treacherous times.
    This Mighty Isle of Britain at this time adjustment, countless winters hast past since the black winter, when the roman
invaders intended to wipe out the old faith on Moonland isle of Mona. The land now in the changing a brand new cycle is
renewing, the rebuilding of this Mighty Isle about to endure the turmoil of war.

      Utherpendragon would not invite his warlord Gorlois to this meeting. Gorlois a warrior who longed for the return of
Rome, he was in his middle years, lean body and a hard-nosed face.
  As a warrior no man could match him on the field of battle thus his old roman ways would not sit well with treachery.
Uther knew also Gorlois was in time, to be his final adversary prior to the High Kingship.
   Gorlois had his hill fort at Tintagel some days march from the meeting place on the eastern coastline he was not about
to battle with Gorlois at this time, knowing that soon a time shall come, for now secret pathways would be found and
enchantments of concealment would be cast by Mydryn. This gaunt and tall druid had served Uther it seemed always, yet
no one knew his age. He was of slim build with a full long whiting beard, and wearing always his dirty white robe that
was ever covered around the base with the mire of the fields where he walked, this was Uthers druid and counsellor.
     Knowing also that Gorlois and his warriors would have left Tintagel to guard his southern land, until the settlements
there had gathered the crops, his main task at the first harvest season. Gorlois always enjoyed life at this time a chance to
be away from the damp hill fort at Tintagel, his only regret leaving the beautiful Igraine his wife who he adored. The
three daughters he did not mind leaving, the chatter of young maidens made him strangely dark, only ever wanting
Igraine. Only daughters came three of them, no son’s he         wanted son’s warriors to follow him not daughters. Gorlois
loved this part of Britain the wildness of this realm and rugged coast line, most of all he loved Igraine, he wanted her, he
needed her, she was his and only his, another reason for him to keep them all at Tintagel away from lustful eyes of
warlords and kings.

   The meeting arranged, all three expecting something to their own mutual gain, the site for the meeting chosen by king
Meric of Kernow in agreement with King Agwisence, would be an arduous climb from the landing of boats in the this
desolate place.
  Dense forests covered the cliffs were no one would be travelling unless ordained by some special need, the sacred
shrine at Kitnor amongst the densest forest in all this Mighty Isle, the climb up through the cliffs the reason this shine is
so rarely visited.
    These forests abound with lepers; the folk around these parts claim the forest to be so full of lepers that they
outnumber the forest deer, a most splendid place for treacherous lords to contract their fateful treaty.
    For Uther the journey to the shrine would only become arduous after they reached the small quay on the coast, until
then the journey through this summer land would be easy to the feet and pleasant to the eye. Uther planned to avoid the
settlements and villages taking enough food and supplies along with him.
    Mounted on horse back along with Lord Ulfius the most wondrous and trusted of Uther’s lords. The warriors he took
amounted to fifteen, these accustomed to riding hard and far, a small warrior band to engage battle, although large enough
not appear weak. Half of them blooded in battle the others young spearmen and yet learning the warrior trade.

                            Vortigan, Pendragon and Uther

    Not since the time of Uthers brother Vortigan didst Uther feel so uncertain, when at that period he would steal himself
away in fear of Vortigan. The three brothers Pendragon Uther’s elder brother, and Vortigan the elder of the three, the
High King. Uther and Pendragon awaited there time, and soon it came after Vortigan’s early death.
         Hengist attacked in the morning hoping for an easy victory knowing Vortigan had died a moons fullness
previous, this battle Hengist thought to would be short, however in battle warriors plan, but tis the Gods whom decide.
   Attack after attack shield walls collapsing and rebuilding. Warriors dying hard, battle songs sung, death songs rising
Uthers sword blooded to the hilt, shields battered, armour dented through to the body blood staining the metal. It was late
afternoon both shield walls locked together, each warriors right hand man guarding the others weak side. Racking and
stabbing it tarried, men dying all about the lines. Uthers shield wall started to collapse, twenty paces from him, the press
of warriors held him hard he could not move left or right only forward, he lunged and killed those who entered into his
killing ground. Then he saw his shield wall breached his heart sank to the depths of despair, he knew it would not take
Hengists warriors a fleeting moment before they would be through, then the unthinkable shall become reality. The wall all
around becomes a panic of men and blood the killing easy for Hengist. Uther could not move only stab forward at the
warriors in front of him, they died quickly on his sword.
     In battle the emotions are varied from pure joy to deep despair. Joy was in his heart at this moment for he saw his
brother Pendragon along with Ulfius, Uthers warlord stream into the gap. Pendragons sword “caladcolg” meaning “best
blade” true to its name the sword arm of Pendragon became the finest death bringer to the Saxons. Pendragons path in
battle was terrible, the steps of death were behind his sword, cutting and racking death blows about him. Ulfius at his side
warriors falling bleeding before them, clashing of iron on iron the sickening sound of blades slicing into flesh the eruption
of blood as the blade retreats its path. Uther had to endure the sight of Pendragon in the very centre of the heaviest press
of Hengists warriors, who in truth had thought the battle won.
Uther screamed as he saw the spear, that dreadful dolorous stroke that caught Pendragon under his chain armour at the
waist’s right side, exiting in the armpit on his left side. The stroke so cleanly executed, took his soul to the Otherworld in
the blink of an eye. Horrified screams from Uther seemed to give his men new life. Hengists attempt to brake the wall had
failed, Uther wild with rage his warriors fighting as dragons breathing flames of red mist. Hengist saw the battles end,
Uthers warriors braking down his shield wall, the killing became easy and dreadful, after the battle Uther was now King
by his own right now he called unto himself this name Utherpendragon for the sake of his brother.

                    The dark alliance to help him gain the High kingship

   Along the way travelling south east through uncultivated land that descended to the sea, broken by rolling hills, the
journey effortless, the only hazard to avoid settlements that would tell of there arrival. However Uther’s guide knew the
old ways of the ancient ones, his name was Mydryn, his appearance was of mystery and ageless, outwardly giving signs
of at times frailty, yet to see him ride one would assume a youthful body, gaunt and tall his beard long and full, in his
hand always his blackthorn staff, asserting he was fully           learned in the ways of the Druids that kept him always
close to Uther.
    Leading the warriors by pathways hardly visited in countless winters. As they neared the coast the forests became
thick with the wildwood of these parts, sacred groves of ancient Oak that Mydryn respectfully left offerings of wild
flowers and apples as a tokens to the spirits of these sacred places.
  Ahead of them Mydryn had been searching the quietest paths, when he signalled Uther to come to him. Pointing
towards an open stretch of meadow between the forests, showing Uther a lady with three children held in a circle by
warriors of no rank. They carried no standard or emblem of lord ship, they where lord less men searching for pillage and
riches. What appeared to be lady’s liegemen fighting as best they could against warriors holding them away from the lady
and her charges. Finally the last man to be killed died trying to reach his horse, a spear thrown with great skill embedded
itself into his leg, rolling onto his face grabbing for his sword. A warrior who had gained ground towards the fleeing man,
sword drawn and raised above his head, bringing it down with the force to cleave the man head from his body.
Victory certain they came for the woman and children. Uther had by now signalled his men to sweep around the flanks,
he and Mydryn would ride towards them head on, to make it appear they where not interested in fighting for the lady’s
   They rode towards the warrior who seemed to be leading these men, a large beast of a man full and strong looking; his
sword caked with the killing mist. He shouted to the two approaching riders to stop, Uther raised himself up to look to the
lady then back to the warrior saying “I shalt now take the lady and thank thee lord for thy kindness to her”. The warrior
seeing the red mist before his eyes waved his men to cut down the new threat, not much of a threat two men, one a
warrior the other a holy man. The men guarding the lady saw no threat, so wandered up to gain a clearer view of the
killing of the two riders, leaving the lady with her charges to move backwards into the cover of the trees. Uthers flanking
warrior knew exactly when to strike, as two of the lord less warriors approached Uther, their swords drawn and boldly sat
astride their horses. The flanking warriors of Uther charged spears fewtered ready to battle, the two riders heard the
horses, that was last thing they did hear as Uther was upon them his sword “caladcolg” that was Pendragons sliced down
the first a clean stroke to the neck, the second had a moments thought then nothing as Uthers blade took his life. Full-
scale panic broke amid the lordless men as the flanking men of Uther rode them down using spears with deadly accuracy.
        The unblooded men received their first blood that day, Uther shouted to leave no man alive, this they did searching
out the dying, a swift sword thrust sending their souls to the otherworld.
            Uther searched the battle ground for the lady and her charges, he noticed her standing against a time aged Oak
tree with the children at her side, Uthers eyes held firmly on the lady, tall and slender her beauty liken to imaginings of
the goddess men always dream of.
   His mind searched his memory place for the face of beauty striking his heart, he had always known her, he would
always know her. Dismounting his horse and handing the reins to Mydryn who had continued to gaze into Igraine’s eyes
with a smile etched over his bearded face. Uther walked slowly to the lady, she did not recognise her lords foremost
challenger for the kingdom, Igraine forcing her sight from the tall bearded figure to gather her children close, she subdued
their fears with assurance, it was Morgaine who now held Mydryn’s gaze.
   Uther stood before the lady removing his helmet that had flattened his hair onto his head with the sweat of killing. Next
he went down on one knee to the lady reaching out for her hand, his eyes still looking into hers, he brought her hand his
mouth and gently kissed, standing now, he said “ I am Utherpendragon thy servant lady, over time and space, we have
travelled to this life, I am thine from this day”.
     Igraine had heard tales from her lord of this warrior UtherPendragon, his character had been told to her, yet this
warrior did not appear as her lord had whispered. She felt her inner being drawn to this warrior, souls rejoined out of the
clay. Igraine once a priestess of Avalon, one who followed the goddess and who knew that lives were reborn, and lovers
searched the mists of time to rekindle the bright flame that once was. Shaking her thoughts back to this moment she gave
Uther her name, the lady Igraine wife of Gorlois warlord of the west, who’s summer hall she told him was but a short
distance away. Explaining she came to these woods to give freedom and amusement to her daughters who enjoyed
searching the special herbs and flowers, when she and the lord Gorlois’s liege men was set upon by these lord less men.
   “Gorlois would give thee honour for saving his wife and children” she told Uther, also enquiring if he had come to
meet with her lord, no lady he told her, my business with Gorlois would come soon.
          Uther sent some of his men to find the horses that had galloped away, giving him time to spend precious
moments talking with Igraine. From out of times past he knew she was of the same clay, his heart and soul longed to be
with her always.
     Mydryn signalled Uther to him, lord he said “Igraine will now enlighten Gorlois that thou hast been abroad in these
lands all thy plans we be foretold” Uther listening to his druid, although his eyes never parted from Igraine. Turning
quickly on Mydryn “it matters not druid she will come to me soon, Gorlois is but a old foolish man to leave such a lady
alone, he deserves no less, she will inform him that I visited him nothing more, he will be gone until the next moon, by
then the wheel shall be turned nothing can stop the great wheel turning, we march on, come we return the lady Igraine to
her hall, afterwards away to destiny”.
   Mydryn spent what little time they had at the summer hall fussing over Igraine’s daughters, showing them magic tricks
of pulling almonds from behind there ears. The girls loved this especially the youngest Anna. Serious Morgaine spotting
how he hid the almonds between his fingers, a wry smile to Morgaine concealed a multitude of meanings when he
named her his dark lilith of this Mighty Isle.
         Uther and his warriors rode from the hall, however not before Igraine had brought them food and drink to carry
with them. Uther had thought to steal the lady Igraine eastward to his hill fort at Caer Baddon, but east would wait, he had
business to attend further west. Perchance one days journey by the old ways, he would soon be meeting Agwisence and
Meric, then would need all his cunning about him, all the better his druid Mydryn travels alongside him. Moreover before
riding off Myrddin would make an enchantment to curse Uthers enemies, thus Gorlois would be ever confused as to their

