“And I should presume that new tidings or prisoners have arrived. It is not often that we are visited by the like of Trogens,” the strong, low voice proclaimed, as the speaker came into view. “At ease, Shadow.”
The great cat eased downward at the man’s words, though its gleaming orbs remained riveted upon the prisoners and Trogens. The light from the suspended lantern was enough to reveal a man clad in a white mantle, also displaying the red spear ensign. From his crouched posture, Janus could tell that had the man been standing, his height might well come close to that of the Trogens.
His squared jaw, furrowed brow, and coal black eyes complimented a natural scowl. His hair was cropped just below his ears, and a thick black beard grew along his chin and jaws. He wore a dark, soft cap, like that gracing the head of the man on the aft castle.
He was seated on a wooden bench, and had been pouring over some parchments with another man, of medium build, who wore a black mantle with a red spear ensign. As they came into the light, the first man set the documents down upon a chest in front of him. He regarded the incoming prisoners with scrutiny.
As they gathered before him, he folded his arms across his broad chest. Janus did not doubt that the man’s menacing visage had troubled and intimidated many men before. With a hardened expression, and focused gaze, he studied the prisoners closely, for several moments, before speaking.
“And who might they be?” he addressed the Trogens, though he kept his eyes fixed firmly upon the quartet.
“Captured in battle with the Midragardans. A raid led by Lord William of Talais,” the Trogen dutifully responded, in its rumbling voice. “Lord William said to bring them here. That they are foreign. That the Unifier has interest in them.”
The other man nodded, as he studied the four carefully. His eyes lingered upon the matching pendants that the prisoners wore. He was not the sort of man prone to give away his intentions by his expression, but Janus caught a moment of recognition in the man, as he stared at the pendants.
Although he did not smile, it was clear to Janus that he was pleased with the decision by Lord William to send the prisoners to him. His interest shifted immediately from worries about horses to rest in full upon the prisoners.
“There is something unusual here,” the man mused aloud, addressing the foursome. “It goes without saying the words. I have been around all kinds, in escorting pilgrims to the Sunlands. I have traveled far on the business of my Order. In time, we will find out who you are, and where you are from. For now, know that you are in the ward of Bohemond, of the Order of the High Altar.”
The man gave them a smile entirely devoid of welcome or warmth. He glanced back towards the Trogens.
“I have few enough men as it is. Keep them bound, and hold them above deck, where all can keep their eyes upon them. I hold you responsible. I will decide the best way to convey them to Avalos,” Bohemond commanded, making a motion of dismissal. “I must finish my business here.”
“As you wish,” the Trogen replied with a nod, though visibly irritated at the order.
The four prisoners were pushed and jostled out of Bohemond’s presence, and led all the way back, out onto the open deck where they were unceremoniously shoved to the right. They were guided to the stern of the ship, taken beneath the wide, raised half-deck augmented by the two curving sternposts.
The prisoners were then thrust down onto the hard wooden surface, hitting it with a series of thuds. They were able to brace their backs on the side, their heads coming to rest just below the gunwale.
A number of the ship’s men paused to regard the strangers as they passed by. Hard, warning stares from the Trogens compelled them to resume their business with the rigging and the other tasks of the large vessel. The ship’s crew kept a wide berth from the upper level with the Harraks.
The sun was still high, but theirs was a shaded section of the ship. The air was comfortable enough, with cool, salty breezes wafting off of the sea waters. Janus could feel the graceful movement of the sailing vessel through the waters. In any other time, the conditions would have been ideal for such a voyage, but there was no mistaking the powerless nature of their incarceration.
“Stay strong,” Erika said quietly to Antonio, the first real words among them since they had gone into the skies.
Antonio looked positively terrible, with a pasty, clammy sheen to his skin. He had not recovered from the flight at all. He still shook with tremors from the great terror that he endured during the trip, and Janus knew that there was nothing left in the poor young man’s stomach.
