We stand at the edge of Magh Croimor, at the very borderlands that separate our robber stronghold from the rest of the vast and fertile land that stretches out in every directions. Seldom do we venture from our home territory. Season after season, year after year, we have waited for the good things to come to us. Situated in the Great Heart of Celtia, the open plain - surrounded on three sides by sheltering hills and on one side by a sweet-flowing river - puts everything we need within easy reach. The fringe of dense woodlands provides ample shadows for ambush or sanctuary. The caves at the root of the valley house our dens and lairs. Whoever ventures to cross the Great Heart must pay tribute, in one way or another, to the outlaw band made larger and fiercer by the legends that have grown up around us.

On this misty morning when the dew still sparkles gemlike on the grass, we stand at the edge of our realm and contemplate what lies beyond. From behind the row of raven-riddled skulls staked out as warning, we feel the kiss of Beltaine breezes on our faces. All of us are on horseback, the finest and fastest of steeds hand-picked from riders who, if they did escape, escaped on foot. With me is my son, the mannish archer-boy, Sean. On my other side is the mad axe-wielding night raven, Hadaig. His woman, beautiful Baine, gentle healer turned vicious warrior, sits behind him on his stallion. The hulking Keu, former cattlelord, glares out from under his battered helmet and sniffs the air like a restless hound.

"Hear them? Can you smell them? Moving to their summer pastures, up into the hills, very near to us now!" Keu slobbers with greed.

He names the ones he knows, counting them off one by one. "Niall, good stock indeed. Brigantes, known for their fighting bulls. And always the best horses too. Niafer, I heard they have faery kine whose hooves bless whatever land they trod. Cumhaill, the biggest and finest herds of all. Silures for sweetest milk and softest leather. MacRoth, the cream of all kine!" He pauses to let this all sink in. "Shall I go on? There's more -"

"Stinkin' cows. Who needs 'em?" Hadaig spits. Before he joined us, he was head cowherd for a great chieftain. All of us have former lives we want to forget.

"We never had kine," I marvel aloud.

"Kine make a man rich!" Baine speaks up. Thoughtfully she touches a fingertip to the point of her spear, a battle hag's caress that makes us all stare at her with undisguised lust.

"Make us rich," echoes Sean in a voice softened by wonder. "Aren't we rich, Da?"

We sit quietly for awhile, lazily watching the day spread its open handed promise out before us. The breeze carries that distant lowing to our ears. I think hard about having kine. They would grow fat on the lush grasses of Magh Croimor. Not many, though, or we'd become too much like the cattle lords we prey on. One good bull and a few cows would see us through the winter and spare us the effort of hunting in bad weather.

"Where there is kine, there are other riches as well." Keu's smile has the evil twist of a man clenched in the fist of avarice.

"Women," my son murmurs. "Da?"

I feel a grin starting to twitch at the corners of my mouth. "Aye, m'friends, I do believe it is time for us to prepare for the raiding season! From Magh Croimor to Inver Colpa, from Crannog Niall to Ebraic and beyond, our band of robbers will plunder Celtia all the way down to its last bare stone! We ride at sunset. Be ready!"

Cattle raids will spread like wildfire across our fair land until Samhain brings us its truce!

Clans will rise up and go to war!

Alliances will be made, broken, and made again!

Bragging will resound from every hall!

Songs will be sung!

Heroes will be praised!

Hostages will be taken!

HEADS WILL ROLL!

The Summer of Blood begins now!!!

(Curious? Interested? Want to join in the fun? Contact Nion Cumhaill or Fenian Niafer!)