     Arriving at the small harbour the settlement looked undisturbed, an ideal setting to land men unseen. As yet no boats
in the small harbour, meaning Agwisence had not yet arrived.
    In discussion with his druid Uther decided to head for the meeting place at the shine at Kitnor, thinking King Meric
may already have arrived.
  The path that climbed through the cliff is slow and long, covered by dense wildwood, the track barely usable but
sufficient for single file trekking. Finding one of the settlement folk who owned a ramshackle building that could hold
Uther’s horses, a payment in silver would suffice, however to be safe Ulfius kept two warriors behind to guard the
valuable horses
   Thus on foot Mydryn took the lead into the thick wildwood that turning the light of the day as dusk, carefully searching
for the sign’s placed by the ancient one’s. In places where the trees thinned out enough to let the suns rays penetrate, they
could feel the warmth of the sun all other times feeling the cold and dampness about them. Ever upwards they trekked,
warriors in heavy war gear never felt easy climbing hills, even worst these hills covered with thick forests that made the
hill climb arduous. Uther told his men to keep there eyes on Mydryn, the dryads of the forest would not mar there way,
we shall leave offering at the shrine, that meant travelling to the shine would just be a hard climb nothing more. Yet the
warriors touched amulets worn about them to ward off evil, or touched the iron of there swords.
     Occasionally the path would be flooded in a radiant light, brightness would suddenly flood through the trees giving
the warriors a chance to perceive they where yet on these abred shores. Turning to the light, glimpsing the blueness of the
western sea, looking out over the vastness of this sea would show them how high the ancient pathway took them.
     In certain places along the route, fallen trees with tangled vines over ages clung tight, and new growth underway
again blocking the pathway, the danger of straying from the path too great as the land could slip away under foot, thus
using their swords they would strip the smaller branches from the trunk, next it would demand the strength of all the
warriors to heave the fallen trees aside.
     Passing each obstruction all hoped the next turn on the pathway would show the shrine, yet down again to the depths
of a gully, or a climb out of the cold clammy chill to another obstruction.
    The warriors’ heavy legged with mud stuck fast about their leggings, thinking they would never reach the cliffs
mantel. Suddenly the pathway opened out, the suns rays again shining down through a clearing, looking down they could
see the valley with a small stream running through, a small area had been cleared of trees to give room to this sacred
    Merely timber built dwellings next to a single standing stone the height to a man’s knee and marked with a faded
wheel by the ancients one’s before time, and set amongst an ancient Oak grove. Below in the valley they could see the
smoke of the campfires in the haze of the sun. The smell of food drifting slowly upwards as warriors’ engaged themselves
constructing shelters.
Uther calls Mydryn to him “See!! The pole hanging with the emblem of the Sea Serpent, tis our Meric the first to arrive
the wheel turns once more we shall need to watch this serpent ” Uther knew of Meric and his need for trade, his seafaring
kingdom strong in the ways of the sea, yet his kingdom at the very edge of the this Mighty Isle Meric needed allies, also a
new wife a young wife.
  King Agwisence had trade and a daughter, Uther was about to become High King with their help, the three were about
to make an alliance, each with there own plan “warriors plan the gods decide”.
       Uther and his warriors entered the area of the shrine. Meric was a short man, well past his best years for fighting, yet
these day’s he had no necessity to fight man on man, the warriors he brought with him appeared more than capable.
About the camp the warriors had stacked their armour whilst some rested others built crude shelters, following the long
march from Kernow.
     Uther knew the outward appearance of Meric hid his real strength, his mind as sharp as any flint, and it showed in his
eyes, ever watchful for signs of weakness amongst his company.
 They met with all the ceremony necessary bowing to each other, one embrace between leaders enough for Uther; he was
yet to be High King.
     Pleasantries over, Meric offered food to Uther which he accepted yet not before giving orders to Ulfius to secure to
camp. Uther not yet settled about the camp when a horn sounded the arrival of Agwisence, he had appeared on the high
ridge and was about to enter the camp. When from the upper tree line about twenty armed warriors emerged from the
trees, Meric had sent some of his warriors into the forest to round up scores of the lepers that abounded in the woods.
Agwisence thinking a trap had been sprung, signalled to his warrior, in the blink of an eye his shield lines where drawn,
spears and swords at the ready, Uther shouting his own           orders to his men. Meric came to the centre of the camp
raised his arms to show Agwisence no harm threatened, he was shouting to explain the presence of the warrior with the
lepers, and ordering his men to lay down there weapons as a sign to Agwisence. Uther and Agwisence started to relax, the
three leaders now came together, each with their druid and interpreter should they be needed, Agwisence asked “why the
lepers” Meric ever the schemer explained “the lepers are to be placed in the far hut and will be guarded until these
meetings are ended. We three be required to trust each other, and to forswear this we must agree if anyone of us during
this time draws his sword to any of the others, they shall be placed with the lepers for one night, that should keep our
minds firmly on the deeds we have to decided” all three agreed.

        The total warriors in this area of the shine of Kitnor would now be near to one hundred souls. An area this small
would not contain this many warriors any length of time, the food supply would not last, and the creeping sickness would
start as it always did when armies are gathered together. Quickly the meetings had to get under way, and the next morning
after a humid night, cooled only by the proximity of the sea, the three broke there fast then went together into the shrines
meagre buildings, each with their own druid or wizard, six in total gathered inside the small wooden structure within this
sacred place.
             In reality Meric and Agwisence had the most to gain out of these meetings, messages sent between them in the
previous moon phases had ensured agreement. So it was that the lady Issolt would be sent by sea the new moon
following, with the marriage soon after. Meric had viewed the lady Issolt two seasons previous thus starting his lust for
the Lady.
     The Irish King had designs on the harbour along the southern coast of Kernow, Meric made a show of how much he
valued this harbour for him alone, however he knew also by ceding it to the Irish king, the trade and allies it would bring
would surmount his requirement for the harbour.
   Both Agwisence and Meric knew the real bargaining would be with Uther; they both sought power over the larger
Britain and Uther could be the one they use to gain this power. Uther had planed this time and was about to use them both
to gain the High Kingship, and then deal with them accordingly.
     As always at these meetings neither part would cede one speck to the other, and tempers began to wax greatly. The
sun had begun its decent towards night, giving rise to Uthers impatience, whereon he calls a halt, saying fresh air is
needed. Into the twilight of the valley, following the voiding of his bowels Uther calls Mydryn to him. Away from
listening ears Uther speaks “these lepers can you talk with them, or will you be afraid of catching the rotting flesh”.
Mydryn answers Uther “ I have travelled this land knowing many diseased beings, if I was afraid do you think my power
would be as strong as you know it to be, the question is Uther are you afraid of someone who comes from these lepers
into thy presence”. Uther leans close to Mydryn whispering to his ear saying “go to them, find one amongst them we can
talk with return to me after this meeting as ended, then we talk”

  Late into the night Uther gains a promise of the warriors he needs, fearsome Irish warriors from Agwisence, fifty
spearmen hardened men, blooded in battle, and fully prepared. Meric agrees to send one hundred warriors to Uther, he
states they will be his finest warriors, Uther knows different. Some of them shall be sending messages back to Kernow,
that concern shall be attended after he had dealt with Gorlois.
     In return Uther agrees to allow Meric control the lands east of the border with Kernow, known as the Belgic land.
Rough moor land land and thick forests, yet the higher ground contain rich deposits of tin and copper. The folk who mine
this area regularly paid Uther his due. Who was to know the amount due, Uther had been content so long as his treasury
was replenished. The amount paid by the miners would suffice and Meric would settle the gold due to Uther for the rites
to the ore. The deal was the best Uther could hope for, Meric knew the full value of the ore, and so he would pay Uther
the due gold and yet gain a fine excess.
      Agwisence had gained an anchorage on Merics southern coast ideal for the re-supplying of his boats before crossing
to Gaul. In addition from Uther he had arranged support for him, among the northern kingdoms to assure a safe route
across the wastelands of the north, to enable the Amber trade with the eastern realms. Lastly his daughter Issolt he would
send to Meric.
 Uther felt he had given too much to these allies, however his forceful thrust for the kingdom had become all.
    Lands and titles he would strive and battle to win back later, once he had gained the High Kingship. Promising himself
he would build his army strong with no need of outside help, thus he vowed to the goddess he shalt build a stronger
Mighty Isle of Britain.       The dealing ended, Uther would have his warriors by song- time, adequate time before the
onset of winter to deal with Gorlois, his final hurdle before the High Kingship.
    Agwisence departed first the following day, taking his warriors down the long path to the sea and awaiting boats.
Uther informed Meric he would stay a time at the shrine with Mydryn who would placate the gods for disturbing this
sacred place by sending offerings to the gods. “These lepers they will spread news of this meeting among these lands”
Meric said “kill them give sport to your men they may need killing practice, do what you will with them “ at that, Merics
warriors in line marched out of the shrines valley leaving Uther and Mydryn sending offering up to there gods.

