Dream of Legends

by Stephen Zimmer

  “Together!” Aethelstan shouted. “Stay together!”

  Many Saxans hastened to his call, forming large pockets of defense that were not so easily overwhelmed, as the shield wall fractured, and began to collapse. Archers and slingers, wherever possible, found their way to the centers of the defensive pockets. Out of arrows and stones, they looked around for anything that they could take up and wield, beyond the single-edged seaxes that a few of them carried.

  The weight of the enemy attack rapidly increased, and the spirits of the attackers were buoyed by the stark shift in momentum. Many of the pockets were completely encircled, as the battle transformed into a chaotic melee. Some Avanorans raced onward, as nothing stood between the battle lines and the non-combatants with the Saxan baggage train.

  Aethelstan looked on in horror, as an Avanoran knight brutally struck down a priest in the heat of his bloodlust, felling the clergyman even as he labored to assist a wounded Saxan. As if the knight’s battle-rage was not satiated by the vicious slaying, the Avanoran brought his mace up again, bringing it crashing down upon the head of the injured, defenseless Saxan. The impact emitted a sickening crunch that made Aethelstan’s blood run cold.

  As he struck down yet another enemy warrior, Aethelstan felt as if he was in the midst of a dark, terrible nightmare. It seemed as if time itself had come to a complete standstill. His eyes blazing with righteous fire, his sword flashed in the air, hewing down still another enemy fighter. Yet for every one brought down, it seemed as if two or three more rose to take their place.

  Another exuberant roar filled the air of the forest, and a quick look from the edge of the ridge showed another broad mass of enemy infantry charging up the slope. Aethelstan’s heart sank even lower. The enemy commander had seen that no surprises were forthcoming, and was now committing all of his reserves to finish off the Saxans in a decisive, pulverizing blow.

  It seemed as if there was no end to the swarming enemy force, and finally Aethelstan began to feel the drain of fatigue, as his body gradually wore down from the relentless fighting. His mind mercifully blocked out the situation, keeping a narrow vision focused towards the now-hopeless task at hand.

  He cried out in pain as the tip of an enemy sword glanced off his tiring defenses, opening a wide gash in his arm. The searing agony and loss of blood from the wound only compounded Aethelstan’s difficulties.

  His sword felt as if it grew heavier with each moment that passed, but a wellspring of resolve, bolstered by desperation and outrage, remained within him. Crying out with all of the fury that he could muster, he returned the blow with one of his own. A moment later, the Avanoran that had drawn his blood toppled to the ground lifeless.

  *

  EDMUND

  *

  “Aethelstan!”

  Edmund, along with every Himmeros rider left at his command, surged over the ridge on the Saxan right flank. They launched a ferocious attack upon the exposed enemy left flank. They charged along the ground, surprising the Trogens far over them, who had been trying to draw them up into the air.

  The Himmerosens’ talons and jaws, combined with the sharp lances and swords of their battle-fevered riders, were brought to bear heavily upon the Avanorans. Frantic cries and more horn signals filled the air, as the left flank of Avanor was shattered in the unrelenting wrath of the attack. Men scattered and dived aside, most trying to avoid the small band of riders upon Himmerosen. A few offered resistance, but any that were foolish enough to remain in the direct path of the Saxan tempest were cut down without mercy.

  Edmund guided his Himmeros swiftly towards Aethelstan, espying the Saxan thane trapped in a swirl of combat. Aethelstan’s wild eyes and matted hair gave testimony to the battle frenzy that had risen up within him. He gazed up at Edmund in the respite brought about by the Avanorans giving way to the sudden Himmerosen’s charge. