Crown of Vengeance fie-1

by Stephen Zimmer

  Lee, Ryan, and Lynn then proceeded to occupy their time with dividing up the rest of the items. They continued until everyone had some type of pouch to carry things in, along with food rations and weapons.

  Not all of the food rations were designated for storage.

  The salty, tough dried meat could well have been the most succulent of roasts to Lee’s starved palate.

  All four of them wolfed down some chunks of the hard bread, not complaining for a moment regarding its texture, and thorough plainness. Lee improvised, using some of the water from the skins that he had found to soften up his own piece. It was a tactic emulated rather quickly by the others.

  Even Erin’s spirits lifted somewhat as they consumed some of the food together. The peaceful sounds of an undisturbed forest returned to reign all around them. The evening air cascaded down with an increasing coolness, seeming to accompany the gradual relaxation of Lee’s own emotions.

  The gentle ambience, caressing winds passing through the leaves, chirping insects delivering their timeless forest song, and the soft blanket of evening serenity were healing salves to Lee’s body, mind, and spirit. They were most welcome conditions, especially after the furious, desperate sounds and sights of battle, and the investigation of the bloodied field in the fighting’s aftermath.

  “Never thought I would be that enamored about the noises of insects,” Lynn remarked, echoing Lee’s own thoughts as she chewed on her last morsel of bread. Reaching down, she tenderly massaged the area around her knees, slowly kneading her skin and muscles with her fingers.

  Lee, seated a few feet to her right, leaned back against a tree trunk and stretched his legs outward. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh as he lowered his hands to rest in his lap.

  “It feels good just to relax for few a moments, without a hungry stomach,” Lee replied after a few moments. “I just wish we could call it a day right now.”

  “But we can’t… I bet you were about to say that, weren’t you?” Ryan queried dourly.

  “At least we can take a break for little while, can’t we?” Erin interjected with a plaintive tone. “Days and nights seem so long in this place anyway.”

  “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Lee responded. He then shook his head regretfully, and his voice took on an equally melancholy timbre, “But there is a little more to the situation right now. There’s something I just realized.”

  Lee could not believe that until that very moment he had completely overlooked the thought that was now foremost in his mind.

  “So what more can there be right now?” Erin spat out, her ire rising once again. “I want to rest!”

  “Rest for a few more minutes,” Lee replied rather gently, in response to her vitriolic tone. He greatly desired rest himself, and his sympathy outweighed his ongoing irritation with her attitude. “But I was just thinking that we don’t really want to stay at the site of recent battle. You never know what kind of attention it might bring. Wild… or intelligent.”

  His logic and tone evidently caused Erin to choke back any further responses, as she held her tongue and stared off in sullen silence.

  “Lee, you’re right. I didn’t think of that,” Lynn said, as a look of grave concern emerged swiftly within her eyes. She cast a nervous glance off in the direction of the grassy plains.

  “And no argument here,” Ryan muttered.

  “I still think we can risk taking a few moments, to settle ourselves and recoup our strength a little bit,” Lee said. “We just need to be out of here when daybreak comes.”

  Taking the sustaining night sounds as a comforting sign, and letting his eyes close again, Lee implored the tightened muscles in his body to relax. He concentrated upon his sorely taxed, stiffened muscles one group at a time.

  As the tightness in his physical body gradually eased, he thought about an interesting comment that Erin had made regarding the days and nights seeming long. The days within the new world did indeed seem to be lengthier, but whether that was because time was truly different, or instead a perception shaped by their unfamiliar circumstances, Lee could not yet tell for sure.

  Whatever the case was, he did wish that they could afford to take a longer rest than was possible. Yet Lee knew that they needed to be vigilant, and vacate the premises well before dawn. Added to that was the need to locate another favorable area to settle down in.

  Lee was not looking forward to setting up another makeshift shelter, beginning to dread the idea that it would soon become a regular practice. He let out another extended sigh, and reminded himself that very little in his life would be the same from that moment onward. At the very least, they now had some decent weapons and supplies in their possession.

  He had almost fallen entirely asleep after his body had relaxed, but he was somehow able to hold onto the edge of his focus. After roughly an hour had passed, Lee judged that they had delayed long enough.

  He got up and roused the rest of the drowsy group. Exhibiting varying degrees of reluctance at having to cease their rest, the others joined Lee in gathering up their newly procured items as they prepared to press onward.

  The dual moons provided just enough light to see by, though Lee was not altogether pleased by the necessity of traveling through the forest at night. Keeping the grassy plains on their right, and the shadowy depths of the woodlands on their left, they marched in weary silence for several hours before finally halting. The moons had trekked across a fair span of the night sky overhead when they drew to a stop, and Lee was satisfied that they had put a considerable distance between themselves and the scene of the fighting.

  Though very tired, none of others complained at having to erect another rough shelter, as the prospect of sleeping fully bared to the elements was very uninviting. The effort was made a little easier with the sharp iron implements now at their disposal.

  Also easing the stress of the moment was the availability of a bit of dried meat, bread, and a few drinks of water. The rations of drink and food staved off the biting feelings of hunger that had arisen during the long hike, if not erasing them completely.

