A Storm Upon Ulster

Out of the grey mists of an Irish dawn, a woman of the Sidhe whispered to the champion Cuchulain of a great adventure... of a majestic queen of flaming red-gold hair... of dew-drenched meadows where war chariots prepared for battle... of obscene incantations chanted by the evil druid Calatin to turn the blackest magic against the warriors of Ulster. The wind whispered again and Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster, felt the chill of death. He knew that only he could stop the bloody slaughter. Only he dared to stand alone against the armies of Eire... alone against the terrible beauty of Meave, an angry Irish queen.