Dream of Legends fie-2

by Stephen Zimmer

  “The All-Father has a purpose for them. I am afraid only the ones that are learned in the ancient knowledge would have the wisdom to know what must be done,” King Hakon said to Einar. “I know little myself, but I do know of the things that have been foretold for our world. It is enough to know that you were indeed wise to bring them here without delay, though I am much relieved that you passed through the skies safely. It was a dangerous passage that you undertook, if Avanor’s eyes are searching for them.

  “Know that they will be accorded all privileges as my guests, and know that they are placed under my firm protection. They must be taken to the province moot, to the Great Gathering, for Heimdall will be joining us there. I am certain that he will know more of what to do.”

  The King then looked steadfastly at the three newcomers. “As you are my guests, you shall be fed, clothed, and well-protected. All of your needs and comforts will be provided for out of my dominion. I do not know you as of yet, but I freely offer my friendship, and ask only that you do nothing that would make us think ill of you.”

  His kindly tone took on an edge at the latter words, showing that although he had a generous, kindly demeanor, there was a very serious, resolute nature within the king. Mershad was not about to underestimate the old king, as he knew that a weak, dottering old man could never have been accepted as king by the tough, stalwart people of Midragard. Only a fool would risk underestimating the figure upon the settle, and there was no doubt in Mershad’s mind that King Hakon was an extraordinary individual, a man to be respected and obeyed.

  “They will be under my eye as well, my king,” added Svein, nodding respectfully from where he stood at Mershad’s side.

  “I will remain to help here, if you need,” Einar then added.

  The older man smiled with sudden mirth, his tone softening once again. “I may need all of you after the mead flows, to help me make it back to my bed for the night! Among all of us, we should still be able to keep one eye out on behalf of our new guests, but I insist that the mead flows in rivers this very evening. While it is late this day, and though I do not wish to burden the good women of my homestead, I must call for a feast on behalf of Einar and my new guests.”

  Mershad could see the mood brightening immediately as the throng in the hall took in the king’s words, though he wondered how Einar felt regarding the announcement of a feast. He knew that the Midragardan was heavily burdened by thoughts of his brother’s uncertain fate.

  Evidently, the king had the same concern. The king had paused, as his gaze took in Einar. Mershad was struck by the subtle shift in the king that then occurred, bringing a decidedly compassionate air to his demeanor and words.

  “This world is filled with sorrows enough,” the king stated. “And I know that your heart is heavy, Einar. Mine is not light either, but we must not forget to celebrate and embrace the good in this life… and seeing you again in my hall is indeed a good thing, one that is worthy of rejoicing over. I wish to welcome you, and to welcome three new friends of Midragard, to my home and hearth.”

  Einar seemed to be very moved by the king’s words, as he lowered his eyes and gave a slight bow. The expression on his face could only have been motivated by genuine affection, and a feeling of gratitude, towards the king.

  “And there is more good fortune for us all, in that Aun’s recent elk hunt was not the only hunt that met with success,” the king added, in a louder voice, looking to the others assembled within the hall. “Grettir landed a monster of a boar on his own recent foray into the woods, which will be served this very night!”

  “Not such a difficult task for Grettir, my king, as I hear that the beast died from fright after looking upon Grettir’s face!” jested one of the other Midragardans.

  Svein, Einar, and several others in the hall laughed heartily, as many cheered the king’s pronouncement. Seeing the spirited reactions, Mershad strongly suspected that Midragardans were the type who readily embraced any occasion as justification for a prodigious feast. The surge of levity throughout the hall admittedly felt wonderful, after having endured all the hardship and uncertainty that had flooded the past few days.

  “Have you tasted the life water of our people? That which we call mead?” asked Svein, grinning, looking back at the three guests who were now formally in his stead.

  All three shook their heads to the negative, though Kent displayed a spark of highly piqued interest at Svein’s words.

  “Then we will remedy that shortcoming this very night! You must not wait any longer to imbibe the nectar of Midragard!” Svein replied with great enthusiasm, much to Kent’s apparent satisfaction. Mershad almost chuckled at the anticipatory look that spread across Kent’s face. “And it is an opportune time for you, as the waters of the rivers and sea have been generous, and the hunting rich. In addition to this news of a great boar being brought down by Grettir, the largest salmon in years will grace our table, and even a great elk bull that was just brought down by Aun shall be roasted to honor our new guests.”

  “You will make us very hungry with more talk such as that,” the king remarked, with a warm smile. He looked again towards the newcomers. “Welcome to Midragard, and to my great hall. I look forward to speaking with each of you more in times to come.”

  The king glanced over towards Svein. “Svein, please see our honored guests to their new quarters. I know that they must be tired. They have been patient in coming here immediately, without protest, after their hard journey.”

  Einar, Svein, and the others bowed to the king once again. Svein guided them back out of the hall, and before they were outside, Mershad could already hear the king taking up the next matter of business, with one of the other parties that had been standing inside the hall.

  Once they were in the open air again, the group strode across the grounds and made their way into the midst of the surrounding timber structures. The grounds were alive with activity, crisscrossed by bond-servants, retainers, women, and children alike.