                                         Bors De Ganis
                              Learning the warrior skill

       Travelling north Bors had decided to take the longer route to return to his homeland of Gaul. He could have chose
the shorter distance to the southern coastline, then hoped to persuade a fisherman to make the crossing, but time enough
for his homecoming first he would journey north to his realm in the high Peaks. There he had title and lands gained by his
father long ago. From there he would cross the spine of Britain following the Amber route eastward to the Humber.
 His father King Bors a wily old fox had kept a trading link open with the northern folk of Britain, whilst also maintaining
a stronghold at the fortress of the Peaks. A wild remote outcrop amongst high moor land, and on the west, the land eased
its way towards the sea, crossing the lush valley of Cair Mauiguid with its wide river.
    Strategically placed the Fortress of the Peaks held north and southern war bands apart most of the time. Small units
could raid each other, however no large war band could access the middle realms of Rheged, Elmet or Dunoting without
first overrunning the Fortress of the Peaks.
      At all times King Bors made provision to maintain a strong force of warriors to safeguard his foothold in this Mighty
Isle. Which led to many small communities settling the valleys of the High Peaks, thus supplying provisions and labour to
keep these forces supplied.
   The growing settlements had learned to survive the harsh winters in this remote high place in the Peaks. The majority of
settlers reared the hardy sheep that grazed far and wide over the moor land, the sheep a gave a constant supply of thick
wool needed to weave the warmest clothing for use in this harsh land. Several of the settlers reopened the mines the
Romans had started, and dug the ore of tin and lead. Enough to keep the settlement well armed and fortified, and as
always from the folk who dwelled and relied on the stronghold, a steady supply of young men ready and waiting to
become warriors themselves.
      The warlord Lailoken had held this land for his king some twenty winters. Now middle aged, with slight greyness
growing into this wild long hair, a large man built broad with little fat for such a man of his age. Lailoken a hardened
warrior who enjoyed this life and the rugged land with its freezing winters that brought the Heavy snows that closed most
every pass through the peaks for two moon phases. Yet the contrast of the summers of immense beauty that would
eventually come, bringing new life and prosperity for his outpost in the High Peaks.
    The outlook westward from the High Peaks was akin to gazing from the top of the world, over green and brown
pastures, betwixed the dense forests veined with blue rivers stretching down to the sea.
      Bors mind now turned to thoughts of his future son fearing for his safety when the time came for him to leave
Avalon, another reason that he chose to travel this road ahead of his son.
     During the journey northwards he had managed to obtain war gear with the small amount of silver he had stored away
inside the lining of his jerkin. A horse old but with a good heart and strong hooves, that suited Bors to travel unnoticed for
a time. He armed himself with leather breast plate, a battered skull helmet that barely fitted, and leather greaves braced
with bone strips to guard his lower leg, an ash spear that had seen better days that he promised himself he would get
repaired, and strapped to his side a broad sword.
   Equipped has he was in these times, an apparent lord less warrior, he could earn gold from a number of chieftains that
required the forces of a warrior. More often than not the settlements along his route constantly had one or more opposing
tribes who had disagreements over land boundaries or usually unfair trades. Many sought a warrior to battle their cause
thus Bors gained a source of revenue, and fast earned himself a reputation, (so much for trying to go unnoticed).
     His time spent travelling the north road to reach the White Peak had not been wasted, his skill as a warrior grew daily,
and their abounded at this time many lord less men preying on unguarded settlements.
     Warlords built armies to have power over the smallest realms; this turmoil was tearing kingdoms apart, constant
warring between once allied kingdoms. This left many areas of Britain ungoverned and easy pickings for such warriors
bold enough to raise his sword higher than others.
     Young Bors de Ganis ever a skilled in swordsmanship, yet until now he had not the inclination to make use of his
talent, now his life dependant on only himself, he quickly learned the art of battle.
      The rewards gained at the expense of defeated warriors included a breast plate of the finest ironwork light and easy to
wear yet strong, and to replace the bone strip greaves he acquired from one defeated warrior magnificent bronze greaves
to protect his lower legs from spear thrusts under his shield arm. To compliment his armour a wooden shield covered with
a fine metal that shone like the silver moon, strapped to his side his most treasured trophy a broad sword the blade
fashioned out of the finest metal forged not of this realm but further south than his land of Gaul. He had heard tell of such
blades from merchants trading within his father’s kingdom, the broad sword felt as balanced in his hand as if it had been
made for him, and at the hilt the pommel had inlays of silver winding down the grip, the cross so intricate it looked
fragile, but the hardness had lasted through many battles.

  After several of the moons fullness, he arrived on the edge of the kingdom of the Peaks a wild realm of the inner
Mighty Isle. Lonely moors on the high places with dense forests and green pastures covering the lowlands that slipped to
the sea, to the west. Bors destination was the high places, he had last visited Fortress Peaks as a youth then he was not
alone but with his fathers war band, they had travelled from the east coast and trekked over land, this time he was
approaching from the south, none to guide his way, he knew that travelling inland he would eventually recall some
landmark known to him.
   Six nights had passed since he last spent time with folk in a small settlement, known simply as the black realm by the
folk of this area. He did not tarry there, only enough time to re-supply with whatever he could barter from the folk of that
depressing place. The folk there appeared has depressed as the dark landscape, surfacing only to gather the black stones
that burned far greater than the trees. Hurried Bors left that place far behind him, such a diverse existence he thought,
from the southern realms to this middle kingdom, Bors had began to notice how this had become the Isle of the Mighty.
    He felt sure he should be nearing the stronghold by this time, it was mid morning and had dismounted his horse to
rest, the mist all morning had descended on the hills obliterating his view, now suddenly it began to clear in the north,
blinking his eyes slipping out of the mist a great outcrop of rock smooth and flat toped Shivering mountain. Bors knew
that wondrous place well, with its small hill fort, unused now, but once in times gone the ancient ones lived up there
amongst the misted Tor.
        As the sun arched through the heavens burning the mist from the peaks, before him through the valley to the west
high above the pass the Fortress of the Peaks came into view. The fortress reached ever upwards from its high vantage
point, stone and earthwork walled around the ridge one tower on the northern side, he now had reached his first objective.
        Through the various kingdoms of this Mighty isle Bors had successfully travelled and a feeling of pride in his
accomplishment gave him a unique feeling of satisfaction he had not felt afor. Currently he rode a grand warhorse,
acquired in combat, the warrior who once owned it told him before he was slain it is a battle charger bred to not fear
clamour or fire trained to always keep its legs moving even when stood so that it would be difficult to hamstring. Over its
back and sides a cover made of fine woven cloth coloured red and silver, it was indeed a fine warhorse. B ors also carried
with him a new (as he promised himself) wooden spear tipped with a blade that could slice through a man as slicing
cheese, so as he rode up through the narrow pass leading to the causeway of the fortress, Bors looked ever the prince of
   To gain entrance to the fortress the final part of the approach would require to be on foot leading his horse. The high
vantage point of this fortress ensured that it remained the stronghold of the north. It would require hundreds of men, full
moon after full moon to lay siege. However the winter would doubtless hinder any force that lay siege in this remote land.
    Bors led his horse slowly up the pathway. The path meandered serpent like working its way to the very top, once there
the hill flattened out, only to slip quickly away into a crevice, leading down into a dark foreboding cavern large enough to
take all this realm into the otherworld. This second barrier required crossing to gain access to the hill fort.
   Bors from the time he first rode into the Peaks borders had been watched. News travelled fast amongst the settlements,
never detailed only word that a warrior finely dressed on a mighty warhorse, with the insignia of a crescent moon of blue
painted on his shield. Bors only reminder Bors had of the lady Lile.
 Inside the fortress the lord of this mighty place Lailoken had been watching Bors as he made progress towards the hill
fort. Lailoken at this distance he did not recognising the young prince, or the strange insignia on his shield.
   Bors now appeared the rugged warrior with a full beard growth and hair touching his shoulders, and the moons that had
passed travelling this ream Bors had the gnarled appearance of a formidable warrior.
     Sitting astride his horse, Bors trying to search out the battlements searching for
Lailoken, and shouting his presence to those inside. Spearmen the length of the walled entrance steadily gazed at Bors not
making any movement to lower the drawbridge. Bors shouting ever more angrily to the spearmen, as to who he was and
of his blood line. Furthermore should they not lower the bridge he would have their manhood sliced off and used as
hound food. The spearmen now shouting back to Bors, to go back to his mother’s arms and not to trouble real warriors.
    Always before conflicts warriors would insult each other trying to gain an edge before the killing started, now Bors
spied familiar face out his memory place, standing on the tower the warlord Lailoken, he assumed he would now be
admitted into the fortress and teach the spearmen a lesson in how to treat their betters.
   At the time of Bors arrival at the bridge, Lailoken the warlord realised it was in fact the young prince, however he had
a mind to play a while, sport not often came to these parts. Lailoken shouted down to Bors “if thou art indeed my prince
then we shalt have ado and test thy sted young warrior, make ready to battle lord less warrior” this last insult made Bors
hot with anger. Bors rode his horse away from the bridge to see who would come battle with him, the drawbridge lowered
then Lailoken came riding out at full gallop shield afore him spear readied, Bors barely had time to ready himself to
          Great warhorse’s horse spurred on by their riders charged headlong onto each other. Lailokens spear hit Bors full
centre of his shield sending him flying over the horse’s arse, landing him flat on his back knocking the wind from his
chest. Bors shaken but unhurt saw Lailoken quickly turn his horse, to charge once more at Bors, this time he stopped
short, holding the spear point at Bors heart saying “yield recreant warrior”. Behind the age worn helmet concealed the
grin on Lailokens face, not replying Bors unsteadily stood proudly upright. Lailoken dismounted and rapidly drew his
sword, with this Bors scrapped his sword from its scabbard ready to battle on, they came together, shields crunching hard
against each other, as blades locked together at the hilt.
 Bors tried the old trick of pushing his leg through to trip Lailoken, however Lailoken was a master of many battles, and
by leaning more heavily on Bors he sent him reeling backwards towards the dirt, (if this had been a true battle Lailoken
would have struck his killing blow), yet this time only          fainting to strike. Bors flying headlong towards the dirt
managed to twist his heavy equipped body around, landing on his shoulder and quickly rolled out of the way of the killing
blow. This instinctive move surprised Lailoken and as the downward stroke of his blade hit earth, Bors had jumped up
from the roll, and then brought his blade down to strike Lailokens head from his shoulders, stopping the blade within a
hairs breath of his neck. Bors at this instant saying to Lailoken “yield recreant warrior”, “ I yield I yield” shouts
Lailoken, removing his helmet and looking into masked face of Bors, “thou hast indeed become a fine warrior Bors de
Ganis”, at this Bors removed his helmet, both smiling they embraced each other, and Lailoken shouted his delight that
young Bors De Ganis had become a man, now make ready a great feast for tonight we honour our prince.
   Bors was almost home; he was amongst friends after countless moons fullness travelling his dark road. The thief of
Britain had become a warrior.