“I mean it. Hold together, Antonio,” she told him gently. “We are together.”
His wide, glistening eyes locked onto hers, and he slowly swallowed, and nodded his head.
Janus, on the other side of Antonio, gently added. “They still think we are important. We need to make sure it stays that way. If it does, they are not going to harm us.”
Antonio looked back at him and nodded, but mustered no verbal reply.
To Janus’ left, Logan looked sullen and angry, as he stared down at the hard wood of the deck, unable to express any counsel to Antonio. He did his best just to keep quiet every time he felt the weight of a stare upon him, glowering at everyone, captor or companion.
They had effectively been captives for much of the time since they had entered the new world. Only now, their captors were exhibiting a much lower degree of goodwill than had the tribal people. Janus could not even put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder to console the young man.
Once again, Janus and his companions were going to be sorely tested, on many different levels. As he had said to Antonio, he could only hope that they remained important in the eyes of their captors. He knew without a doubt that things would indeed turn for the worse if he and his comrades were deemed unnecessary.
Yet at the same time, he was not so sure that he wanted to be regarded as important enough to be taken to the Unifier; the individual that the Midragardans and five tribes so despised.
*
MERSHAD
*
Mershad, Kent, and Derek carefully made their way to the cover of the second longship, before quickly moving onward. They continued to the last ship of the group resting along the shore. It was one of the homestead’s vessels, which had been there prior to the arrival of the pair that was to take the exiles on to Midragard.
Located down the beach, it was farther removed from the core of the intensive fighting. The ringing clang of steel on steel filled Mershad’s ears, along with the frenzied cries of the combatants behind them, both human and inhuman.
“Mershad, get a weapon!” Derek shouted at him, in the sharp tone of a command. A short-hafted hand axe was clenched in Derek’s own right fist. While it was an axe intended for woodworking, it could certainly serve as a weapon.
Kent held onto a long, single-edged knife, and had also managed to grab up a round shield from the beach. He gripped both shield and knife tightly, though he carried the latter awkwardly.
At the least, Kent had some means of protection and self-defense. Mershad could not say the same for himself. His mind had gone entirely blank during the initial stages of the attack. It was all that he could do to stay close to Derek and Kent, as they raced away from the shoreline.
It was fortunate that they had done so, as the huge, feral-looking attackers had swarmed over the area soon after. Their roaring battle cries filled the air, as they descended with fury upon the Midragardans.
Mershad looked around frenetically. He knew that he could not climb up on the longship to their side, as the risk of exposing their position to enemy eyes was far too great. Similarly, it was even more dangerous to stray out into the open. In a way, they were trapped.
“There is nothing here!” he stammered back to Derek, a feeling of panic swiftly building up within him.
Without a weapon in hand, he felt vulnerable. One of the most basic rights of a person, to defend his or her own life, was in serious jeopardy for Mershad
, as he was totally bereft of the means to fight back against any potential assailants.
“Then stay close, right by me!” Derek ordered him curtly.
Derek chanced a glance around the narrow end of the longship, where they were gathered at its bow. Mershad edged forward to take a look from just behind him. Hand to hand fighting raged up and down the length of the shore. A number of bodies from both sides lay strewn about the increasingly chaotic landscape.
“You three, come with me! Now!” cried out a loud voice from a few paces behind them.
Mershad and the others whirled about at the sound of the voice. Derek and Kent brought up their weapons, readying to defend themselves.
The grips upon both Derek’s axe and Kent’s seax were slightly relaxed a moment later, as the three otherworlders recognized the Midragardan who had escorted them to the last meeting with Eirik and Ayenwatha.
The lower part of the Midragardan’s face was smeared with streaks of sweat and blood, and his tunic displayed a substantial gash, where he had already received a small, grazing wound. He held a sword and shield, and he had managed to don a half-helm as well. The iron helm was fashioned with a spectacle-like eye guard projecting down from the front rim, an extension meant to protect his eyes and nose. It gave the warrior a decidedly grim, dispassionate look, as he faced the three exiles.
