Crown of Vengeance

by Stephen Zimmer

  Like Ebba in Oak Crossing, the great thane’s men brought Gunther periodic news of the broader world. While remaining isolated, to the point of being fairly reclusive, Gunther was not completely disinterested in word about the happenings in the Kingdom of Saxany and realms beyond.

  The larger world had been at the center of his life, up until his self-imposed exile to the woodlands in the Saxan province. Regardless of everything, he was wholeheartedly prepared to live out his life in those woods, with the company of nothing more than his small brood of loyal Jaghuns.

  Despite his chosen way, Gunther knew deep within himself that he could not let fellow creatures of the All-Father become needlessly endangered. He still believed firmly that the day would come when he would have to account for his entire life with the Creator of all things.

  On that momentous day, no excuses would suffice. Only what he had done, and the choices that he had made, would be weighed in the balance to see whether or not he had truly accepted Emmanu.

  Gunther admonished himself harshly for his insular, selfish, and undeniably cruel inclinations, at least until he fully determined the allegiances of the four outsiders.

  Even with a modicum of understanding, Gunther was confident that he could determine whose side they were truly on; that of the Unifier, or those that wished to be free in will.

  Confrontation on some level was inevitable, but there were no concerns if it turned for the worse. He had five fully trained, matured Jaghuns with him. Furthermore, any of the Ealdormen or Counts in the Saxan Kingdom, even King Alcuin himself, would have given anything to have the martial skill of one such as Gunther in their service.

  Gunther quietly kept stride with the group of strangers as he pondered the challenges of his situation.

  It was then that a voice, like a soft breeze, came abruptly to his ears.

  “Gunther, hold for a few moments. I would speak with you.”

  Gunther spun around at the sudden words, raising his arm with sword in hand to defend himself. Only at the last instant did he hold back the blow that he was about to deliver.

  Standing calmly before him, in long blue robes, was a tall, elderly man, with a bountiful white beard and a similarly snowy mass of hair.

  His face was set into a warm smile. He looked out from under the broad brim of his low-crowned hat with one blue eye, which seemed to sparkle with an inner light. The old man showed absolutely no concern over the upheld sword that had barely been held back by Gunther, his right hand resting without any sign of tension upon a tall wooden staff.

  “Stranger, you truly show yourself at the most unexpected times,” Gunther remarked curtly, not entirely amused at the sudden surprise.

  He lowered his sword point, and slowly slid it back into the sheath affixed to his baldric.

  Gunther could not stifle a chuckle, as two of his huge Jaghuns bounded right up to the old man. Standing idly, their broad heads came up above the man’s waist. They angled their wide, short muzzles upward to gaze expectantly into the old man’s face.

  The corded muscle massed all around their jaws, thick necks, and shoulders gave evidence to the sheer, awesome power held within their devastating bite. Those massive jaws were now less than an arm’s length from the old man.

  Yet there was no tension on the part of the Jaghuns, or unease on the part of the old man. It was as if they were simply old friends, and the old man smiled warmly as he reached down and gently patted both of the great beasts upon their heads, scratching them behind their dark ears as they wagged their medium-length tails briskly.

  “They really do have a great affection for you, Wanderer. And I do trust their judgements,” Gunther said, shaking his head in wonder once again. “You are very unusual among those I have come across in this world, and you give little warning to your visits. We have spoken together a few times, and I find myself with more questions and fewer answers with every new encounter of you. I am certain that you will perplex me again before you depart.”

  “I must confess that I am sometimes in a world unto myself, and perhaps should be more forthcoming,” the old man replied with a grin, seeming to almost laugh. “But then again, you are not the most sociable of men that I have encountered in my journeys, my reclusive woodland friend.

  “Your point is conceded,” Gunther retorted, a smirk now upon his face.

  “And I suppose that you were following the four newcomers too?” the old man then inquired of him. “They are unlike any within our world’s realms.”

  “Yes, I was,” Gunther confirmed. “And it seems that you know of them as well, so perhaps you could tell me something more of these strangers. It would be much appreciated.”

  The Wanderer smiled again. “Yes, I do. And I do know that they are not of the Adversary. You have nothing to concern yourself with about these four. As they are not of the Adversary, they are not of the Unifier either. Those Two are always of common purpose.”

  “Your words are welcome to my ears, Wanderer,” Gunther replied. “I could not tell, as I cannot understand their very strange tongue. I have never heard a tongue such as they have … not in any of my travels.”

  “They are from very far away, from lands that are far beyond those of your own experience and knowledge,” the Wanderer informed him. “But I can be of help to you this day. You will be able to understand their words with this.”

  He reached into a pouch hanging from the leather belt secured about his robe, withdrawing his hand and extending a shaped pendant of blue stone set into metal, hanging from a long hide thong. The woodsman recognized the form of the pendant as that of a rune, the mystical lettering used by Midragardans.

  Gunther accepted the necklace somewhat hesitantly, eyeing it closely, as he held it gingerly in his hand. For an instant, it was as if his mind had become hazy. The blue gemstone in the pendent was rich in hue, holding depths within that far exceeded its diminutive physical size.