  With the tree-covered expanse of hills to one side, and the broad, grassy plains to the other, Lee and his companions at last settled down for a truly extended rest.

  This time, with a little luck, it would not be interrupted until the break of day.

  DRAGOL

  Flying at the head of a small patrol, Dragol gestured downward to where the fallen corpses of the Saxan horsemen, Trogen warriors, and a few horses were just beginning their lengthy process of decomposition. Some carrion eaters were already busy indulging themselves in a grisly, gluttonous feast, the sight instantly raising Dragol’s ire.

  A couple of Trogen warriors in the modest war band broke away from the main body of the formation, in order to survey the surrounding area from their high elevation. As always, it was necessary to make certain that no imminent enemy presence was lurking about. Dragol watched the pair carefully as they coursed low over the edge of the dense forest. Encouragingly, there were no wisps of campfires lingering in the air over the forest, but the enemy was cautious, and nothing could be taken for granted.

  After a few passes up and down the woodland boundary, the warriors settled into a circular pattern high over the area of the previous day’s fighting. Dawn had already broken for quite some time, and there was ample visibility within the new morning’s light.

  The sky riders finally signaled back to Dragol that they had seen nothing amiss. Knowing well the keen eyes of the particular Trogens that he had assigned to such scouting tasks, Dragol was more than satisfied with their evaluation.

  With a firm jerk upon the leather reins of his winged Harrak steed Rodor, Dragol guided the great beast swiftly in descent.

  As the shadows of Dragol and his sky riders crossed over the carnage-strewn battle site, the winged carrion eaters took to immediate flight, and the four-legged ones scattered off rapidly in the direction of the nearby forest.

  Alighting smo
othly upon the ground, Dragol quickly unbuckled the straps securing him to the low saddle. They were a necessary precaution during longer distance traveling, though most Trogens, like Dragol, often left the straps hanging free during battle, so as to enable better movement in combat.

  Bringing his right leg back around, he swung down off of his steed in a continuous, and oft-repeated, movement. Dragol then took a step forward, and gave Rodor a firm pat on the side of the creature’s amply muscled neck.

  “Gather up swords, mail shirts, and any other valuables,” Dragol shouted out to the others, as they landed nearby. Dismounting hurriedly, the other Trogens moved rapidly to obey his orders, and strip the dead bodies.

  Dragol did not like returning to the site of the previous day’s fighting. He had endured a very restless night, once again despising the fact that they were under strict commands not to bring any undue attention to themselves.

  With night falling, and with the war band far away from their base camp, Dragol had to strictly adhere to his orders as darkness approached. He would have been tempted otherwise, had the circumstances been different.

  His war band had been aghast when he had commanded them to depart without attending to the fallen warriors. Even the greatly hated Elven warriors, who fell in battle, were given the honors accorded to those deemed to have a genuine warrior’s heart. Dragol had been forced from extending any such honors, to either the capable Saxan horseman or to his own brave Trogens.

  He was not supposed to tarry and allow any proper respects to be given now, though his conscience was again tearing at him from within.

  A few Harraks, the steadfast, flying war steeds of the Trogens, had been brought along by the war band without riders. Instead of carrying warriors, they had large hempen sacks or small wooden chests strapped to their backs, in addition to coiled lengths of hide cordage. Their purpose was specific. The patrol had returned to the site to bear back any quality weapons and equipment that might be found.

  Leaving the unattended implements behind for the night had been a risk, though it was one that had been unavoidable with night falling, and such a far distance to return. As they had flown away, Dragol had known that they would have to return briefly. Well-crafted swords, iron helms, and chain mail shirts were of great value to the enemy, and it was Dragol’s task to deprive the enemy of their further use.

  Dragol strolled slowly among the bodies of the fallen warriors, his mind a tumult of thoughts and misgivings. He clenched his powerful jaws tightly at each troubling sight of one of the fallen Trogens, resenting his orders more and more with each passing moment. His mood blackened, as the bitterness flowed through him, bolstered by the each sight of a brave Trogen warrior who would not be honored properly.

  The Trogen leader was not made to brood for very long. Dragol’s dark simmering was abruptly interrupted, as an unsettling discovery was brought to his attention.

  “Others were here. Since the fighting. They were not Saxans. They could not even be Midragardans,” a stout Trogen with very broad shoulders reported quickly to Dragol, after hastening up to the massive Trogen chieftain. “They took very little with them, and left all the mail shirts and helms behind. No true warrior in these lands would leave such items unclaimed. Their tracks go back to the woods, and are very different in shape from those made by the humans of these lands.”

  “And have you have examined the tracks?” Dragol asked the other Trogen, instantly curious about the very strange tidings.

  The development was mystifying, for no Saxan party would have missed the chance to reclaim so many mail shirts, swords, helms, and other weapons. The armor and the weapons of the horse riders represented months upon months of hard, skilled labor by many blacksmiths. Such a quantity could not be replaced by the time that the full war broke out.

  “Yes. They lead straight towards the woods. Three sets of footprints. A taller human, and two others, more average in height. They took a couple of shields, some swords, and some of the foodstuffs. Maybe a few more small items. Nothing from our fallen warriors. It also seems that they were not using any horses, or any other manner of steed,” the Trogen warrior answered.

