Janus had no time to prepare. He could only react as Reazl surged forward and rapidly accelerated, furiously beating the air with its sweeping wings.
Reazl strained to keep up with Arax, and their rate of speed increased until the ground was rushing by in a blur below. The winds whipped up and beat robustly against Janus’ face as his heart leapt to his throat.
Ayenwatha peeked back over his shoulder at Janus, and laughed boisterously, in an entirely carefree manner. Janus knew that he likely had a dumbfounded look etched into his face, but the momentary shock was steadily replaced by the sheer thrill of the racing flight.
The entire experience had allowed Janus to feel an enthralling sense of childlike wonder for the first time in many long, arduous years. For that alone, he was eminently grateful to the sachem, as he previously would have believed that he had become far too numb to feel such an unsullied sense of delight ever again.
A swell of genuine excitement coursed throughout him. Janus found himself smiling again, laughing merrily at the ongoing excitement of the swift flight through the skies over the tribal lands.
The sorrows were still present within him, and the current elation was undeniably temporal. Nevertheless, Janus could not dismiss the reality that he had indeed felt an inkling of true hope. Out of the grayness, it was a flicker of the most vibrant, rich color that he had perceived in quite some time.
GUNTHER
The Jaghun bounded sprightly into sight, just a few minutes before the horses belonging to the Saxan party arrived.
It was enough time for the others with Gunther to patiently compose themselves. Gunther could sense that they were simply grateful for the chance to continue resting their tired limbs.
There were seven horsemen in the approaching Saxan group, all well-equipped, in coats of mail and armed. One bore a pennon upon his long spear, exhibiting several red tree shapes that were set against a white background. The standard of Wessachia at the end of the lance came as no surprise to Gunther, as he had not expected to see anything else.
All of the men but one looked quite startled as they saw Gunther and the others, pulling their horses up abruptly. Gunther directed his attention to the one that had exhibited no significant surprise, though he could read the curiosity plainly enough on his Saxan friend’s face.
For his own part, Gunther was curious, and more than a little surprised, at the Saxan’s presence.
“Thane Aethelstan? You have come in person?” Gunther inquired, with a readily noticeable hint of concern woven within his voice.
The tall, broad-shouldered horseman at the forefront of the Saxan riders nodded his head towards the woodsman. Aethelstan sat astride his iron-gray stallion with a strong, upright posture, casting a commanding and confident air about himself. His dark eyes peered out from beneath his thick eyebrows, expressive and alert. His strong, angular lower jaw was set firm, covered by his dense, close-cropped beard.
He had his longsword sheathed at his side, the scabbard hanging from a baldric. The shining, silver-gilt pommel, leather grip, and straight crossguard rested upon the scabbard’s bronze-banded mouth.
The other six were also armed with swords, with the noticeable addition of long, two-handed axes that were affixed to their saddle harnessing by leather loops. All had long shields slung over their backs, wide and curving at the top, tapering down to a narrow, rounded bottom. Leader and loyal warrior alike, all were in a state of readiness, primed for combat at a moment’s notice.
“It has indeed been a long time, Gunther. I wish that it were better times that I found you in,” Aethelstan said.
“You know me well enough, Aethelstan. I am not shy of hearing a difficult truth,” Gunther responded.
“Then be ready to hear what I have so say. The tidings that I bring are grave indeed, and I have come to seek word from you as well,” Aethelstan responded. “Most of my companions remain behind, where your… friend… found us, soon after we had signaled you with the horn.”
Aethelstan paused, and took studious account of the strangers, his eyes drifting slowly across their foreign clothing and appearances.
“And I also might ask, who are your companions?” Aethelstan queried.
“Refugees, who are fleeing the Unifier’s forces,” Gunther replied.
It was a carefully chosen response. Gunther had decided not to delve into the mysteries of their origins, while still telling the truth to Aethelstan. The great Saxan thane happened to be one of the very few people in the world that Gunther deeply respected, and trusted greatly. He could not in good conscience deceive the thane, but neither did he want to broach the confounding aspects of the four strangers; at least not just yet.
Gunther continued, with a steady voice. “I am taking them back to my homestead. We recently fought against several Trogens, who came suddenly from the air, upon Harraks.”
He saw the look of worry manifesting rapidly within Aethelstan’s face.
“You are certain of this?” Aethelstan asked in a cautious tone. “Trogens?”
“Larger than men, inhuman and feral of visage, and incomparably fierce,” Gunther confirmed. “There was no mistake. Their steeds were longer and more massive of body than the Himmerosen of your lands. The steeds were indeed Harraks. It burdens me to testify that they are now within your lands, Aethelstan, but know this without a doubt, and take heed that they are in your skies.”
Aethelstan nodded at the somber words with a pensive expression. Gunther truly hated being the bearer of such awful tidings, which portended terrible days approaching, but Aethelstan was the sort of man who wanted nothing less than the full truth.
“It is fortunate that all of these people are still alive, though I lost one of my Jaghuns in the fighting,” Gunther continued, the last words feeling like bile in his mouth as he uttered them.
