Chapter 149: High King of Ireland

Stone ceiling, stone walls, and cool temperatures. The High King of Ireland, Brian Boru, sat with grace. His Highness came from a long line of High Kings, or so legends claim. In reality, there was no such justification or lineage. Modern historians declared the stories of a long, everlasting dynasty as fabrications.

However, if there was a man that was allowed to take up the mantle of High King, then it would be Brian Boru. His rule was disputed many times. Not everyone acknowledged his worth and law, yet nonetheless, when the word High King entered the academic sphere it was always Brian Boru that came to the forefront.

He was a boy that grew up with war. A boy that went from being one of twelve sons to the dominator of the land. He mastered the battle-axe. He avenged his brothers. He learned to read and conduct politics. He was indisputably Ireland’s greatest king.

Now he was old.

Even now Kazi could not see his level and could feel his regal vigour.

“Warriors from the world beyond.” High King Brian’s voice echoed through the throne room. “I am the High King of Éire. I am Brian Boru, the divine messenger that seeks your aid.”

Several knights were by the king’s side. Closest to the king was Marchad, who Kazi identified as Brian’s son. There was Toirdelbach, a younger man that he recognized as a grandson. Máel Sechnail, Mael Ruanaidh Ua hEidhin, and Tadhg Ua Cellaigh, all names listed within Irish literature describing the battle of Clontarf. Some of them were kings yet all of them were important.

“Our enemies are great in number. We have been fighting for years and now an alliance has come up against us of the Éire: the King of Dublin Sigtrygg Silkbeard; Máel Mórda mac Murchada, King of Leinster; and a Viking army from abroad led by Sigurd of Orkney and Brodir of Mann.”

“We can also surmise that the enemy has also summoned warriors from other worlds.” Murchad mac Briain stepped forward with a hardened face and two swords at his waist. “We already have over five thousand strong men. Now, tell me, who will join us!? Who among you will help protect our lands from these invaders!?”

A Templar by the name of Cillian stepped forward. “We Templars will.” He wasn’t loud but his declaration echoed through the halls. “We are one hundred men strong,” he said. “Will that suffice?”

“Anyone else!?” Murchad Briain possessed the voice of will that his father, the High King, lacked, and yet he was unquestionably inferior to him whether it was in battle or as king.

“We’re the Maccabees. We will help too.”

“Red Dragons here! We are from Wales! We will help you!”

All the guild representatives began to raise their voices, one by one. Speaking over each other, slightly awkward, but every bit as eager. Kazi counted ten guild representatives.

’There’s not nearly enough players on our side. I doubt they would make the battle so uneven. My best guess is that they are outside. Someplace close but not too close.’ Kazi snorted to himself. ’If that’s the case, this castle is about to get crowded.’

Kazi’s assumption was proven correct some minutes later. The Justice Sect led the way, adding fifty players, followed by another fifty from the Orthodox Sect.

***

It was April 22, 1014. The Holy Week was upon them, the most sacred week of the Christian calendar, yet here everyone was, cooped up in a war room. Representatives of ten guilds and kings of Irish regions.

Kazi and Willaim were not among those in the war room. The pair were outside, exploring the old village of Kilmainham. In today’s world, it was a simple suburb. Peaceful. Nothing like it was in the tenth century where war had corrupted it and soldiers were running amuck.

Camps littered the place. The locals were forced to serve food and shelter. While well over a hundred players had been summoned to the main castle, the remaining players had spawned in the village, confused.

Coincidentally, a player spawned two feet away. A player with an unknown level, a suit, and long dreaded hair that was instantly recognizable.

“Oh, Booker! Hey there!” Kazi jogged over to him. “You’re a little late.”

Booker had his arms crossed and had noticed his presence in advance. “Kazi. Good to see you. What’s going on?”

“We’re at the Battle of Clontarf. It’s a half civil-war, half actual-war between the Irish High King and the King of Dublin which is—

Booker’s face scrunched up in disgust. He cut Kazi off and said, “A war? This isn’t what I signed up for.” He shook his head. “I’m leaving. Bye.”

“Uh…” William trailed off as Booker turned around and walked off. He didn’t even go for shelter. Booker just left.

“That’s one less man in the army,” William joked.

’Too bad. Booker would have been useful to have around.’

Kazi glanced at the stables, which were hourded by the Templars, then the camps. The guilds and the Irish forces were divided. Summoned at random, united by a common goal, and waiting for their leaders to give them orders, it wasn’t the ideal situation. The camps extended to outside Kilmainham. Hundreds upon thousands of soldiers and men.

’There’s too many soldiers in this village. I think I already know what they’re planning.’

Kazi visualized a map of County Dublin in Ireland. It was in the east section, populated, and in the year 1014 the neighbour to Leinster, the enemy king’s territory. Luckily and unluckily, Donnchad, one of Brian’s sons, had sacked Leinster. That forced the king to push his forces deeper into County Dublin. Put simply, this was enemy territory. Kilmainham was west of Dublin City (the capital of the county). Given the sheer number of soldiers at their disposal, they would avoid the capital and go up north, cross River Liffey, and plunder Finegall. Following Finegall, they would take a sharp east turn and make their way to Howth and plunder that area.

In the end, they would go back west and south and meet the army down at Clontarf. That was when the true battle began.

’East of Clontarf is Dublin Bay, where the Vikings will come sailing on their ships.’

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