       Bors spent the days exploring the wild moors and forests around fortress Peaks, much of the time accompanied by
Sandav the son of Lailoken. Sandav was at the age when boys becomes a men, tall and gangly thin, his face so perfectly
formed no blemishes or marks, a wondrous loveliness to be found in these dark lands.
    From childhood to youth Sandav had heard talk of Bors de Ganis in the stories his father told of his liege Lord the
King of Gaul. He so wanted to travel outside his land of the Peaks; life in this wild place could be hard on the mind.
Sandav’s only real outlet was the training his father gave him in the finer arts of a warrior. Occasionally Lailoken allowed
the youthful Sandav to fight along side the warriors who guarded the Peaks, these raids against small bands of lord less
man who travelled the outlying country looking for easy pickings among the smaller settlements. Sandav had learned the
skill of battle for one so young; he had the talent for battle not yet the strength needed to engage a full lined shield wall
although he could out wit most of the spearmen of Lailokens warriors.
    Bors became curious of the cavern beneath the fortress, the dark mysterious cavern that entered the hillside higher up
the pass, travelling directly under the fortress as it incised its way through the limestone, an enormous opening in the rock
that had been cut away over eons of time by the silver water now flowing only as a stream.
    The folk herded their beasts and sheep into the outer cavern during the hardest winters this aided by the bat droppings
stunk the cavern to high heaven. Bors guided by Sandav breathed easier as they slide further down the narrow passages
away from the stench of the Caverns entrance. The light faded to a dim glow as they eased through the narrowing
passages, Sandav lit a wicker torch to light there way, skirting round passages almost on knees at times. Suddenly the
passage opened into an enormous void that felt warm instead of the expected coldness of this bleak land.
    Flickering shadows appeared to join them, as they stood transfixed staring at the rock formations the old one must
have seen as small points hanging delicately from the roof. Sandav told Bors “we stand directly beneath the Fortress”
pointing out to Bors “up there at the height a small gap” in the dim light a gap could be seen, that he said “leads up
through a shaft into the very heart of the fortress” some day Sandav told Bors “I shall find the entrance”.
     Deeper down the passageways they travelled, the wicker torch giving out a weird light, that illuminated the soul of
those who feared not the darkest regions. Sandav dropped to his knees then crawled under a ledge telling Bors to follow.
As they crawled an unmeasured distance Sandav stopped, Bors following close behind ended with his face pressed
against Sandav’s arse, both unable to stop the laughter of the situation and as the tiny passageway began to fill with
smoke the laughter turned to coughs from the sticky smoke the emanated from the wicker torch. “This is as far as we
canst travel” Sandav said, beyond this point the way drops fast, picking a pebble from the dirt Sandav tossed it towards
the slope, they hear the pebble clatter against rocks then the plopping sound as it breaks the surface of water. Beyond the
water Sandav explains a small cavern opens, and there is a pool of dark water the ancient ones use to foresee tidings.
       Retracing their steps to the surface, they reach the cavern, standing to stretch; both are covered in mud and filth
from crawling through the passageways. Sandav explains Bors that an aged wise woman travels to these parts; she comes
only in the driest summers to scry the pool of dark water. Lailoken was once told by a Druid that she shifts to a water
creature, and dives into the depths of the dark pool, emerging after three nights. The lady travels with a warrior guard,
who Sandav as heard his father name him Peredur he guards this cavern thus none interferes or enters whist they are here.
Lailoken does nothing to stop them, knowing it to be of the ancient order, accordingly they do not harm or hinder their
    Bors recalling such a pool as this deciding not to enlighten Sandav, he would keep this back in the recesses of his mind
as they returned back along the passageways into the light.
   Bors final night with Lailoken and Sandav at the Fortress of the Peaks, Lailoken had completed the arrangement for
Bors to journey home to safety, travelling eastwards to the coast of the Hazy Sea where he would meet up with a Amber
trader of his father the King of Gaul who wouldst take him the seaward journey to Gaul.
       The final night a splendid feast was provided all the choicest cuts meats along with fine herbs and delicacies this
wild place could provide. As they ate and talked Bors explained to Lailoken and Sandav of his child who would be born
soon (if not already) to the lady Lile. Bors explained that when he attained youthful manhood he would be brought here to
the fortress of the Peaks, and placed under thy protection. Asking a boon of Lailoken that in addition if perchance he
wouldst train this child in the ways of the outer realm and also as a warrior.
        Bors was also happy that he had got to know               Sandav, furthermore asking Sandav if he would also
become his child’s protector and companion, this Sandav readily agreed, Bors told them he would send word, or come
himself to the Peaks at the appointed time. Lailoken granted every one of Bors requests readily, so that a contented Bors
set about enjoying the festivities that the meagre fortress could supply. The round tower that surveyed the valley below
was alight with burning torches that sent an uncanny glow to permeate the whole circular room. Lailoken kept a Bard (in
fact this Bard would come on foot into the fortress having been away countless moons yet never giving reasons, and
Lailoken never enquired) a gaunt and tall man that seamed ageless who told the ancient tales as he played methodically
on the small harp he carried with him. Strangely, Bors felt that this Bard watched him and deliberated, yet Bors once the
Mead and new ale had taken effect danced and sang with all the maids of the fortress. Later as the warriors declined into
drunken stupors and slept where they fell, Bors and Sandav walked the perimeter of the fortress atop the stone battlement.
Occasionally they would meet a warrior with a maiden pledging eternal love, then the next moment a warrior bent double
to spew his guts over the high stonewalls.
   Into the quietness of the night they talked, Sandav a uniquely perceptive youth who craved the warrior life yet knowing
his father Lailoken taught him the trade well. By all accounts of the warriors whom Bors met, Sandav wouldst one day be
magnificent with spear and sword. They talked of the future and of the past searching the sky for some omen of the
ancient Gods, then rolling in laughter of the thought of when they searched the passageways beneath the fortress. Each
knew they would meet again, pulling heavy furs around their shoulders they walked and talked through the darkest moon
           The morning came soon, Bors emerged from the fortress into a bright mist free day looking out over the hills
towards shivering mountain of the ancient ones, knowing in the fullness of time his own blood shalt travel this path then
view these sights as a druid warrior.
  Bors along with six of Lailokens finest spearmen led his horses down through the valley to where he could ride along
ancient pathways home to fate. Sandav with his father watched from the gate tower as Bors with the spearmen trekked
across open moor land and out of sight.
     Lailoken now spoke with Sandav this is a time of change the high kingship is fought over in this Mighty Isle, Uther I
feel will out shine the rest to become High King and my life is forsworn to the old King Bors of Gaul. You as yet my son
are not forsworn to the king, thine own path is I feel sworn to Bors De Ganis, at this Sandav informed his father he had
indeed sword allegiance to Bors de Ganis. This is grand said Lailoken we shall ready for the coming time, not yet a while
for now we have the coming winter to prepare for and the neighbouring warrior kingdoms who raid this land must be
defeated again this will ever be so I fear.
    Three winters later Lailoken took a spear strike to his ribs, sourly wounded Sandav brought him home and tended his
wounds, but the wound festered and the red bloom took his soul. A bale fire was prepared the smoke carried his soul to
the otherworld; Sandav had become warlord of Fortress Peaks.

              Utherpendragon – Time of battle for the High Kingship

             Spearmen from Kernow had arrived early that morning; the landing on the coast at Cair Britoc meant that by
the next night these one hundred spearmen would be arriving at Uther’s encampment on the outskirts of Aqua Sulis. Tired
but happy to be on firm ground after the sea journey that was necessary to avoid word spreading through the settlements
alerting Gorlois. Journeys by sea upset spearmen, the dread of the mysterious depths along with the continued reaching
of men’s stomachs, now the feeling of solid ground beneath their feet made them happy to be marching to yet another
   Their leader a man called Sadok a young warrior unusual for one so young to be lord, the telling was on his face. Under
the thin goat like beard one scar that ran from his left eye to the lower jaw bone deep red and raised meaning that it was a
recent wound, this gave is face a look of hardness that was not the case, Sadok had a light heart and friendly nature,
except when in battle he became a dragon, heavy built but not tall like Uther, and he spoke the British tongue with an
accent of strong tones.
      Sadok met with lord Ulfius the warlord of Uther and was shown where to make camp with his men, Ulfius led them
down to a small building more like a beast’s shed, adequate for the time they would congregated here, wishing he needn’t
be in this land to long.
 Mydryn had thus far not arrived at Aqua Sulis, this made Uther even more pensive, the druid Mydryn always close to
Uther, whispering, foretelling happenings now on the days before Uther’s expected battle with Gorlois he became
nervous without him.
King Agwisence had told Uther to expect the warrior’s of Tara six days after the moons fullness. At ten days since the
fullness, still they had not arrived. Uther’s men mainly spearmen, and a number of mounted warriors totalled around three
hundred, enough soldiers to keep his throne of Dumnonia but to rule Britain as High King an inadequately small number.
      Uthers spearmen half of them battle hardened                veterans, the remainder unblooded in battle. The mounted
warriors rode large horses trained for battle, trained to keep tranquil in the tremendous noise that surrounds the battlefield,
also trained to continually tread their hooves as to hinder the enemy as they try to hamstring the horse.
 The total of mounted warriors amounted to fifty Uther would only use the horse warriors when he was sure the shield
walls of Gorlois had broken then the killing would begin. To spearmen panicked by the shield wall collapsing, the image
of charging horses with armoured warriors like avenging monsters coated in blackness or shinning iron, with razor sharp
swords flashing as the first rays of the sun, charging into there unprotected backs with only one thought to kill and never
to stop until all are dead. Uther would know when to loose the dragons.
      The boats bringing Agwisence warriors had grounded on the coast with ragged sails, broken oars, and bulwarks
planks missing the storm that night had torn the heart out of this small flotilla. Only two boats remained out of the three
that sailed out of the Irish harbour, about twenty-five warriors. Word would soon spread amongst the settlements of
warriors in boats, that amongst the folk meant hide your valuable goods call for your protectors who usually would be a
warrior who tired of travelling the hard road set himself to building a homestead and collecting tenants rents and taxes for
the Lord.
 Time was becoming short for Uther he needed to gather all the warriors. Staying to long in this place would bring
disease, always when army’s gathered death and sickness invaded from within. He would wait one more day for the
warriors of Tara, then march south to where he had planned to attack Gorlois.
   With no sign of the warriors of Tara (thinking the King of Tara betrayed him) also his Druid Mydryn who had not yet
arrived at Aqua Sulis. Uther couldst not delay and subsequently decided to lead his men south. Ulfius rode ahead with
twenty men scouting the land, Uther stayed with the body of his warriors waiting hopefully for his druid Mydryn if he
ever would return. No one was master of Mydryn not even Uther, but he needed him now more than ever.
 Sadok the warlord from Kernow ever menacing with a hundred spearmen at his command, was planning how to return
with as many warriors as he could, he was not about to sacrifice his men for Uther, King Meric had given Sadok his

   Gorlois had enough time to plan his defence; word had come to him from his spies in Aqua Sulis of the build up of
warriors. He had returned from the harvest, were this year the harvest was good all taxes collected. The land was full of
goodness that year, Had Uther miscalculated the timing of his push for the high kingdom. Gorlois could muster three
hundred spearmen all battled warriors that he kept well trained the old roman way, and with his levy of land folk more
than enough to crush the upstart Uther, the fool he thought coming to Tintagil to lay siege. Gorlois had other plans he
would turn Uthers and his men into offal, then bleach there bones on his sandy beaches, as a reminder to this realm who
was the rightful High King.
    The area chosen by Gorlois was indeed a fine place for ambush, he would await Uthers journey south were the river
runs through the plain, around the great hill to the west between the valleys to the east, he would show Uther how a
warrior fought. Gorlois knew of the horse Warriors Uther kept, not having used them in previous battle, because of the
terrain he had to fight within, this time Gorlois would tempt Uther in to committing his Horse Warriors.
    Gorlois had instructed his spearmen to dig horse pits forward of his main defensive line, he knew Uther would not be
able to resist men fleeing. He would form a shield wall well forward in front of the horse pits, the shield wall needed to be
strong but not strong enough to hold Uthers spear men, Uther had to believe that he had caught the leading party of
Gorlois’s forces.
   Behind, about a hundred paces was to be the real defensive line, with the mountain rising up on his western side and
the river to the east this strip of land he thought would be Uthers final resting place in Logres. The main force of Gorlois
would be hidden behind a rise in the land, a hollow hill home of the ancient ones. Many such mounds abounded in this
part of Britain no one would explore these mounds for fear of the Aes Sidhe, who the folk believed inhabited the ancient
hollows, some called them the host’s of the hollow hills but to Gorlois told to him by his druids, would perform rites to
quell the Sidhe from harming his warriors, his warriors would still pray to the gods still touch the iron to ward of evil.
    On this southern side of the mound Gorlois had assembled two ballista, he had transported from Tintagel. His family
the old Romanised British, Gorlois had studied the art of roman warfare, the only difference he had not the warriors of
Rome, although he did retained the knowledge taught him of the Romans who had invaded, then departed this realm more
than century before. These ballistae would hurl rocks or flaming lumps of the burning clay that would strike down upon
the attacking men. Warriors hated these devises because they could never identify where they would strike, a warrior was
well used to fighting an enemy he could see in front of him, an enemy he could jeer at taunt at before each built up
courage to charge the shield wall.