  “Where did they go in the woods?” Dragol asked, his eyes narrowing. The fact that they had not taken anything from the Trogen dead was even more perplexing, as even one Trogen weapon, like a longblade, would be solid, irrefutable proof to carry to anyone in order to testify to the presence of Dragol’s kind in Saxan lands.

  “They rested, and then traveled onward, keeping to the edge of the forest at first,” the other Trogen replied. “But I came back to report to you, and did not follow those tracks very far.”

  Dragol grew silent, as he considered the other’s discoveries carefully, mulling everything over. The other Trogen waited patiently for his response.

  “Then we will have to search them out, for nobody must know of the Avanoran army approaching this territory,” Dragol finally responded in a firm tone.

  He glared in the direction of the woods, knowing that the day was suddenly becoming quite problematic. Dragol was not privy to all the particulars of the events that were unfolding, but he clearly understood the core elements.

  The invasion of Saxany was now imminent, which left little room for error on his part. Vast forces massed deep in Ehrengard to the west were even now crossing the eastern edges of that land, as they moved resolutely towards the borders of Saxany. Soon the juggernaut would cross that short stretch of borderland, and seek to hammer right through the center of the Saxan Kingdom. The numbers comprising the looming invasion were staggering, unlike any that had ever been assembled within the current age, or likely any other age.

  A smaller Avanoran force, which was a modestly sized army in itself, would soon be breaking off from the teeming masses to head directly through the region where Dragol was now standing. The Avanorans’ unimpeded passage, and the crucial matter of determining their most advantageous route of travel, were squarely upon the shoulders of Dragol and the other Trogens.

  Dragol understood that this second, offshoot force was integral to the overall invasion campaign. Its task was to penetrate the Saxan lands in such a way that the forces assembling for the defense of the Saxan Kingdom, against the main thrust of the invasion, could be outflanked, and then cut off from their own main route of escape.

  The Trogen leader saw the simple brilliance in the plans envisioned by the powers in Avanor. The great hammer that was the primary invasion force would smash the defenders against the anvil formed by the smaller force.

  Given what he thought of humankind, Dragol sometimes found himself wondering as to why the Saxans were so resolved to fight. He did not doubt that they were well aware of the immensity of the force that was being sent against them.

  Most other human-ruled lands had capitulated to, or placated, Avanor without a battle having ever taken place. Why the Saxans were among the very few exceptions remained a question, though it made Dragol respect them more than those lands that had acquiesced and surrendered their ultimate sovereignty so easily.

  It was in such moments of rumination that he acutely remembered his own troubled homelands, and the age-old, relentless struggles of the Trogens against the Elven menace.

  The Trogens’ long-established nemesis held numerous advantages in the great conflict between the two races, but no matter how powerful the Elves were, no worthy Trogen would ever capitulate in the fight. The Trogens had suffered terribly for ages, but as a whole they still remained unconquered. Every last Trogen would resist until the Trogen population held captive within Elven lands was freed, and the shadow of the Elves’ persecution was fully removed from Trogen lands.

  Seen in the light of his own kind’s struggle, Dragol could certainly relate to the spirited, defiant response of the Saxans. Their great resolve against insurmountable odds made him respect them all the more, which was precisely why his burden in the present moment was made that much more difficult. In the pure core of his heart, he wanted to exten
d honor to the Saxan dead as well as his own.

  “Get the Harraks heading back to the camp, with the best weaponry and mail that can be taken from here. Take an escort of five warriors, and press with all haste to the encampment. The rest of us will set off to search after these unknown scavengers,” Dragol stated to the other Trogen.

  “It shall be done,” the Trogen answered, lowering his golden eyes and giving a slight bow of the head.

  Dragol then personally selected the five warrior escorts that would return with the confiscated swords, helms, and mail shirts. All were exceptional fighters, which would help offset the lack of numbers in the returning party. The Saxans had not yet appeared upon their own breed of sky steeds, to challenge the Trogens in the skies over their lands, but Dragol was not about to become reckless in carrying out his charges.

  The orders were promptly carried out. The pack-bearing Harraks were soon loaded up to capacity with the remaining weapons, both Trogen and Saxan, and any other prominent items that could be salvaged and denied to the enemy.

  Accompanied by the six Trogen warriors, the small group of Harraks was spurred forward and off of the ground. The contingent flew off at a slow pace, laden with the confiscated items.

  Dragol watched their departure for a few moments, and then brought his eyes back to his immediate surroundings. He gnashed his teeth in bitter regret as his eyes came across the body of a particular young Trogen warrior that had fallen the previous day. He knew the warrior well, who had been one of his personal favorites.

  The dead warrior’s amulet, set with large claws from the great forest wolverines for which his clan was named, had already been retrieved. Small personal items, especially those things that related to a warrior’s clan affiliation, had been immediately taken so that the warriors could be honored and remembered at a later time. Items such as the amulet would be passed on with great reverence, to be held with pride by others in the clan that the slain warrior had belonged to.