He beckoned urgently to the trio, eyes darting about as he trotted away from the end of the longship with a slight limp to his movements. The man’s labored gait drew Mershad’s attention to another openly bleeding wound on the warrior’s right thigh.
“Come with me! If you want to live, come now! It’s clear!” the Midragardan repeated emphatically, again signaling them to follow.
Mershad looked to Derek and Kent, as Derek nodded back to both of them. Without a better strategy of their own in the offing, they set out quickly after the wounded warrior.
The Midragardan guided them around the outskirts of the homestead buildings, heading back toward a long, low structure located a couple hundred yards away. The edifice sat towards the back of the homestead, on its northernmost edge.
Out in the open again, Mershad could not resist peering back over his shoulder towards the shoreline, expecting either pursuit or arrow fire. His heart pounded in his chest with every stride, but there was no outcry, or other indication of pursuit.
In a sliver of good fortune, the four men were able to cross the open ground and reach the elongated building without incident. The combat had engulfed everyone by the ships and water’s edge, confining it to that area for the time being. Even the enemy archers that had taken some shots from the rooftops of the Midragardan buildings had descended from their perches to join the intense shoreline fray.
The Midragardan warrior hastily drew the three otherworlders into the shadowy interior of the building. Almost at once, Mershad found himself sheltered away from the battle outside, the sounds of combat seeming much more distant. While his mind was swirling, he drew some security from the fact that they were no longer so exposed out in the open.
As Mershad caught his breath, he sensed the presence of animals nearby. A powerful musk filled the languid air, coursing into his nostrils with each breath. A moment later, he heard a few low growls and whines coming from deeper within the shadows of the rectangular structure.
The nature of the sounds surprised him, as he had expected to hear the whinny of horses, or possibly the bellows of oxen. He had seen both creatures being used for the labors of the Midragardan estate.
“I am Einar. My brother, now looking for your friends, is Sigurd. We cleared this byre, and kept a few Fenraren hidden in here, from the group that was sent with the warriors from the tribes,” the warrior swiftly explained, as quizzical looks were turned towards him. “These few were left behind for us, by Eirik’s private order. This was done the night before the morning that you saw the rest of the steeds. It was known only to a few of us, for the possibility of a time just such as this. I am a skilled sky rider, and Eirik personally charged my brother and I with your safety. We must get off this island right now. I can take you towards the Midragardan lands. Going by sea is no longer a choice left to us, but remaining here is certain death or captivity.”
“And what about the others?” Derek asked, with an edge to his tone. “We cannot leave them here.”
The warrior fixed Derek with a hard, unflinching gaze. His steady, firm voice conveyed the severe gravity and logic of the situation at hand. “My brother seeks them out as we speak, as I have told you. We cannot wait to gather the full group together here. We have no time. He will try to guide them here, and we hope to meet them on the way to Midragard. Listen to me. There is no further time. We must get underway now.”
Derek made no reply, nor did Einar await one. The Midragardan turned away, moving deeper into the byre.
As Mershad’s eyes adjusted to the darker interior, the forms of several Fenraren became more visible amongst the dim shadows. There were around ten of the creatures within the byre, as far as Mershad could tell. Their dark forms looked even larger in the confines of the byre, which was structured for the stout, smaller Midragardan horses, and the oxen.
Speaking softly, and working quickly, Einar labored to saddle up four of the creatures. During the pensive moments, the Midragardan kept glancing back towards the byre’s entrance, where Derek was keeping a steady lookout for any threat of enemy approach.
“Is there any sign of them?” Einar asked, as he finished saddling the third steed.
“None yet,” replied Derek, gazing outward. “The fighting is still down along the shore.”
Mershad looked from Derek to the Midragardan.
The two men were keeping up strong appearances that obscured their truer feelings. Underneath the hard tones in their voices, Mershad recognized that one was greatly worried for his friends, and the other was anxious for news of his endangered brother. Only their honed discipline kept them focused upon the tasks at hand.