  “Do not worry yourself, this is not a device of the Unifier’s black arts,” the Wanderer calmly explained to him. “It is from me, and it will help you to understand their language, Gunther. With such as this, they will be able to understand you as well.”

  Gunther slowly put on the necklace at the other’s bidding.

  “If you only knew what I feel about amulets and powers. I have seen my fill of magic within this world,” Gunther responded somberly. He then eyed the Wanderer closely. “For me, the mystery is made clearer, with this gift. I have often wondered about your nature. You are no mere sorcerer. No sorcerer would travel these wildlands with such ease, or thwart the senses of my Jaghuns so capably.

  “It leaves only one choice in my mind. You are a Wizard. Are you not?”

  Gunther’s eyes narrowed with his final, declarative words, the last question taking on the tone of a direct challenge that demanded an answer.

  The Wanderer grinned broadly, with a flare of evident amusement. “It is you who have said so.”

  “I fear that I am not wrong in this guess,” Gunther replied, “It does not unsettle me, Wanderer. I know that if you bore me any ill intent, as a Wizard, I would have found out long ago.”

  The Wanderer stepped forward, walking past Gunther. “No ill intent, to be certain. If anything, the opposite, woodsman. But this amulet will come of great use to you for the moment. I expect for you to give it to another very shortly. Let us not tarry further, indulging in speculations. Now come with me, and you will see that you understand the words of these strangers to our lands.”

  Gunther, certainly no newcomer to the woodlands, had to hurry just to keep pace with the blue-robed man. He marveled at the incredible proficiency of the stranger, as even his Jaghuns lagged behind at first, and had to pick up their own gait to stay close to the long strides of the Wanderer.

  In a very short amount of time, Gunther and the old man were close on the trail of the four humans. It was not much longer before they caught up to the woodland interlopers, who had by now come to a full stop.

 
The four humans were seated upon the surfaces of a couple of thick tree roots, radiating from an old oak tree. The roots that they were seated upon formed boundaries for a little patch of debris-strewn ground, and allowed two of the strangers to face the other two as they talked together.

  Gunther and the Wanderer enjoyed the benefit of a steady rise in the ground from the area around the oak tree to a low ridgeline that allowed them to capably shield their own forms. They eased to the top of the ridgeline and looked down upon the four strangers. Talking amongst themselves, the strangers were still utterly inept at concealing their presence in the woods.

  Gunther’s eyes widened, and he glanced down at the blue stone now resting against his chest.

  Unlike the last time that he had heard the voices of the strangers, Gunther could now understand their words as if they were speaking the Saxan tongue with complete fluency. Astonished, he turned to comment to the Wanderer.

  His breath caught abruptly in his throat.

  There was absolutely no trace of the mysterious figure. It was as if the Wanderer had been just a figment of his imagination, were it not for the presence of three other amulets hanging just a couple of feet away from him, on the end of a nearby tree branch. They were siblings to the one looped about his own neck.

  There was no question as to why there were four of the amulets in all, as Gunther reached out and quietly removed the other three suspended from the thin branch. The Wizard, for that was surely what the Wanderer was, intended for them to be given over to the four strangers.

  The thought deeply disturbed Gunther. He was not one to trust the whims of Wizards, no matter how benevolent they appeared to be. The tales of them that he had heard in his life had been many. To his knowledge, he had not encountered any himself, with the exception of the elderly, blue-robed man. Furthermore, Wizards were commonly said to have withdrawn in recent ages from open involvement in the affairs of humankind.

  There were sorcerers, many legendary, and others such as warlocks and witches, among the mortal race of mankind, but the Wizards were said to be something entirely different, and far more daunting. They were a race of immortals, ageless and powerful, and had been granted gifts unimaginable at the dawn of the world.

  As one whose own life occupied a speck of history, Gunther could not begin to fathom the designs of a being such as a Wizard. He wished that the Wanderer would have stayed for a few moments longer, and had not departed before giving Gunther the four amulets.

  Gunther wanted to ask the Wanderer exactly why he had entrusted the amulets to Gunther, and why the Wizard had such an interest in the four strangers now gathered just a handful of paces away from the woodsman. Gunther doubted that he would have received any satisfactory answers if he had gotten a chance to ask the questions. If the Wizard had even chosen to respond, his words would have been layered in ambiguities.

  Yet at the same time, all of Gunther’s encounters leading up to, and including, his current one might be an answer in themselves. The encounters could very well indicate that the Wizards were returning to involve themselves in the affairs of the world once again. If that were true, the implications were ominous, as it was highly likely that only a great reason would draw the Wizards forth.

  Gunther shook his head with a rueful grin, remembering his past experiences with the old man. At the very least, he would have to remember to thank the Wanderer for his own amulet, the next time that Gunther encountered him. He already understood and appreciated its tremendous value.

  Quietly, he settled himself into a more comfortable position, watching the four strangers with a renewed interest, their words no longer an obstacle. His Jaghuns were pressed in close around him, crouched down and silently awaiting their master’s next command.