    Uther would march south around the dark mountain close to the river, then turn westward towards Tintagil, he had
thought of crossing the great moor, but without guides or Mydryn he could be wandering endlessly on that dark
  Uther always a warrior knew that almost immediately he encountered Gorlois all his doubts and fears would subside,
the smell of battle the sound of iron crashing about him, the surge inside his body overtaking all other thoughts this his
Uthers time and battle was in him.
      He was now half a day’s march from where he would          turn westward around the great mountain. Several days
before he had broken the march to stop near to the summer country a place of ebbing tides, lakes of glass around a mighty
Tor the land of the misted isles. Mydryn had always held his settlement in this world between the veil atop the Tor. The
strange pyramidical mound covered in mist rising from the tides that ebbed and flowed into gulleys, about the great lake
of glass. One thought Mydryn didst leave with Uther as he walked away to disappear into the land was to spend the night
at the Tor on these abred shores. Uthers instructions were to go alone inside the dream tower and to light a fire of hazel,
thence sleep upon the ledge that was built into the tower.
    Mydryn’s tower was built of wood, has tall as an aged Oak tree open to the sky. Inside he stored his mysterious
elements that he used in his charms and enchantments. Half way up a ledge where one person could sleep looking to the
stars, the smoke drifting up round the tower sending dreams about this realm, with the passing heavens clouds and star
bright flares dreams coming into your soul.
   This night Uther did dream so clear his very soul leapt in wonder Uther saw warriors, it seemed to him they where
inside some dark place a cave, he could not make out clearly, the river beside a dark mountain, this he knew to be the
cross way to the east. Then the mist became thick in his mind, strange shapes appearing, far away a small child a maid
with hair the colour of ravens wings, she was small in stature slim as a fairy child he knew she was of the ancient folk the
blood of old ran in her body, she looked into Uther’s eyes he saw the ice cold stare, looking into his soul. Her form
swirled and floated away, still those eyes looked into him, he felt is blood turn to water streaming through is body then
she was gone. Warmth returned visions that appeared far off through the mist. Shapes of warriors, marching with a aged
leader, he appeared white hair long flowing cloak about him his beard curled in plats two long strands reaching below his
throat apple.
   The warriors stopped about forty men with shields and spears. Looking again the clothing of the warriors appeared to
turn to rags, bright colours fading away to torn cloaks, hooded rags hanging from their body’s, strips of leather for foot
protection, with shield lowered the faces began to appear, once handsome faces now showing horror, twisted mouths
tongues bloated inside lipless opening, these where the warrior of hell coming for Uther. Awakening nothing only the
sweat about him, cold and dark at the lowest ebb of time. Bright sunlight steamed down the shaft of the dream tower
bursting into Uthers eyes awake now his hands trembling uncontrolled holding each hand together stopping the shaking
his mind returning to reality. What did I see, Mydryn my Druid why is he not here with me to foretell this dream,
smashing the cups about him throwing tables and stools about the tower his rage always near the surface, slowly his anger
began to subside wait, he thought I know the place of my dream, the dark mountain beside the strong flowing river, this
must be where Gorlois is waiting for to battle, my Druid is yet serving me his thought now turn to elation and to Igraine,
soon the High Kingdom shall belong to its rightful heir.
     One days fighting and the beautiful Igraine shalt be mine Uther imagined, urges flowing through his loins now at the
very thought of Igraine in his mind her face constantly appearing, first the battle bringing himself down, all thoughts of
Igraine must be placed to the rear of my brain, keeping her face that striking beauty he had always known back in his
soul, Igraine he knew her to be the only Anam Cara of the clay.
    The morning was bright and fresh the cold air giving signs of the coming winter, all Uthers plans now approaching his
final chance afor the onset of winter. To wait longer would have been disastrous, the alliance he had with Agwisence and
Meric would not last without victory over the warlord Gorlois. The warriors from Tara had not joined with Uthers war
band by the time he marched south, but Uther was full of confidence now, nevertheless he sent a messenger back along
the route they took to direct any stragglers to meet him at the plain of dreams.

           Through the last of the wildwoods Uther marched his men. He began to see the trees thinning out and daylight
flooding through the canopy. Soon before him would be the grassy plain between the dark mountain and the river, there
Gorlois he knew would be waiting.
  Making camp on the edge of the forest, Uther knew that the morning would bring the storm to Gorlois. This night the
sky was bright and clear, the moon waxing to fullness shone through the branches. Warriors on the eve before a battle
seem always to talk of family and friends, men who had argued hugged each other, they knew there life’s depended on
each other. Every man in a shield wall wanted his right hand man guarding his unprotected side while he fought and
guarded the man on his left. This battle they all knew would be long and harder than they had known before.
    Sharpening of swords, checking of armour endured on until the darkest hour. Some slept, some never could sleep
before battle, Uther never could he talked of the morning plans with Ulfius his warlord and Sadok the warlord from
Kernow. Uther would need every warrior fighting the same battle this day. They spoke of the warriors from Tara hoping
that they would arrive before the morning although knowing it was more likely to be later the next day.
    Then day followed the night, breaking clear of the horizon the sun’s rays came bursting into the trees the storm came
that day.
In the bright day light Gorlois had formed his shield wall fifty paces to the front of the horse pits, Ulliam had been given
the task of tempting Uther onto his waiting spears. The illusion needed to be done smoothly if he was going to tempt the
horse warriors of Uther to charge head long towards the pits.
     Uther’s shield wall began forming, Ulfius, Uthers’ most valiant warlord lead the warriors in chanting the battle song
of Arryn. Shields to the front, wicked spears pointed towards the shield wall of Gorlois (the warriors named this the
pointing of evil), these warriors in Uthers front shield wall      were all experienced in fighting in a shield wall, each man
knew to guard the man on his left.
         Then the taunting began, each side calling out insults to the other, telling what they are about to do to there women,
then giving the remnants to be used again by there slaves, this at times carried on whilst warriors built up the courage to
attack a shield wall. Courage would be required from the warriors of both sides this day as the clash of iron on iron shield
on shield began. The struggle of men dying the tangled thrusts of spears gouging at men’s faces as the shields lock
       Gorlois had given orders to his men, to hold the ground, to retreat too early would not tempt Uther into sending the
horse warriors into the killing field the timing had to be exact. For this to work to the most advantage for Gorlois he
wanted Uthers men to charge headlong into battle chasing the fleeing warriors on horse and on foot, bringing Uthers men
onto Gorlois whose main force would be waiting behind the hollow hill with ballista’s ready to rain down fire and
torment on the upstart Uther. Then to finish him off with the spear to kill and kill and not stop the killing till Uthers
bleached bone where scattered on Tintagil’s sandy beach.
      The two lines where now twenty paces apart. Nearly every warrior at this stage had picked out a warrior on the
enemy shield wall where they thought the shields would lock together. Keeping eyes fixed to that same spot as the two
lines pace by pace edged nearer, ten paces now they began to smell each others sweat and fear.
 Suddenly from out of shield wall of Gorlois a warrior ran out carrying a Gisarme that he had claimed after killing a
Saxon warrior some time earlier, he stopped and swung it round twice then let go towards Uthers line, launching it in the
air it landed short Uthers men began to jeer. The axe then skidded off the moist morning dew on the grass, spinning in fast
circles into Uthers line slicing off spearman’s foot and still it spun, spinning cutting deep into another warriors
unprotected leg, the jeering stopped first blood to Gorlois.
   Ulfius ran to the young spearman a likable young spearman named Breit, Ulfius grabbed him by the neck of his leather
jerkin pulled him back away from the line straight toward the waiting fire they carried in a iron grate, Ulfius then punched
Breit full in the face knocking him senseless before he grabbed the footless limb and thrust it into the waiting flames, the
war had come to plain.

       Spears from Uthers shield wall arched there way out of his line, hammering down into Gorlois shield wall, two fell
short, the rest landed deep into the press of men, Uthers men could only see the spray of blood and hear the screams of
dying men.
  More warriors joined Uthers shield wall, the advance had quickened with the sight of blood barely one pace apart,
spears from both walls jabbed at each others line, aiming to tear into the warriors faces before their shields locked
together in a struggle of might and determination.
 Gorlois’s wall the shorter of the two, Uthers shield wall expanding ever longer as more warriors came up from the rear.
Staying to the back Sadok the leader of king Meric’s men kept his warriors close, listening to Uther urging him to the
front but Sadok an experienced warrior knew when the time would be right to advance with his warriors.
     In the thickest of the press of men Ulliam Gorlois’s warlord, kept the line together shouting orders holding them fast
about the centre of the line. The shield wall of Gorlois had two men deep, thirty paces wide approximately sixty of
Gorlois most valiant warriors all tight pressed together. This needed to be a tight wall the slightest weakness meant Uthers
warriors would be through and into the killing ground before Gorlois could spring his trap.
 Ulliam always the thinking warrior “only needing to hold this line moments yet then slowly edge back”, this manoeuvres
extremely difficult with an advancing enemy wall breathing into your face but done it must be to entice Uther to charge
headlong into the killing ground.
     The fighting in the wall was becoming a heavy press; each line thrusting out wicked edged spears gouging eyes
spearing necks the only visible and open parts of the body. Several warriors’ aimed there spears low to slice into
unprotected legs, but most warriors wore heavy bronze greaves to protect these parts. However with spears thrusting out,
and short swords jabbing injuries were many, and maimed men can not fight. Each wall pushing urging each other against
shields and spears, men dying being replaced so the line kept strong.
     Ulliam looking about him urging his men on, whilst warriors from Uthers shield searched to identifying who was
foremost in the opposing wall, then aiming to kill him with spears thrust. Among the throng were warriors high on
stimulants throwing themselves at the shield wall hoping to earn them glory and promised wealth. Young and old,
warriors eager to earn a reputation and glory died in these walls, yet for a fleeting moment they were heroes before they
passed to the otherworld. Ulliam looking about him, to the rear he could see in the distance the hollow hill where Gorlois
awaiting to loose the wildfire, then and only then raise his warriors from invisibility to exterminate Uther.
   This could be the time “I could draw back fifteen paces before Uthers shield wall had time to think what was
happening it would give me time to break ranks and dart to reform behind the horse pits” hoping to bring Uthers rushing
into the range of the wildfire, then form again to a stronger shield wall where Uthers warriors would be locked again until
their final end.

