The Mask of King Arthur, Book I: Haern Cleddyf

Chapter 10: The first battle, and the first Joust

It had been a few months since the brutal battle on Anwnn island against the undead, and the survivors were still shaken had laid his mentor Menw to rest among the ancient stones, had still refused to speak to his comrades about what had happened. New recruits were trickling in to Caerleon to replace those who had been lost in their previous tragic conflict.

Ambrosius's mind drifted back to that tragic final battle... of Menw leaping off the top of the glass fortress, landing on the ground as the undead slaugh swarmed towards the boats. With an series of arcane chants, the druid hurled fireballs from his fingertips at the horrors, burning a hundred of them away in seconds. As endless endless numbers of rotting corpses rushed past him, he hurled several lightning bolts back at the armies of the damned, blowing another fifty of them away. Wave after wave of these horrors were blown away by the druid's attacks, and only about a few dozen made it down to the ships.

As Menw was busy holding back the tide, the few who made it through managed to tear up, smash, and destroy two of the boats. Menw sent an arctic-cold blast of magic wind down towards the boats with a wave of his froze all of the remaining zombies into icicles, before they shattered into tiny pieces. Making sure that the final boat was secured, the druid raced back up towards the glass fortress, Menw used his magic to leap back up to the roof to rejoin his comrades.

It was in those last moments, when the battle had gotten too fierce for the survivors to handle, that Menw had given his life to destroy the cauldron. The loss of someone who he considered a close mentor and friend... well, that was almost too much for Ambrosius to bear. They had brought their fallen comrade's body back to the mortal world, and laid him to rest in Caerleon's burial ground. The Dux Bellorum was trying to deal with the loss of his dear friend, but the memory of the battle for the cauldron still haunted him long after.

Even now, these thoughts troubled him, as Ambrosius tried to relax in the Caerleon baths, clad in nothing but a toga. As the Roman reclined in the hot, bubbling water, he tried to let all the troubles on his mind drift away with the steam rolling off of the water.

"My lord?" Bedwyr called out, startling Ambrosius out of his deep thoughts as he entered the bathhouse. "I'm sorry to bother you, my lord, but I have a report from the capital of Britannia."

"Oh, Bedwyr!. You startled me." Ambrosius sighed, getting out of the water, and walking over to dry himself off with a towel. Bedwyr was Ambrosius's chief diplomat, dealing with all foreign courts, as well as the other Briton chieftains and kings. "It's all right. What news do you bring from Wirtgernesburh? Any orders from Vortimer?"

"Uh, actually, my lord... the council of the Kings of Briton has moved the capital to Londinium." Ambrosius's friend replied. "And High King Vortimer has perished."

"What?!" Ambrosius asked in shock. He was not surprised by the moving of the capital- the late Vortigern already had moved the capital from Colechester to Wirtgernesburh at the start of his reign- but the death of King Vortimer was a shock. "This cannot be! What happened?"

"They believe he was poisoned, my lord. The Greek physicians believe it was a slow poisoning, started by Queen Rowena before she died." Bedwyr replied. "The council has rushed to elect a replacement- Natenleod. He has already been crowned."

"So, they took advantage of my Pendragon warriors being busy with the quest for cauldron." Ambrosius sighed, as he pulled his clothes back on. "And now a pagan sits on the throne of Britannia once more. I just hope he is as tolerant of us, as we have been of him."

"It is worse than that, my liege." Bedwyr replied sadly. "Natenleod has decided to follow in the folly of Vortigern, and has begun to hire foderati from Germania."