“Your words are heavy to hear, Gunther, and I am sorry for your loss, yet they explain much. We have been suffering many losses of our own,” Aethelstan replied dourly. “Patrols in the outer marches have been vanishing, and scouts sent forth by us have not returned. We have feared the worst, and now I think that we finally have our answer.”
“So the Unifier has taken to raiding your lands? Gunther asked. “What profit is there in that?”
Aethelstan looked off for a moment, a distant look in his eye. His expression darkened as he looked back to Gunther.
“It is much worse than mere raids. You know of the full levy? The General Fyrd?” the thane asked.
Gunther nodded.
“Then I am afraid that it is only very dark tidings that I now bring you. It is a horrible payment for what you have done for us in these woodlands,” Aethelstan said. “I am sure that you know of the large enemy force that has been mustering in the west for some time, as word of it has spread all throughout the land with the calling of the General Fyrd. It marches upon Saxany now, by the order of the Unifier. One great army, striding towards the Plains of Athelney. But it is not the only force. Nor are the Plains of Athelney the only path being taken by our adversaries.”
Gunther’s brow furrowed as he listened with increased worry to Aethelstan’s words.
“Another enemy force is being sent this way,” Aethelstan declared. “It is smaller than that which is heading towards the Plains, but it is no less of a threat. Knowledge of it has given us a chance to ready ourselves, to meet this second force in battle before it passes too deeply into our lands.”
Aethelstan then fixed Gunther with a stare that conveyed the unprecedented gravity of the specter facing them all. “Be warned, Gunther. It is for no small reason that all have been called to arms across Saxany, farmer, herder, craftsman, bond-servant, and warrior alike.”
No person looking could mistake the sharp concern rising upon Gunther’s face, as he listened to Aethelstan’s solemn words. The calling of a Select Fyrd was one matter, involving the summons of thanes, ceorls, and more veteran warriors. The calling of a General Fyrd, of all able bodied men to arms, was quite an
other entirely, and Gunther now understood the extent of its cause much clearer.
“Then what could I hope to offer you? I cannot stop an army,” Gunther replied in a low, terse tone.
“The word that you give to us is more valuable than a precious gemstone. What forces we have been able to muster within Wessachia are gathered near, and I must know whatever I can about the enemy’s approach and strength,” Aethelstan inquired. “Every tiding is one less risk we have to fear. It is said that you know of everything that travels through these woods.”
Underneath the strong tone of the thane’s voice, Gunther could hear the undercurrents of a pleading urgency.
Gunther nodded his head slowly, knowing well the genuine concern that the Saxan leader held for the warriors under his leadership. It was the same concern that Aethelstan had for his people; one that was heartfelt and unrelenting.
“I only know a little. Though what little I know may fully answer your questions on the fate of patrols and scouts… though these words are difficult to utter,” Gunther said disconsolately. “The refugees that you see here were witness to the destruction of a large group of mounted Saxan warriors. I believe this group of horsemen may have been one of those from the fort garrisons in the marches. It was attacked by a much larger number of enemy warriors… By their description, these warriors were most certainly Trogens, upon Harrak sky steeds. You would not have heard about this attack, unless you came upon the carnage.”
Gunther looked at Aethelstan with a heavier heart, pausing a moment before speaking his last words.
“They were slain to the last man.”
Aethelstan looked down for a moment, has face appearing to be covered with shadow. Gunther watched the thane’s mail-covered chest rise and fall with the deep breaths that he took.
When Aethelstan looked up to Gunther, his expression remained firm and well-composed, but his eyes reflected the growing weight within him.
“Is there any sign of an army among or near these woods yet?” he asked the woodsman.
“None that I have knowledge of, and I have been ranging about for many leagues over the past few days on a hunting foray,” Gunther replied, shaking his head. “But the strength of the war bands in the sky would seem to be a sign of much stronger storms, already at the horizon. From what you have told me, and from what I have learned, I would counsel you to expect the enemy to arrive in this area, very soon.”
Aethelstan took another deep breath, and his voice was deliberate and slow as he spoke his next words.
“When we were called to muster, we were warned that the enemy might come with a great number of sky warriors in their ranks. I can only think now of Edmund… a man who is like a brother to me…
“He is a sky warrior, and upon the troubling word of a great enemy sky force he departed swiftly, seeking to gain as many Himmerosen and experienced sky riders as he could, to aid in our defense of the skies.
“He has not yet returned. With these tidings from you, of your own fight, and the one witnessed by these refugees, my fear for him grows even greater,” Aethelstan concluded, before falling silent for a few strained seconds. “You speak truly in that the presence of large enemy air patrols on our borders bodes ill… Know that we will defend these lands with our lives, but the Unifier indeed sends forth great and terrible might.
Aethelstan paused, and for a moment he was a living image of trepidation. The moment passed quickly, as resolve flowed back into his countenance.
“We will continue to seek signs of the enemy forces, aware of the powerful threats from the air. We will seek the path where this enemy force will likely march,” Aethelstan stated, speaking with a stronger presence of conviction. “Gunther, I will do what I can to warn you, if we are able to find the area where the enemy seeks to pass into these lands… and though I know your feelings, I want you to know that you would be most welcome within our ranks.”