   Ulliam gave the signal to his men to start the retreat. Word passed slowly along his line from man to man each knew
their part. Slowly each man edged back, it happened smoothly both shield walls welcoming the respite from the struggle
and death. Five paces apart. Uthers wall not as yet charging down on to Ulliam, this was working he thought, Ulliam
constantly watched Uthers line for any sign of movement. A few more paces, eight paces apart now the line held, the
manoeuvre was working to perfection.
 Suddenly the young spearman Odryn tripped on some loose rock, the line carried on moving back he was now one pace
to their front, arms stabbing at fresh air as he fell. With a grin on his reddened face, thinking to himself “I can run back
easy” bringing himself up his leg felt heavy, looking down he saw and felt the warm ooze of blood escaping from the
wide sliced muscle. The fall had brought his razor sharp blade down cutting deep into his calf, the warriors from Gorlois
line shouting to him “ get up you dim-witted bastard” Odryn, thinking he could make it back to his line easily, the
experienced warriors silently watched the grin slide from Odryn’s face.
 Ulfius, Uthers warlord shouted take him alive, he would give useful information, two warriors rushed out from Uthers
line towards Odryn who was now on hands and knees trying to crawl the way back.
    Ulliam broke from the line, spear in hand towards Odryn seeing the two warriors from Uther bearing down onto
Odryn, Ulliam launched his spear low, warriors from both now watched in supreme silence as the ash spear skimmed
above the grass catching Odryn through the shoulder part of the neck and straight down to his heart to take his soul to the
otherworld. Odryn had died the moment his foot caught the rock every warrior knew it; Ulliam only quickened his souls
     Gorlois shieldwall had edged back whilst Odryn died, ten paces now, Ulliam turned his back on the two warriors
from Uther inviting them to combat. However the warriors either to wise or to afraid returned to there own wall. The race
had begun, Ulliam ran to his line signalling to his men to turn and run beyond the horse pits.
     Uther saw his chance, sending the battles chargers onto the fleeing warriors, only twenty horses had arrived the others
followed some half days journey away, “these should do the task well” Uther thought. Spearmen on foot stood little
chance against charging battle horses, an even smaller chance when running with their backs to the charge.
      Gorlois watching his warrior’s running back hoping none wouldst forget about the horse pits, thus giving the chance
for the horsemen to ride around and onto the spearmen.
  As always there would be injured warriors from a shield wall. Two warriors of Gorlois, both with wounds to there legs
from blades slicing under there shields, trying against all the odds to scuttle back beyond the horse pits, but the wounds
limited there movement, their every heartbeat as the thundering hooves. Seeing there friends of many a campaign having
avoided the pits now making a new shield wall, both warriors stopped trying to run, looking at each other, no words
needed they knew that in a fleeting moment they would be walking over the bridge of swords in to the otherworld.
Both turning knowing the only way to defend against charging battle horses to crouch as low as possible with spears
pointing to the heavens in the hope of spearing the under belly of the charging horses.
   Ysynae, Uthers warlord and most experienced horseman led the charge, seeing the two warriors putting a up a
defensive stance, wheels away to charge them down, the reminder charge headlong to the quickly forming shield wall.
Ysynae his spear at the ready aims low, spearing the closest in the belly the spear emerging the warriors back to a half an
arms length. Letting go of the spear Ysynae, dismounts swiftly scrapping his sword from its sheath, he easily parried a
spear thrust away looking into the wounded warriors eyes before the dolorous stoke that took his soul rapidly. With no
time to be elated Ysynae needs to return to his men, retrieving his spear from the body and hearing suction as it emerges
from the flesh, quickly he grabbed his horses and pulled himself onto the saddle.
  The leading horsemen charging at the not fully formed shield wall had no time to see the ground before them. The
change of grasses the colour browner than the rest. A feeling of riding into nothingness, tumbling, seeing only spikes then
blackness. Horse followed on into the blackness. Screaming horses, then death impaled on wooded stakes dying horse
kicking helplessly, warriors and horses impaled together mixed in with blood and mire. Ysynae could only watch from his
charger, silently screaming. His men did not hear him; they were marching over the bridge of swords to the otherworld.
     Gorlois watched from the top of the hollow hill, and saw the horses gallop into the blackness, yet he knew he had
only exterminated half of Uthers horse warriors. The rest he assumed would be travelling the road from Aqua Sulis, with
fortune he would eliminate Uthers before they arrived.
Ysynae the only returning horse warrior rode towards Uther knowing Uthers temper, he was ready to take the sword
thrust from Uther. Striding up to Uther who looked grim and dark. Uther spoke first “I thought the old weasel would have
some roman warfare lined up for us Ysynae, thankfully the gods spared thy soul, when the rest of my horsemen get here
you can avenge there loss, till then we fight”.

       Uther had already spoken with Sadok the leader of Kernow’s spearmen, who were now hurriedly forming shield
walls. Uther had arranged two shield walls, each wall three men deep and twenty paces long, sixty warriors to each wall,
behind some thirty paces the remaining warriors ready to file into the shield walls where needed. Uther signalled, the slow
movement began towards Gorlois and the High Kingdom, this day Uther knew he would have his three choices, Gorlois
would be dead, the lady Igraine would be his, thence High King of This Mighty Isle.
       Slowly moving towards destiny, Uther joined his            men his blood boiled to the sound of battle. The manner in
which Uther waged war prepared his warriors to feel joy the way he felt. Between fear and joy the battle elates the soul,
nearing death strives the body reach heights of power, now with all orders given Uther would kill, be blooded and drawn
this was his time.
    The approach to Gorlois across the flat open plain of dreams necessitated skirting the horse pits. With battle fresh in
the warriors minds there would be no time to gape into the horror, immediately the shield walls would be reformed, and
the lines straightening.             Inevitable as it was they wouldst hear the moaning rising from the horse pits and
witness the horror as they manoeuvred around the pits. Warriors touched their groins to advert the evil or touched the iron
they had about them, anything to nullify the evil of dying men. Even the warriors who had taken the new faith of the
nailed man spat or touched iron then crossed themselves just to be sure.
      Cursing his Druid, Uther loved no one in battle, yet he knew Mydryn would have walked boldly across the dead
ground towards Gorlois casting spells and creating enchantments, and calling down the gods to turn Gorlois and his
warriors into weak lesser men unable to hold spear or sword.
 Uther would now need to use an untested young wizard named Lyter, a timid man who did not carry the robes of a
wizard well on his small figure. Lyter required urging forward by Uther to cast the evil eye onto Gorlois, even though he
knew he would not be attacked. Druids and wizards could move about the ground betwixt warring kingdoms with
impunity casting spells.
 As Lyter stood between these two raging shield walls in complete freedom, it gave him confidence to perform the rites,
hopping on one leg, spitting insults towards warriors of Gorlois. Informing them in no uncertain words that their
miserable everlasting souls would be his playthings to do with as he wished. No crossing the bridge of swords this day, he
had marked them, lifting his tunic and pissing towards there lines. Moments later pulling a live crow from a bag he was
carrying, he began to slowly cut at it’s throat until the blood came, slow at first, waving it around his head so that the
blood would spatter the warriors, chanting the death tone of the Daoine Sidhe, a heart wrenching sound to bring fear to
freeze the very soul.
Gorlois had wizards also, they where amongst his warriors touching the warriors spears giving power to there souls telling
them not to fear the otherworld. Lyter his work done slowly danced his way back to Uthers line and among his own
warriors who now cheered him, his face alight with power. It was his first battle, Mydryn before this had always worked
the enchantments, now his soul filled with power he wanting to join the warriors to kill and send souls to be playthings of
the Daoine Sidhe.

    Thirty paces from Gorlois shield wall the wildfire came upon Uthers warriors.
Gorlois had been watching Uthers shieldwall approaching, from his vantage point on the ridge of the hollow hill. A
perfect position on which to gauge Uthers advance, behind which he had placed the ballistae loaded with wildfire, ready
for the word to release the firestorm onto Uther and his warriors.
    Seeing they had reached the marked point Gorlois shouted the order to Crai who was one of the few men in all this
Mighty Isle who could operate a ballista with any great skill. Gorlois called out “bring the fire rain”, Crai hammered oak
pegs out of the catch, the bowl carrying the fire sprung skyward at the speed of comets sending wildfire soaring over the
hollow hill to rain death onto Uther warriors. The aim had been wonderful, fireballs arching from the hollow hill trailing
black smoke from the flaming centres. Uthers warriors looking skyward eyes staring in amazement feet froze to the
ground, as the wildfire landed amongst the front line. Ten warriors engulfed in flames instantly incinerated, many more
souls would be walking across the bridge of swords this day. Five warriors with the sticky fire that clung onto their
leather armour ran screaming bumping into warriors close by, until they fell choking and burning. Warriors tried to help
by throwing earth onto their writhing bodies to extinguish the smouldering sticking fire, then hurrying to rejoin the fast
moving shieldwall into battle
 Uther reformed, closing the gaps in the shield wall, shouting and urging his warriors forward. That first wonderful aim
was just as Gorlois and Crai had planned the previous two days. Releasing the second shot of wildfire from the ballista’s
with accuracy was dependant on Uthers line moving at a slower speed than he did. After the initial shot, Uther had hurried
his warriors, moving them faster than Gorlois had estimated, the second wildfire landed amongst warriors, however
behind Uthers advancing line.
 The steady wall of shields moved closer onto Gorlois. Fifteen paces from impact, harrowed noises ascend to the heated
sun as war drum thump a constant rhythm, and the warriors quickened to close and smash into Gorlois’s shield wall.
Shield hitting shield, spears thrusting towards unprotected faces slicing into mouths and eyes, else under shields ripping at
the unprotected legs. Cutting back with wicked hooked spikes tearing muscles, the press of men heavy against shields.
Long spears protruding from each wall where men died, their once vibrant being now dropping to the ground to be trod
and crushed, only to be replaced by warriors urged into the breached line..
     The short swords that several Gorlois warriors favoured came good as shield walls locked together. With short thrusts
aimed and hoped to feel the suction as the blade reverses, knowing the blade had reached its destination. The smell of
sweat and blood the death aroma strong to the nose, warriors shouting orders screaming, gaps opening then quickly
 The ballista’s reloading and loosing fire down to the rear        of Uthers line, however the shock tactic lost as warriors
moving up to join the shieldwall could see the wildfire raining down giving them time to move away from the landing
spot, and only to catching the slowest warriors.
Gorlois shield wall now the smallest, with Uthers wall pushing and heaving Gorlois’s line back. Gorlois seeing that
Uthers men had all but joined the shield wall sent in the remainder of his warriors who were waiting this time, hidden
from Uthers view behind the hollow hill.
    Uther looked up to see new warriors joining Gorlois’s shield wall, looking about him at his line, the men from Kernow
with Sadok fighting strongly on his left side and holding the edge to stop it from being encircled.
   The warriors charged down the slope of the hollow hill screaming challenges a number of the warriors high on the
battle fever, some drunk on the brew most spearmen always carried, and even when there food was gone warriors could
always find the brew that gave them courage. These spearmen almost tripping as they came charging down the hill,
several did slip on the grass and rolled headlong to the base. Most warriors knew that to have the mind fuddled with brew
lessened their chances of escaping death, the calmest of warriors, and the ones that stared you in the eye showing no
emotion, he was the one to fear most.
            Battle on the plain of dreams quickly became the dark red plain, warrior’s dreams ending with a flash of a
spear’s shinning edge. Witnessing in slow motion as it sliced through to an unprotected part of the body. Feeling the blade
rip through to the soul, thence the light fading into darkness as sounds becoming dull memory’s as the life’s blood sprays
out. Lifeless shells drop to the earth cold and empty, watching the battle from some high place drifting away sounds
becoming quiet, rushing onward to another destiny’ speeding along the dark road emerging instantly onto the start of the
bridge to cross over from this realm to the next, alone.
     Fighting became long and bloody; the shield walls locked together eternally, warriors simply noticed how far the sun
had travelled in the heaven. Reinforcements of Gorlois had joined the shieldwall end nearest the river, these warriors the
freshest, having come roaring down from the hollow hill. Their task to turn Uthers line, yet each time Gorlois’s warriors
would beat at this end of Uthers line, more men came to support. Sadok the warrior from Kernow controlled this edge of
the shield wall; he fought as a demon breathing fire and blood. The warriors of Kernow untested before now showing
Uther their true worth, they held Gorlois’s assault press after press.
   Uther was in the heaviest press of warriors to the centre, around him his most valiant lords, Ulfius and the horse warrior
Ysynae. Three warriors heavily armoured stabbing and racking with spear and broadsword. Gorlois the staunchest of
warriors stood to the rear of his shield wall, half standing on boulders to view and direct the battle. At times mounting his
horse, thinking to join the battle, he could see his warriors killing for him he was elated proud and waiting for the time to
crush the upstart Uther.
    Time ebbed away, both walls pushed and killed. Gaps in each shieldwall opened then almost as suddenly closed, as
warriors who needed not the telling to fight, they fought as demons to close any breaches. To leave open would bring the
death fields as warriors ran, easy killing for the advancing wall.
Kernow’s warriors with Sadok were fighting on the very edge of the line where the battle was the bloodiest. From behind
the front line a warrior of Gorlois had slowly moved to the front his mission to end the life of the leader of the Kernow
warriors. Each side tried to search out the leaders to weaken the resolve. This warrior knew his task, slowly and steadily
he moved his eyes fixed to the target. The only weapon he carried was a spear and small shield his target, Sadok.
Squeezing past his own men with solid dark eyes glued to Sadok. Only a spears distance away. Rataun waited for the
right moment to strike. Sadok had thrust his spear to gouge the face of a warrior when, from the corner of his eye he saw
into the eyes of Rataun the warrior sent to take his soul, realigning his spear, Sadok knew he was dead.
   Rataun’s spear arched upwards-entering Sadok neck through the windpipe stopping at his neck bone, pulling back
ripping the throat from Sadok; death came swift that day to some. Argaine saw his friend and leader slump forward then
down to the feet of warriors unable to reach him in time, the unseen executioner edged his way back through his line.
    Utherpendragon shield wall began to weaken, as if some unforeseen force had slowly ripped the heart from his
warriors, he saw the end of time coming, the shield walls edge nearest the river collapsed.
   Cursing the warriors from Kernow for not holding, darkness filled Uthers mind, no High Kingdom, no Igraine the
loveliest lady of the realm her tall figure etched into his mind would she be the last image he wouldst take with him over
the bridge of swords.
     Liken the dawn bursting forth after the darkest hour, the air seemed to freeze, as the press of warriors unbearable on
Uthers men, his warriors felt the ripple flow through, and the slight release of pressure. Ulfius noticed first then the
feeling like an awaking from a nightmare swept through the wall. Uthers warriors doubled there efforts then felt the
release of the killing spirit driving hard slashing with sword, thrusting spears, gaps opening dead warrior all around
striding over corpse, rushing onward toward victory.
    Charging down the slopes of the hollow hill, Uther saw warriors at first thinking they must be more of Gorlois’s men,
then the realisation that the figure leading dressed with his familiar flowing cloak with patterns of crescent moons.
Mydryn had returned bringing warriors, Uther thought ought to have been the warriors of Tara.