  His full attention honed in upon the four strangers as he listened to their next words. It did not take very long for him to discover that they were almost certainly not servants of the Unifier, and that they were in the midst of a very dire plight.

  He listened carefully to their conversation. From what he was able to ascertain, they were traveling without a specific destination in mind, and were hoping to cross paths with anyone that might be able to help them. Fear, frustration, and anxiety were all present just underneath their words, heavily betrayed by their nervous tones.

  The shorter, older man appeared to be the leader of the quartet, or at least the most respected.

  He had the narrow, tilted eyes and yellowish skin tones like the exotic humans that lived in the lands far to the east, in realms even farther away than the Shadowlands, across many vast lands and great bodies of water.

  He had seen a precious few such men within the palace grounds of Theonium, as a result of the risky, lengthy caravan journeys that traversed the Rising Sun Road, bearing loads of spices and silks. The sight of such a man within the woods of Saxany both fascinated and highly intrigued Gunther.

  The younger lad, a bit gawky in his maturing body, seemed to be close in alliance to the leader. Gunther could tell from the youth’s direct, hardened glances that the younger male held little regard, and likely contempt, for one of the others. The person holding his ire was a young woman with dark hair that had reddish streaks within it, as if dyed.

  That particular female was now sitting a little distance off from the rest, having shifted to another root a bit farther back. A sullen expression crouched upon her face, and she rarely met eyes with any of the others in the group.

  The final member of the party, a woman of similar age to the other female, seemed to be very attentive to what the two men were saying. Her body language and expressions towards the other woman needed little translation. Gunther could see plainly that she was disgusted with the behavior of the brooding female.

  Making a subtle call, indistinguishable from a bird of the forest, he summoned one of his Jaghuns over. The great beast crept up silently on its huge paws to Gunther, its massive head looming just over its human patron and friend.

  “Creator’s Children,” Gunther said in a whisper, gesturing with emphasis towards the four strangers. “Surround.”

  Nostrils flaring, the Jaghun took in a long draught of scents out of the air, as it regarded the four strangers with an intense, keen gaze.

  Suddenly, the Jaghun turned its great head, and roughly licked Gunther on the side of his face, before slowly backing up some distance away. Gunther almost smiled at the spontaneous gesture, but his focus stayed rigidly fixed. Well behind the ridge, the Jaghun rose and loped off into the woods upon its long, muscular legs.

  Gunther called another Jaghun over, using a different call. He then gave it the same commands as the first, and sent it onward to join the other.

  Gunther kept to his advantageous position. He used three more distinctive calls to bring the remaining Jaghuns in, and uttered the “Creator’s Children” command to each as they drew near.

  The commands that Gunther had given the large beasts would be welcome news to the strangers, if they knew and understood the potential danger that the woodsman had just abrogated.

  Gunther did not plan to lose sight of the strangers until some mysteries were solved, but the precaution settled his mind. He did not want to see his Jaghuns beset the four strangers unless he was convinced that there was a definite reason. Neither did he want to extend them any chance of escape if they turned out to be something darker in nature.

  There was no need to rush anything, especially now that he could understand the strangers’ speech. Gunther chose to continue observing and tracking the humans for the time being, to see what he could learn. In addition to scrutinizing the four humans, Gunther could also keep a benevolent watch set over them.

  There was no mistake that they were vulnerable. The longer that he watched them, the more that he was becoming utterly convinced that they were wholly unprepared for a woodland environment.

  AETHELSTAN

  A hardened countenance appeared to be engraved into the face of the tall warrior calmly gazing out ove
r the thatch-roofed, timber structures filling up the great burh.

  The sky overhead was radiant, a sea of blue-green dotted with rolling masses of pure white clouds, all underneath the beneficence of a beaming sun. The day’s weather was pleasantly mild, with a touch of coolness carried along the steady breezes flowing throughout the burh.

  Under any other circumstances, the great thane’s heart would have rejoiced at the splendor of nature’s beauty.

  His eyes lingered for several moments upon the square-sided bell tower a short distance from him. It was situated just outside the church, which along with the tower were among the few stone elements within Bergton, a large market town and site of a royal coining mint.

  Aethelstan hoped in the core of his heart that the All-Father would be going forth with him, and all of the men gathered that day, once they had set out beyond the walls.

  The great thane’s spirit was heavy. His stoic expression covered the sorrows that Aethelstan felt churning deep within himself. They came from a number of sources, but the greatest was derived from thoughts of leaving his beloved family behind.

  A melancholy had long settled within him over the state of affairs that had been forced upon him in the calling up of a General Fyrd. He did not dispute the absolute necessity of the broad summons, but the harsh reality of its implications was undeniable in regards to a majority of the men who would be marching forth that very day.

  The full focus of his authority was on sustaining and furthering the well-being of the newly levied men gathered for the march. This occasion would be nothing like a Select Fyrd, composed of seasoned veterans and household warriors used to the rigors of a military campaign. This time, he would be taking a multitude of farmers, artisans, and craftsmen from the only lives that they had ever known, and ordering them into the depths of unknown dangers. There was no doubt that a great number of the men might well not be coming back.