Gunther swallowed to clear his throat, as he considered his response.
“I am truly honored by your concern, Aethelstan, which you have shown by simply coming here,” Gunther replied. “Know that I will do what I can to send word to you, should I learn of anything more.”
Gunther halted as the hints of a frown came to his face. He disliked having to say his next words, as he knew how greatly Aethelstan wished for him to join with the Saxans in the face of the looming threat.
The woodsman stated evenly, “As you have known, I choose to live alone from the world of men as long as I have a free choice… and it is for good reason.”
Even as he voiced the words, Gunther thought of the widespread muster that had just taken place. He considered all the hundreds and thousands of simple villagers who had been devoid of the free choice that he had.
He could not ignore the stark reality that his warding of that forest area from brigands and outlaws had given him the special privilege of having a choice. That truth was a great tragedy in Gunther’s eyes. But despite his sympathies, he felt no regrets about exercising his own free will, other than the disappointment that he knew it would bring to the honorable thane before him.
“Yes, I do know, and I will respect your choice. Know that I will not seek to coerce you, nor will any under my authority,” Aethelstan replied quietly.
Gunther then fixed Aethelstan with a rigid stare, his look carrying the unwavering sincerity within his next words. “Aethelstan, I do want you to know that if I chose to live fully within your world, and served in any army, under any man, then it would be a true honor to serve under you.”
Aethelstan looked somewhat taken by surprise with the woodsman’s sudden, laudatory statement. It was also evident that the Saxan leader was genuinely moved by the declaration.
“I do not know you well enough, woodsman, and perhaps one day you will share more tales of your journeys with me. But my instincts tell me that it is an honor to have been judged in such a way, in your eyes,” Aethelstan said, inclining his head towards Gunther. “The refugees are under good care with you… but also know that I give you my word that I will see to their needs, if you should ever feel a need to place them among my people. I wish you all good in life, and that the coming storms will pass without bringing you harm.”
“And you as well, Thane Aethelstan,” Gunther replied, giving the Saxan a slight bow.
Aethelstan raised an arm in farewell to Gunther, casting a last glance at the four refugees with the woodsman as he turned his proud stallion around. The men around him also brought their own steeds about, as Aethelstan led them back in the direction from which they had come. The metallic rustlings of their mail and the clops of hoof-steps faded steadily, lasting just a little longer than the sight of their forms amongst the trees.
“Who was that?” Lee inquired in a low voice, when Gunther and the other four were all alone once again.
“That is the thane Aethelstan, who serves the Ealdorman Morcar of Wessachia,” Gunther explained. “His market town, which are known as burhs in these lands, is not altogether far from here, called Bergton. He has always seen to the protection and needs of the only villages that I care to visit, at Dragon’s Back Ridge and Oak Crossing.
“Aethelstan is well above most men, in heart and honor. There are so few like him in this world. That is a misfortune to our kind. I shall tell you more of these lands, when we reach my home. But we must tarry here no longer. Come, we must get going, if you are to hope to adequately rest, and eat your fill. I do not wish to linger any longer outside of my own domain. Not when such storms are gathering.”
Following the dangers that they had already been through, it came as no surprise to the woodsman that there was no dispute from any of the refugees as they started forward, resuming their march. The other four were quiet, lost in their own thoughts as they traveled in Gunther’s wake.
They were not the only ones dwelling upon some inner concern, as the brief interaction with Aethelstan had given Gunther plenty to ponder himself. He was grateful for the uninterrupted time to think
, as when they reached his homestead, he was certain that he would be faced with a barrage of questions.
A storm was approaching, and it was only a matter of time before it would break. Gunther had some notions of what could be done if the enemy swept through the woodlands, including taking some paths in the woodlands that even the Saxans were not aware of themselves. It was still too soon to make a decision, but it was good to keep all options in mind.
The immediate future boded more favorably. Visions of a good meal and an approaching stretch of repose beckoned invitingly to Gunther. As soon as he reached the sanctuary of his woodland haven, he would be able to partake of both.
The thought put a little extra spring into his step, as Gunther walked briskly forward at the head of the small group.
WULFSTAN
It was about midday when Wulfstan’s eyes finally came to rest upon the sprawling, enormous collection of tents that formed the main field encampment for the swelling forces of Saxany. Having never before seen more than a few hundred warriors together at once in his own lifetime, at most perhaps a thousand, the vision before him was entirely breathtaking in scope.
The last stretch of the two-week-long journey had been a particularly difficult, half-day march. All elements of the Great Fyrd had been implicitly instructed to get to the Plains of Athelney as fast as was humanly possible. Every last moment of preparation was critical, according to the word that filtered down to the marching masses.
Wulfstan remembered the earliest stages of the summons well enough. Beacons lit on the summits of great hills soon resulted in a chain of smoking signals whose meaning was as unmistakable as it was urgent. Couriers and messengers dispatched to all parts of the kingdom had spread the alarm with tremendous rapidity. The word had raced throughout Wulfstan’s home region in Sussachia, eliciting a great panic amongst the occupants of nearby villages, hamlets, and larger estates.
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