 Mydryn had brought warriors to the plain of dreams; to Gorlois’s men the nightmare began.
 To the rear of Gorlois’s wall warriors turned to fight the        attack. Warriors looked into the faces of the dead, warriors
fully armoured with bright slashing swords and wicked edged spears, yet panic griped their souls.
 In battles hesitation of any kind looses the field, the warriors of Mydryn came upon the rear lines screaming like demons
from the Hollow Hill, the Aes Sidhe bringing vengeance for using there sacred mound.
    Leper warriors from the wildwoods of Kitnor led by the most feared Druid Mydryn charged onto the warriors of
Gorlois who looked upon the faces of the dead. Faces tormented with rotted flesh hanging and lipless mouths, charging on
uneven feet, hobbling as avenging fiends, images of souls wandering the dark realm between Abred and the otherworld
not able to cross the bridge of swords.
     Midday on the field of dreams, the sun high and bright its rays burning down on the once peaceful place, yet the birds
of the air floated high on thermals the hawks looked down from the heavens as Gorlois fought, soon to be overwhelmed.
    The Druids leper warriors fought as demons screaming terror, bringing death and destruction. Gorlois men tried to
fight these demons but fear had beaten them as delayed thoughts stared into faces of terror.
 Uthers warriors charged into gaps left unfilled urging his warriors on, they needed no encouragement they knew the time
for killing had come upon them. Powering through onto the backs of fleeing men. Slicing and cutting down warriors
became easy killing, pockets of resistance small numbers of men holding close formation held up Uthers warrior, then
quickly died as spears rained down blood misting the air over the mounds of dead the dying. Wounded men awaiting
death from the searching warriors who stripped the corpse’s looking for the spoils of victory, ever searching out the
hiding places warriors kept the riches.
    By the river Gorlois with the leftovers of his warriors about fifty, tired and sweating warriors making a final stand as
others tried to flee across the fast flowing river. Surrounded, Gorlois stood proudly in the centre breathing heavy, his short
sword looking as red as the morning sun, his armour dented, his gloved hands covered with drying blood. Sweat running
down his proud face, still his warriors protecting him, showing defiance to Uther and urging him to finish the day.
      Silence on the field of dreams. Uthers warriors stood resting their wrecked limbs content to lean on their spears and
swords to stop them falling, they knew this battle would be sung around the camp fires of warriors for many winters to
Uther seeing Mydryn amongst his warriors strode over to greet his druid grasping him around the shoulders pulling him
to his breast resting his head on Mydryn shoulder, looking around at the leper warriors, whispering “how did you
persuade these wretches” Mydryn replying in whisper “with thy word” drawing away Uther laughs.
      Mydryn and Uther strode onto the ground between his warriors Gorlois’s ragged warriors looked towards Gorlois,
ever defiant standing tall Uther shouts to Gorlois to come out from his men “fight me Gorlois, warrior on warrior”
promising to spare the majority of his warriors if wouldst fight. Gorlois needed no second offer; striding out from his men
with red hatred in his eyes for Uther.
  Returning to the leper warriors Mydryn pulled Bladud aside. Bladud was once a great warrior and the Haut prince of
Siluria, who became an outcast on contracting the leprosy.
  His appearance grotesque, the leprosy had not yet taken his fingers, only his nose and bottom lip. One could tell he had
not yet aged beyond thirty winters, this showed in his eyes that had not lost any vibrancy, he was tall and strong, the
reason he had become leader of this band of leper warriors. Mydryn told him to take his warriors up the slope of the
Hollow Hill to the place he had shown him earlier, and to stay there whatever happens betwixt Uther and Gorlois. Bladud
holding Mydryn by the arms looking into his eyes saying “I hold thy promise Druid” then signalled to the lepers to follow

           Uther stripped off his top armour releasing the straps that held the body piece, undoing his helm he dropping it
to the soft grass, wearing woollen trews and his heavy leggings and strong boots, his broad chest uncovered with his long
hair released to fall about his shoulders. The dark brown hair appearing black with the sweat and blood, soft golden hair
covered his broad chest, he looked magnificent, tall and well built with strong muscled arms, at thirty winters he knew
this was the time of Utherpendragon.
 Mydryn now standing along side him pulling from his crane bag a small clay pot filled with a blue liquid, dipping his
finger into the liquid then tracing on Uthers right arm a serpent entwined about the upper arm, uttering these words” thee
art guardian of the Hallows thou art giving thy self to the land of Logres, thy royal seed with the holy blood of the land,
now go to thy destiny defeat thy foe slaughter the unworthy”.
     Gorlois became uneasy at being given the chance to defeat Uther in battle, his men about him urging him to fight the
upstart Uther. Whispering to Gorlois was Rataun the silent killer of Sadok of Kernow, who by his actions with his sword
was describing to Gorlois how to deal the dolorous stroke to the Heart of Uther.
    Removing his unnecessary armour, Gorlois was of a similar age to Uther, yet who now looked aged compared to
Uther, his hair wet and blooded showing grey at the sides, his face drawn from the days battle and thoughts of this defeat
carved in his dark eye’s. Ulliam offered Gorlois his own short sword, suggesting that the round shield that Gorlois carried
would be of little use today against Uther’s broadsword. Gorlois elected to carry two swords to this final battle he smiled
his thanks to Ulliam before striding from his warriors to slay the upstart Uther.
     Between two forces they came together. Uther called to Gorlois “kneel before the High King and guardian of this
realm, yield now and thy passing shall be swift”. Gorlois stood oblivious, not listening to the ranting of Uther, his mind
retreating to his lady Igraine. His consciousness viewed her on the high on the cliffs of Tintagel, standing tall her hair
blown around her face by the sharp sea breeze. Standing beside her, his daughter the maid Morgaine reaching out to her
father Gorlois. In his vision he holds Morgaine’s outstretched hands bringing it close to his lips looking into those deep
faeiry eyes.
Time returns to the field of dreams, before him the looming figure of Uther. The smell of oak broom and meadow sweet
filled the air, sounds of lapwings cawing far away. Lazily drinking at the waters edge a white hind that slowly turns to
looks towards the two warriors then fleetingly darts from the scene. Mydryn gave thanks to the Goddess for this sign.
     Unaware Gorlois, his hand grasping the charm that hung around his neck. Igraine had blessed the amulet of the
crescent moon two summers past. Shaking thoughts from his mind Gorlois starts the rush onto Uther, the two swords
arching and slashing towards the body of his enemy.
    Uther prepared to parry away the strikes, the broad sword sweeping away both thrust of the smaller blades, Uther
slicing a back swing trying to catch Gorlois off guard, Gorlois seeing the broad blade reflecting the suns ray as he jumps
backwards to allow the blade to breath it’s roar a hair’s breadth from his throat. Uther’s face rained with delight at the
thoughts of almost decapitating Gorlois, “next stroke” he shouts to Gorlois “I shalt have thy head”. Gorlois beginning to
breath the heaviest strikes low, both blades slicing with wicked thrusts, as he try’s to get near to Uther were the short
swords become more advantageous. Turning under the swing of Uther, Gorlois feels the sweet stroke sink into muscle as
he rips upwards slicing through flesh. The blade freed from the gripping flesh shines into the air, the momentum carrying
Gorlois down and away from Uthers bright broadsword.
Hitting the grass with his right knee stopped him from falling to the floor, quickly up to his feet seeing Uther grimace as
the first blood showed on Uther’s thigh. Gorlois through the heaviest of breathing calls to Uther “pity that stroke, a hands
breadth higher and thou wouldst nay father a child again, my next stroke shalt take thy hangers”.
        The warriors of Gorlois urged there war lord to victory shouting to finish him, Uthers men pointing spears towards
the beaten warriors calling to Uther to keep a distance from those blades. The struggle of two warriors each searching to
fulfil their destiny became hard. The broad sword of Uther cutting the air slicing towards Gorlois driving him back
towards his own men, hoping to overpower him to the ground, but Gorlois for his age a well breathed warrior searching
ever to slip inside the bright blade of Uther were the short swords could thrust into Uthers heart.
      Ulfius ever watchful noticed movement among Gorlois warriors a lone figure working his way to the front seeming
to slither which ever way Uther and Gorlois moved across battle ground. It was Rataun the killer of Sadok.
    Rataun carried the same wicked spear that sent Ulliam to the bridge of swords. Ulfius could see he had his eyes fixed
on Uther, the two warriors battling ever closer to Gorlois’s men, Rataun edging out to the front, spear held as to strike if
Uthers back wouldst only turn to him. Warriors plan the gods decide, the unalterable fate unfolded swiftly. Ulfius his
spear already drawn back, this throw had to be Goddess driven, Uthers back had turned to the killer Rataun he had no
thoughts of chivalry only death to Gorlois’s rival.
    Gorlois saw the eyes of Rataun instantly knew his intension his mouth opened to scream NO!!!!!!, moment’s unseen
by Uther, he only noticed a slight hesitation, a split moment, all the time a warrior needed.
     Uthers broad sword by now arching down, sunlight gleaming off the bright blade cutting through Gorlois’s shoulder
breaking bone and sinew, blood spraying upwards as the blade travelled ever downward to his heart, blood ebbing to ooze
from Gorlois open mouth with the word NO!!!!!! now silently screaming on his breath. The blade ended its travel
bursting Gorlois’s heart, blood pumping from his body, Uther lets the sword fall from his hands as Gorlois falling
backwards thumps onto the warm grass, his lifeless eyes staring into the sun. Uthers bright blade standing upright caught
in the flesh and bone that held it tight. To the side Uther turns to see another body outstretched, with the war spear of
Ulfius embedded through Rataun’s body.
   Ulfius first to embrace his High King Utherpendragon, Uthers arms lifting to the heavens in salute turning to look on
his warriors, hearing the praise and shouts of victory knowing from this day their life’s wouldst be enriched, land and
power given to the bravest the victor the spoils.
    Uther now walked proud among his warriors and spearmen who were kneeling to their new High King. Striding back
to the lifeless body of Gorlois, taking his broad sword in both hands ripping it from the gripping flesh, to slice the blade
down taking the right foot from the leg of Gorlois, kicking it over the grass shouting to Mydryn to burn the foot, “we do
not need Gorlois otherworld body walking the dark days” turning to look down on the face of Gorlois then smashing his
bright blade down through his mouth and out to his neck bone, shouting “ he shalt not tell tales to the ancestors in the
otherworld” lifting Gorlois’s jawless head aloft then throwing it to Mydryn to spike onto a spear .