The four steeds were finally saddled up, and Einar helped Mershad and the others to mount the winged creatures. He hurriedly secured the long leather straps that served to tether them to the saddle.
Under any other circumstances, the chance to ride such gallant creatures would have been the experience of a lifetime. Mershad had envied Janus’ opportunity to go skyward on the Brega with Ayenwatha. He could see the thrill of the experience reflected in Janus’ eyes, as he had spoken later of the adventure. But the circumstances deprived Mershad of any enjoyment regarding his own impending experience.
Einar mounted the fourth and last steed, wasting no time in leading the quartet out of the stable’s entryway. The thick, pungent scents were cleared the moment they stepped out into the open air, as was any feeling of concealment. Mershad instantly felt vulnerable, as the sounds coming from the beach and waters were no longer muffled.
“We need to get the others,” Derek said, echoing the thoughts that gripped Mershad’s mind.
Mershad looked towards the shoreline, his eyes searching fruitlessly among the combatants down along the water’s edge for any sign of their companions. He quickly noticed that there was one solitary longship that had been pushed off the beach since they had gone into the byre. It was now rowing out to sea, and the modest distance prevented him from discerning the identity of any of the forms on the longship. As far as he could tell, all of the figures on the ship were Midragardans.
His heart then caught in his throat. The longship was not alone on the open waters. It was in great peril, beset by a much larger enemy galley that was swiftly overtaking it. Mershad watched in great anxiety, as an initial shower of arrows and bolts rained down from the attacking galley upon the exposed deck of the longship.
Several Midragardans fell to the planking, as the deadly missiles riddled the deck. A couple of the men tumbled over the sides of the ship during the terrible hail, plunging lifelessly into the waters. At the bow and stern of the attacking galley, bows and crossbows were readied f
or another volley. There was no doubt that the Midragardan longship was doomed.
“We need to find them,” Derek stated, in a very strained voice.
“Do you not think that I wish to find my own brother?” the Midragardan warrior snapped at Derek.
The look in Einar’s eyes penetrated deeply into Mershad’s stalwart comrade, and Mershad felt the surging presence of a challenge. The Midragardan’s look conveyed a horrible pain that the man was struggling to stifle, and Mershad could see he was barely able to choke his emotions back.
“You must live, and I am the only one you have here to guide you. To the skies!” Einar shouted forcefully at Derek.
Mershad could hear the regret and restraint underneath the clarion call for duty. Einar turned the steed about, so that it was facing the open ground in back of the byre, oriented away from the shore. The other three steeds followed, as they stepped away from the building.
At a cry and signal from Einar, the four Fenraren lurched forward with explosive bursts of motion. They propelled forward into a run for several steps, and then took off to the sky with prodigious leaps and wing beats. The three ridden by Derek, Kent, and Mershad followed the lead of the Midragardan’s steed, as Einar climbed upward and set off across the island.
Mershad felt himself at a great loss, as he did not know the means of guiding his steed. It occurred to him that the lack of instruction was precisely what the Midragardan had wanted. Einar had purposely left the otherworlders ill-prepared, as an extra safeguard, in the case of reticence or resistance during a situation like the present. Even Derek was locked into the course set for them by Einar. Among his capabilities, the Midragardan warrior was certainly gifted with foresight and shrewdness.
Einar led them on a route that meandered up north, taking them along the western side of the island. It seemed like a long and circuitous route to take, but Mershad surmised that the warrior had his reasons.
They continued to gain altitude as they flew. Mershad kept his feet pressed firmly into the iron stirrups, even as he felt the pressure increasing on his lower back where he was thrust back by the steep incline. Mershad’s heart raced, and he found himself glancing back over his shoulder time and time again. He hoped that there were no errors with the saddle straps, fearing that he would slide off the back of the Fenraren at any moment.
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