The Mask of King Arthur, Book I: Haern Cleddyf

Chapter Two: Duel With Destiny

Chapter two: Duel with destiny

It has been nearly a year since Arthur's victory at Aquile Sulis, and the Pendragon warriors have been waging war against Vortigern's army. From their hill-fort of Celliwig, Arthur and his warriors attacked Jutish tax collectors and raiding parties, freeing Briton towns and villages from Vortigern's tyranny. As the legend of the Pendragons grew, and Arthur's fame spread across Britannia, Hengest sent more and more Jutish warriors to find Arthur's hidden stronghold. But every search party was slain, and their bodies sent back to the capital on their shields. Since then, Prince Vortimer had fully launched his rebellion openly, with most of the kingdoms on the Western half of Britannia joining him, while the kingdoms of Eastern Britannia stayed loyal to Vortigern. Now, after several battles between Vortmer's armies and Vortigern's armies, the Pendragon warriors desperately try to figure out a way to end this civil war. While Hengist obsessively seeks revenge against Arthur, for his slaying of his brother, Horsa...

The marshland swamps of Dartmoor; an inhospitable place, that neither Brition, Pict, or Jute cared to venture into. Endless stretches of flat and desolate lands, endlessly saturated by rivers and bogs, with only the occasional tor or cairn dotting the dreary landscape. A traveler could walk for miles among the ancient stone circles and kistvaens (stone tombs), with his feet slowly sinking into the muck and the mire. It was said that, long ago, this land was home to the people who lived on the island before the Britons came. The stone houses and circles had been built by these mysterious figures. But these foolish people had cut away the forests to grow their crops, and abandoned this place after it became a wasteland.

A group of Jutes passed through the misery of the bog lands, pulling their fur cloaks tighter around their armor to keep out the bitter cold and chilly winds. As the stumbled through the swampy marshes, the small party of warriors glanced around nervously at the cloudless sky, wishing desperately they had never entered these forsaken lands. Hengest had sent this scouting party deep into the lands of Dunmonia in order to find the fearsome warrior 'Arthur', and his mighty war-band. But all these Jutish thugs were able to find, were the whispers of the winds on the cold granite soil of Dartmoor.

"Olsa, what in Woden's name are we doing out here?!" One of the warriors grumbled. "The Pendragons know these lands, better than anyone alive. If they are out there, we will never find them."

"Do not be such a pessimist, Valdimar." Olsa replied, as he stepped into a puddle up to his knees. "Hengist would not have sent us out here, if he didn't think we could find our foes."

"Bah, you are far too optimistic, my friend." Valdimar grunted, using the blade of his ax to scrape some muck off of the bottom of his boot. "Just as you are far too soft-hearted for a Jute."

"I am no Jute, Valdimar. I am a Saxon." Olsa replied angrily. "And I do not enjoy the cruelty and butchery that you and the others love to carry out."

"Ahhh, Olsa... you simply don't know the sheer enjoyment of making these weak Britons suffer." His Jutish companion laughed. "Cutting their throats, torturing these Celtic fools until they beg for mercy... it leaves you with an amazing sense of satisfaction."

As his companions laughed sadistically, Olsa simply shook his head in disgust. As he had many other times, the blonde-haired Saxon questioned what he was doing with these thuggish brutes. It had only been a few years ago, when Olsa had left his native Saxony, and been recruited by the brothers Hengest and Horsa to come to Britannia as a mercenary. But unlike the other barbarians the brothers had recruited, who were criminals exiled from Jutland for committing horrible deeds, Olsa saw himself as an honorable warrior. When he first arrived, the Saxon had believed he would be fighting honorably on the battlefield in service to High King Vortigern. So he was very dismayed that his services would be used to terrorize quivering peasants and butcher innocents. And Olsa was most certainly unhappy to be committing atrocities he felt were beneath him.