Blood of the Druids: Foundation of the Dragon

By RobbPritchard

Prequel to the bestselling Brethren.

AD 61. From the Isle of Mona the mysterious, centuries-old order of the druids have long resisted Roman rule.  

The Governor of Britannia, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, cannot let such an affront to his authority stand.

The full might of the brutal Twentieth Legion amasses over the straits, waiting for the waters to calm.

The native Ordovice tribe must fight not only for their lives, but for their connection to their gods…

Based on a true story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RobbPritchard
• Release date: Apr 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224885763

Book preview

Ordo-wik (plural: Ordo-wiki) is the possible Brythonic pronunciation of the Latin Ordovice, a ‘Celtic’ tribe native to North Wales.

Mona is the ancient name for Anglesey, Ynys Môn in modern Welsh.

Based on a true story.

Blood of the Druids: Dragon Foundation Prequel by Robb Pritchard

Published by Robb Pritchard

www.robbpritchard.co.uk

Copyright © 2023 Robb Pritchard

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

Cover by Sasa Juric www.sassch.com

Map by Edvardas Volingas

PROLOGUE

HIS BARE FEET SPLASHED in puddles of mud and cow piss, branches of hawthorn and brambles tore at what was left of his tunic, but he stumbled along the hollow lane.

Ahead, a startled hare bolted out of his way. Bitterly, he wondered that after all the stoats, badgers and foxes he’d coursed and snared in his life, it would be his end as well. Death didn’t concern him though. Right now, his life was worth only the few words he held on his tongue.   Ones that, one way or another, had to get to the king of the Ordovices. 

He took his hand away from the wound in his side. It was covered with bright red blood was a darker, thicker substance. He tried to measure the distance to the farmstead, and the horses, against how many heartbeats he thought he had left. The odds weren’t ones he would lay a bet on. But the words he had were important enough to change the world... to turn the tide of the coming battle at least.  

And with that, the chance to save all those he cared for and loved. 

He tripped over a stone and splashed face-first into the foul mess of all the animals herded this way over unknowable years. Despite the urgency to get to his feet, his body was reluctant. He was running out of breath as much as blood. One foot under him, then the other, he pressed forwards, falling over his own legs more than brambles or rocks. 

Shouts resounded from behind and he could pick out the accent of the foreigners. Scouts. Men running ahead of the fast-marching legion. Romans.

Something hissed past him and thudded into the hanging roots of the trees lining the track. Whatever gods cared for this land, they needed to sway the path of the next spear now the men behind were in range. Lungs burning, energy fading like the setting of the sun, he had too far to go. He wouldn’t make it... yet still he tried to run. Carried by blind panic, duty, or the same sense of preservation of the hunted animal that runs until it flops down spent, tongue lolling, waiting for the hounds.

Then he was face down in the mud again. With some instinct, he kicked his legs but he wasn’t running. He wasn’t breathing either, not with the head of the spear shaft poking out through the centre of his chest. 

Splashing footfalls came nearer and all he could do was lie as helpless as the finished fox. 

They come, he said, his voice rasping, mouth full of blood. They are already here. His words were free, sent forth, but were heard only by the frightened wrens in the hedgerow and the Roman who’d killed him. 

CHAPTER 1

FOR MOST OF THE DAY, the treacherous torrents of the straits protected them. Any Roman brave or foolish enough to venture into the water between the isle of Mona and the mainland would be either swept out to sea or sucked under, no matter how strong a swimmer he thought he was. But twice a day between the tides, the waters stilled. When the weather was clear, the crossing became as calm as a lake. 

A day like this. 

Now, at high tide, the surface was smooth enough to reflect the trees on the bank behind... and the massed ranks of red figures. If Brei squinted, she could just about make out that the shimmering light wasn’t