“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 tha
t 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 over 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.
Even the last moments following the final review of his mustered warriors were turning out to be supremely difficult. A few last echoes of warm, relaxing nights spent in his great hall, surrounded by his wife Gisela, his children, and the men and women of his household retinue, tugged mercilessly at his tormented mind.
He could not deny that he would much rather be taking deep draughts of ale or mead, while listening to wondrous tales of adventure and heroism spun expertly in verses from the lips of a gleeman. An approaching evening would be an anticipation to savor if it were to be occupied listening to the notes of a well-played harp, or putting his mind to games of riddles, as the central hearth fire blazed vibrantly.
While all of that was true, it simply did not do any good to dwell upon such thoughts. Neither could he pity himself, as the burdens were not his alone. Those that went and those that remained behind were both being laden with a very ponderous burden.
Yet despite the unfortunate nature of all of it, there was nothing that the great thane of Wessachia felt the need to question, justify, or regret in regards to what he had to do.
He was grimly resolved. The sudden turn of events in his life was not completely a surprise to him. Aethelstan had long felt the subtle dread common to many Saxans, that even the warmth of life itself was simply a short passage from one vast darkness to another. The good moments in life always had to be cherished and remembered, as no man could stop whatever had been destined for him to face.
A few spear-bearing guards were walking slowly along the inner walkways, running along the top of the timber walls that crowned the earthen rampart ringing the entire market-town, or burh. The walls had been fashioned with wooden crenellations, its outer facing of horizontal wooden planking set between a framing of tall, timber posts. The embankment that the wall surmounted sloped far down into a successive series of three deep, outer ditches.
His eyes swept around the square, stone towers erected at several points along the oval-shaped perimeter. Four held large, iron-banded oak gates set within arches. The other four were placed at even distances in between the gate-towers, providing additional lookout positions and strong-points for defense.
As a whole, the defenses were capable enough, but only if there were enough fighters to man them. Once the column had departed and gathered up other musters, there would be scant few left to defend the burhs of Wessachia, such as Bergton, and even fewer for the outlying villages and hamlets.
Most every man who could bear weapons from the immediate region was now assembled in the masses arrayed all about him.
A
number were on horseback, well-prepared for the journey and its considerable demands. These included the men of his immediate household retinue, and warriors from the garrison of the burh itself.
Others similarly equipped and with horse were lesser thanes from smaller, fortified estates who were mustering at Bergton, having come along with their own bands of household followers.
Still others had been equipped collectively, some on horse, and some to travel on foot, to fulfill military obligations to Ealdorman or thane. While not thanes, these men, the ceorls, were qualified for the more commonly utilized Select Fyrd.
All these principal groups would have been expected for a campaign or normal army summons. They were not the elements of the muster that had bestowed Aethelstan with the deep misgivings that he was feeling.
Rather, it was the much larger element of the gathering whose presence at Bergton troubled the great thane, and it was one that was far from common within a Saxan muster.
This larger group was entirely on foot, and included weathered farmers, lifelong craftsmen, simple laborers, and all manner of commoners. They came from within the lands surrounding Bergton, as the territory’s populations of able-bodied men had been summoned almost in their entirety to the unprecedented call to arms.
A greater proportion of these men had never gone far beyond their village areas, some having never before even seen the market town that they were now standing within. Rarely did they stray to other villages and hamlets in their vicinity, with the exceptions of special occasions and necessity. There was a great nervousness within this portion of the force already. Aethelstan could see it reflected in their eyes, and feel it coalescing in the air.
A great number of women, children, and older men had gathered to see the massive throng off. They had come in from all the surrounding farm villages, isolated farmsteads, hamlets, and the burh of Bergton itself.
A great trepidation hung over them all.
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