  The distinctive clank of hammers upon metal emitted from one structure set a little apart from the other buildings. A stream of dark smoke wafted upward from the opening in its roof. Mershad listened to the steady pounding of iron upon iron, though he could not see the blacksmith, as the front entrance to the workshop was obscured from view.

  They continued onward, heading towards one of the smaller rectangular structures provided with a roof vent. Svein opened the door leading into it, standing aside and gesturing for the others to enter.

  The interior was revealed to be a relatively cramped space, with little more than a central hearth dug into the middle of a primary front room with raised earthen sides. An additional small room was set adjacent, separated by a timber partition from the main chamber.

  “It is fortunate that the visitors from the tribal lands were just here, as we already have enough stored within these quarters to accommodate the three of you,” Svein said. “Einar will be staying in different quarters. There are enough pallets in the back room for the three of you to sleep on, and enough coverings to keep you warm.”

  As far as Mershad was concerned, it was a luxurious accommodation, offering the greatest degree of privacy that he and the others had enjoyed since coming into the new lands.

  Svein looked around the room, and commented. “I will have an extra supply of wood brought in for the fire. Relax, and adjust yourselves for the moment. I will return to summon you for the evening feast.”

  “And I will rejoin you then as well,” Einar said, as he began to turn to leave.

  “Thank you… for everything,” Mershad interjected, addressing gratitude to both Svein and Einar. The latter stopped before he had exited through the door, and rotated to face them.

  “You are welcome,” Einar replied, with deep sincerity in his gaze.

  “Yes, thank you so much for what you have done for us, Einar,” Kent added, entirely serious in his expression and tone.

  “We would be in a lot of trouble without all of you
,” Derek stated, looking to the two Midragardans, before settling fully on Einar. His voice lowered. “And you have given much of yourself to see us here, Einar. I understand that… and I thank you.”

  Einar made no verbal reply to Derek, but instead gave him a slow bow of his head, as an understanding passed between the two men. As both were warriors, Mershad knew that they related to each other on a unique level.

  “We could not in good conscience offer you anything less,” Svein replied, with a nod of his head.

  The two Midragardans then begged leave, proceeding out of the small hall-house. Kent walked to the edge of one of the raised earthen sides and plopped down heavily, his right hand clasping his left forearm, as he wrapped his arms just below his tucked-in knees. Derek strolled over to the opening that led into the smaller chamber, and peered inside. Walking in, he reappeared a moment later, with a pallet in his clutches.

  He dragged it up on the side that Kent was sitting upon, kneeled down, and then situated himself, so that he was lying on his back upon the mattress. He loosed a long, extended sigh.

  “Feels so good just to lie down for a second,” he commented, his voice echoing fatigue.

  “Not a bad idea, Derek,” Mershad replied.

  “It will take them awhile to ready a feast. We have some time, if you all want to get a little shut-eye. Speaking for myself, I sure do,” Derek said. “Not too much to look at in here anyway.”

  “A nap sounds very, very good,” Kent agreed, pushing himself up to his feet, and getting his own pallet from the small storage room. He returned to the chamber, and came back with a woolen blanket and a couple of furs.

  “I’ll take this side, so we have some more space,” Mershad said, claiming the other raised earthen platform for his own bedding space. He felt more comfortable with that arrangement anyway, as Derek and Kent knew each other so well, and he preferred being more solitary.

  After a couple of trips, he had a woolen blanket, fur, and a down-stuffed mattress set up on the opposite side from Derek and Kent. He lay down upon the mattress gingerly, but found it to be surprisingly comfortable. Then again, a lot of things would have felt very comfortable at that moment, after having endured sitting in the saddle of a sky steed for so many hours.

  Kent’s light snores a few minutes later were the first indications that the weary travelers had begun to succumb to the welcome invitations of sleep. It was not much longer before all three of the otherworlders were deep in slumber. Mershad drifted off smoothly, descending down into the fathoms of a dreamless repose.

  Svein found them all fast asleep when he returned a few hours later, to summon them for the feast called by the king. Mershad woke up groggily, though immensely glad for the hours of precious, continuous rest. By that time, his stomach had built up quite an appetite, and he was more than ready to go to a feast.

  First, though, he would attend to prayers, the undertaking of which had gone haphazardly over the past few days of travel. It was important to him to reestablish his routine as much as possible, knowing that under the circumstances it would be very easy to forget about his obligations. Following prayers, though, food would be the very next thing occupying his thoughts.

  *

  DRAGOL

  *

  Dragol was filled with anxiety and discontentment as he sat upon the back of his steadfast Harrak. As always, Rodor stood with a proud bearing, supporting its brave rider with a strong posture that seemed to exude great esteem in being the steed of such an honored Trogen warrior.

  The creature was larger, bolder, and more aggressive than most of its formidable brethren, traits that Dragol took no small amount of pride in himself. The exceptional nature of his personal steed reflected the growing standing of its master among his own kind, a matter that all Trogens familiar with Dragol could readily agree upon.

  The beast growled and shifted, highly impatient, and eager to be relieved of the tedious journey that Dragol had again forced upon it. Restrained from stretching its wings and flying, it had become exceedingly restless. As with the previous Darrok raids that had leveled so many tribal villages, Dragol was saving his steed’s energy for what was to come.