     As the sun waned to the late afternoon, Uther along with Mydryn and Ulfius washed blood and sweat from their
body’s in the nearby river. Discussing the warriors of Gorlois, Uther orders Ulfius to kill every tenth man, the remainder
keep guarded, we shall need battle hardened warriors, feed them well any that will not swear to my honour kill them.
    All three looked up to the Hollow hill, in the setting sun the leper’s warriors cloaked in dusky rays as Uther asks
Mydryn “what did you promise the lepers”, Mydryn tells Uther these lepers fought for thee when no other warrior in this
ream gave thee a chance of victory, I have promised them land to live away from persecution, that is all they asked. “The
High King decides who shalt have land in this realm now”, Uther said with anger, looking to Ulfius. Uther informs him
to surround the lepers let not one soul come down from the Hollow hill, use spears do not let my warriors near their
rotting body’s rain spears to end their miserable existence, Mydryn tries to argue with Uther but knows it is useless
“destiny ever goes forth” thinking of his promise to Bladud.
    Uther orders Ulfius to select out twenty of his best warriors with spare horse’s and ready to ride before the sun sets “I
ride to Tintagel” Igraine is mine, wrap the head of Gorlois in cloth, ordering Ulfius “camp this night and the moro here,
and send my dead warriors to the otherworld in victory, then on the morn head for Aqua Sulis where I shall meet thee
with the lady Igraine”, whispering to Ulfius “watch my druid well” send the lepers souls to Cruachu’s cave”.

    The setting sun slowly sinking to the western sea silhouetted Uther and his warriors as they rode west to Igraine, his
blood boiled for her his mind lost on the sight of her standing tall. In battle death is always a breath away, yet it gives the
body heat for sexual gratification, the High Kingdom belonged to Utherpendragon, he now wanted Igraine. Through the
dusky twilight Uther rode on, his wounded leg throbbed and ached, his thoughts only of Igraine, Uther guardian of the
Hallows and High King of all this Mighty Isle, joy filled his mind pleasures beyond control, hot for Igraine his blood
boiling to overflow. Soon the night would come bringing the moons fullness to light his way, riding hard he would utilize
all the horses before he came upon Tintagil and his lady Igraine.
      Milling about, the defeated warriors of Gorlois awaited their fate; nevertheless a formidable force of one hundred
fully armed warriors held together by Ulliam.
  Ulfius, Uthers war chief, talked with Ulliam both experienced warriors, “your men fought well he told Ulliam tis a
shame this decimation of good warriors needs to be done” the warriors have to witness that Uther is now High King.
Ulfius granted Ulliam the right to single out the warriors to be killed, this he did picking out only the older warriors, the
ones he knew loyal to Gorlois, ten or so warriors given over to be executed each one stripped naked their armour and
weapons cast in piles awaiting use by other less fortunate and younger warriors looking for better weapons. The warriors
deaths would be quick Ulfius had ordered it thus, their heads would be hacked from there body’s then placed on spikes to
lead around the assembled warriors as a reminder that Uther is now High King.
     The warlord Ulfius took Ulliam the leader of the defeated warriors aside informing him of the plans to deal with the
leper’s warriors on the Hollow Hill. Ulliams part was to lead his men around the Hollow Hill and wait in the event the
lepers try to escape, surround any remaining lepers and use spears to eliminate the miserable wretches, Ulfius would take
his men to the front and force the lepers of the ridge down onto the waiting spears.
      Mydryn under an enchantment of concealment had climbed the hollow hill to speak with Bladud. Holding him trying
to stop the anguish inside Bladud, has he told him what was about to happen to the leper warriors. Bladud raging at
Mydryn “you promised us freedom from suffering, land to end our days on, now this you bring on us” Mydryn leading
Bladud away from the other lepers holding him tight, whispering in his ear “this is all I can do for you”.
     Immediately Ulfius began his assault up the sacred mound, the lepers seeing warriors armed coming towards them,
started to panic. Searching for a defensive structure, yet the hill had no walls or trees nothing for protection. Calling to
Bladud as to what they should they do. Mydryn held Bladud close to him with the slightest touch with the fore finger and
thumb inserting pressure at his neck, Bladud became weak and slipped into unconsciousness into Mydryn’s ready arms.
The grass toped mound where they stood seamed to open from below, a doorway to otherworld opening, in the quickness
of movements Mydryn slide the lifeless body of Bladud down into the depths of the Hollow hill, the air around the
entrance shimmered then became as before nothing more than grass could be seen.
         Mydryn standing tall shouted to the lepers and pointed away to the south, run down the hill away from the
approaching warriors save your self’s. As Ulliam and the warriors they reached the southern side of the hollow hill, they
could see the lepers running towards them running headlong in panic, with Ulfius now on the rim forming his warriors to
a line moving slowly down to overwhelm the tormented lepers. As darkness began to fall the spears rained down to take
the lepers souls, not one leper killed with a sword, the leper warriors pulling spears from there dead company launched
there own volley of spears hammering only shields.
    Standing on atop the hill Mydryn looking into the setting sun, the bright last beams shinning in dull red flares on to the
body’s of the lepers, all with wooden shafts sprouting from there distorted and disfigured body’s like a forest of young
saplings. Mydryn feels the tilting of the realm this sovereignty of Uther, the Hallows unguarded. Mydryn turns the circle
arms stretched to the darkening clouds as heaviness fills the air, the sun darkens at it passing, blackness drops like a veil
of invisible cloth covering the land, fires alight below, sounds of dying men calling there gods to take them home.
Mydryn walks away he shall return in three days, till then he must consider on this occurrence saying to himself
“warriors plan the gods decide”.

     Over Tintagel the moon cast its bright glare across the darkened walls, Uther riding over the land bridge and into the
hill fort beside the crashing cliffs, his warriors all night weary following on. Inside Igraine awake unable to sleep cause of
the sinister feeling inside her. Memories floating to the fore of her thoughts, she was now unable to recall the face of her
beloved lord Gorlois. The face she knew so well, mist now covered the detail of her lords features.
    Within the sleeping quarters that lay deep inside the hill fort, Morgaine and her two sisters Morgawse and Anna safe
from attacking tribes. Once all three slept soundly now Morgaine is awake and sitting at the window, bitterly cold air
blew through the window as she drew back the heavy pelt         of fur that held the warmth inside. Morgaine feels the bitter
coldness yet stares into the darkness. What thoughts are hidden behind those dark eyes as she heard or foresaw the heavy
gallop of horses. Looking to her sisters yet sleeping and curled in furs, wrapped around them tightly to keep to cold air
from their bodies. Morgaine knows every stone of this lonely hill fort, slowly slipping out from her room leaving
Morgawse and Anna to dream. Making her way to her mothers chamber she hears sounds of iron scrapping and men’s
voices calling out, her thoughts of her father returning home she smiles to herself I shall greet him alone to look on his
face and hold tight his hand and bring him food. The extreme happiness of greeting her father overwhelmed her being.

  Igraine hearing warrior’s voices throws on her over gown rushing to greet the war duke Gorlois. Suddenly she became
aware of the darkness filling Tintagil’s hallways as Utherpendragon bursting through the main doorway strides into the
hall, gripping his thigh as a sickening pain jolts up from the wound slicing into his groin and churning his guts to liquid,
fighting back the urge to bring up the reflux, this wound he thought “shalt not stop me now”.
The lady Igraine pushes open the door to the main hall expecting to greet her lord Gorlois, her eyes become clear as the
light in the hall burst into her gaze, standing before her Utherpendragon how can this be, all around him his warriors who
rode through this night to guard there High King. All eyes fixed on Igraine, warriors staring through to her very soul, they
knew the pleasure their High King wouldst have this night.
Standing tall and straight Igraine instantly knows she must survive this night, showing no weakness hearing her own
words shouting to Uther “where is my lord Gorlois” her mind racing to her children sleeping. Morgaine into the recesses
of the hill fort hidden passages that she knew well guided he to this fateful place where she watched her mother.
   Igraine never faltered as she walked across the hall stopped only by the sight of a ragged buddle thrown from the hand
of Uther. A dull thud as it hit the floor, Igraine looking down at the rags she starts to unfold as matted blood and hair stick
to her fingers, horror entering her eyes staring back at her through blank eyes Gorlois or what is left of him. The head now
missing its lower jaw, she can hear his screams, closing the rags around her lord’s head she rises up.
        Wiping the blood and hair down her gown her mind visiting far of memories the years of service on the sacred isle
of Avalon times long past the strict discipline. Hearing the voice she loved, the voice of the high priestess of Avalon
recalling the yearly festival of Beltaine when she would become sexually mature at the age of sixteen. The quiet time
when the high priestess’s voice explaining to her the joy at becoming the virgin huntress in order to fulfil the fertility
dance. Then one moons fullness later gathering special herbs to void the body of a Taran child.
  Uther his eyes full of Igraine, watching her every move as she walked to him proud and upright, standing close to him
ignoring the warriors. Looking only at Uther she rips open her gown revealing her tall body delicately slim even after
child birth, her skin like delicate white lily flowers, full breasts and slight waist descending to the delight of her
   Sounds filled the hall, Uthers warriors cheered as the proud Igraine stood almost naked, not with shame or shyness but
proud as the priestess she once was.
   Lust filled up in Uther as he took her in his arms enfolding all her nakedness, shouting back to his men as he led Igraine
away through the doorway.
Tintagel this night became a place of torment for any woman inside the hill fort, as Uthers warriors searched out the
younger women first, any husband or father quickly dealt with by the sword.
Igraine recalling the day Uther saved her from the band of lord less men he was kind that day. Now after the days battle
his appearance dark and foreboding, his mind fixed only on her body. His arm around her they quickly entered Igraine’s
chamber, where are thy children he asked her, she told him of the forts chambers, “they shalt be safe this night my
warriors have been instructed” Uther let out a gasp, the breath escaping his throat as alone with Igraine he gazed on her
beauty, her gown hanging on her shoulders, he reached to her shoulders slid the gown away, it fell in a pile around her
feet, pulling her to him he closed his lips around hers the passion building up inside him. Igraine her mind fighting him
off yet her body strongly sinking towards his, she felt the leather jerkin with iron clasps pressing against her naked
breasts, felt his hands stroking her back feeling them slide over her hips then up to stroke her neck the hands strong and
powerful, rough calloused hands strongly gentle on her body.
Never before had feelings like this driven through her body she began to feel urges never felt before, overpowering her
distant memories of past times, souls meeting over time and space joining together over time once again.
   Lying together the one light in Igraine’s chamber a bee waxed stick beside the bed illuminated the couple as Uthers
manhood entered her, no fear, the memories of Beltaine the drunken men slavering over her, even with Gorlois she had
not felt as this, the passion betwixt them this night shouted to the dark night, Uther and Igraine returning lovers over time.
To Morgaine these nights happening drifted through her strong mind like waves hitting the shoreline on a stormy evening.
Etched into her being she would grow strong and remember.

                                 THE HALLOWS

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