King Garnod stood on the snow spattered hilltop and looked east towards what had once been his lands. Now in his late middle age he found the armour heavy and the ornate, boars crested, helmet on his head restrictive. But he knew that the upcoming spring may be his last chance to regain his kingdom. Two client Kings in Rheged stood between him and providing his heirs with their true inheritance and his ally, Utta, gave the impression of not being entirely trustworthy. At best Garnods alliance with the younger man was an uneasy one, born out of necessity on his part and greed on Utta’s. Although the two Anglian Kings shared a family that had not stopped others from treachery in the tumult that had seen the Anglians expel the British from Deira and struggle for superiority. Footsteps behind Garnod, cracking the frosty ground, made him turn, it was Utta with a small trail of kinsmen guards.
“Looking for game? I’ll fetch the dogs.”, Utta said with a half smile.
“The only game I’m looking for is that usurping bastard, Kenacus although I’ll happily put his Goth Timimir to flight as well”, croaked Garnod, his voice dry from the cold air.
“I’ll fetch the larger of your boar spears then! But come we must speak and the cold of this place makes my ears ache.”
Utta led the way back towards the joint camp, where their intermingled warriors ate, drank and, more often than not, fought together. Garnod paused for a moment, taking a last glance at the valley stretched out below and the sparse smoked plumed hamlets that held what had been his people until 14 before. He was sure that their combined warbands could well be victorious, what he was less sure of was whether it would be him or Utta who claimed the victory.
