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Ambrosius the Warlord 11: King of the Hill


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Severus the Rogue11012

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“Do not worry Arthur, it took some doing but she is went North to your father’s hall,” said Lodergraine as he knelt beside me in the grass.

“Good, then the only thing I have to worry about are Saxons,” I said. I peered over the top of the hill. On the side Harada set camp. After fortnight long chase through the woods he set him to rest. Enough time to reach Lodergraine’s camp and force march the troops here. Father had used a similar ruse against the Sidhe except this time it was I who was a top the hill. The Saxons milled about their camp. I raised Caliburn over my head, the flat of the blade glinted in the morning sun. The reflection blinded Harada.

“NOW!”

The army rose as one and raised, with sun at its back, down slope. A coarse yell filled the air. The Saxons broke camp and fled in panic. Harada stood in the middle of the malestorm, stunned at the sight of Britons coming down upon him. Caliburn sank into the giant’s chest. He fell wayside, as dead as his brother.  He joined his followers amidst groans of the dying.

The Saxons were no more.

I sank into the ground, too tired to hold my sword.Father’s bear pelt, my pelt. hung heavy on my shoulders. I understood what it meant to be warlord.

Slaughter, nothing but slaughter.

Death, either yours or theirs.

But it was over, at last it was over.

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