  Nearby, Tirok and over twenty other Trogens sat astride their steeds in full readiness, spread down the upper back of the hulking Darrok. Likewise, numerous Trogens on the other Darroks were saddled and armed, as the moment of attack approached at last. Rested and refreshed, they were all eager to set into the skies, and challenge anything that might come up to oppose them.

  The lands populated and ruled by the tribes of the Five Realms were spread out directly beneath them, following the short flight from the encampment located a few leagues west in Gallean lands. Their formation had just drawn over an open break in the trees, exposing the top of a broad ridge revealing yet another one of the enemy’s palisade-surrounded villages.

  Dragol heard the curt horn blasts carrying through the air, drawing his attention forward. Just ahead of him, dismounted Trogen warriors on the other Darroks began to levy a massive bombardment of stones down upon the exposed village.

  Peering ahead, it was yet another trying experience for Dragol to watch the methods of war utilizing the gigantic Darroks. Before coming to Gallea and the Five Realms, he had never witnessed a weapon with such devastating potential. Once again, he witnessed the assault unfolding with a look of awe spread across his face, as the incredible power of the Darroks was unleashed.

  Attached to the Darrok’s carriages were connected panels of curved timber, riveted together with iron fastenings. They could be pulled up to the carriage in flight, and lowered when needed. Each series of panels was carefully shaped and formed into flexible chutes, which guided the stones of various sizes into a vertical free fall as they were discharged. The extending length of the rough chutes released the stone loads safely below the wing level of the Darroks.

  From their lofty height, the showering bombardments reduced the wooden edifices within the village of the Five Realms to little more than piles of shards and splinters. Even the great trebuchets that Dragol had seen, the mightiest of the siege and war machines of Avanor and Gallea, could not wreak so much damage within such a very short amount of time. The thunderous display of destruction was undeniably impressive, daunting, and even intimidating to observe.

  Tirok looked over towards Dragol, raising a clenched fist to his right ear. Dragol responded to the gesture in similar fashion. The two senior Trogen warriors then took up the large signaling horns hanging loose at their sides, swiftly raising the ends to their lips. With a deep intake of breath, both of the chieftains blew forcefully upon the narrow ends, and the horns blared in loud unison.

  The deep, resonant blasts loosed the mounted Trogens off the back of the Darrok. In moments, many riders and steeds had lifted up and spread out into the surrounding air. The signal from Dragol’s and Tirok’s Darrok was spread quickly amongst the other Darroks in the formation. Several other groups of Trogens rose up upon their Harrak steeds, and all of them slowly converged, forming a veritable cloud of sky warriors. If there was to be any response or sudden surprises coming from the defenders, the Trogens were ready, and more than willing to meet them.

  Dragol gave another distinctive signal upon his horn, and guided a small detachment of Trogens up and away from the main Darrok formation, in order to survey the lands immediately below them. He seized upon the benefits brought by the high, unobstructed altitude, giving him a tremendous vantage from which to scan the tree-shrouded land.

  He momentarily eyed the tight Darrok formation proceeding ahead of them, now a good distance away, underneath the position of the hovering sky riders. The slow-moving brutes looked to be creeping forward to Dragol’s perspective, and the Trogen chieftain had no worries about closing the distance if they got too far ahead.

  Dragol’s new position also lent him a full view of the unfolding destruction. Deadly, weighty stone missiles continued to be sent hurtling towards the earth in a pummeling cascade by th
e diligent strain and exertion of Trogen muscle. Yet all was not in harmony as he watched the pulverizing attack.

  He worked to stifle the return of revulsion at the barbaric method of warfare. He still found it so very hard to even conceive how the Unifier and the humans that had developed the new war tactic saw any honor in such a practice. More than ever, he could barely stomach Trogen warriors serving upon the Darroks, made to execute such a craven manner of attack.

  In the deep privacy of his heart, Dragol hoped that the enemy tribal warriors had vacated the village that was being assaulted, and would soon be coming up to match their martial skills against Dragol and the other Trogen riders. That was a method of warfare that he could sanction, where enemies looked each other face to face, and matched blade against blade.

  He did not want to face the rising notion within him that the Darrok bombardment was, in truth, a cowardly way of making war, striking from such a high altitude with the enemy having no means to defend itself. The ways of Avanor and those of the Trogens were so very different.

  Dragol’s head turned slowly from side to side, distracting his mind a little, as he passed his intensive gaze across the rolling landscape. Trees within the older regions of the forests covering the Five Realms grew thickly together, their upper tangles of foliage serving to cover hilltop, slope, valley and other terrain elements alike. The natural, largely unbroken mass of dense growth also served to make the enemy villages much easier to spot from the higher skies.

  With their locations on higher ground, in areas extensively cleared of trees, the tribal villages were very easy to idenfity, from leagues away. Virtually any significant break in the forest canopy revealed the presence of telltale corn fields, or the villages often located very close to them. Both were easy, static targets for the voluminous loads of stone being jettisoned by the Darrok onslaught.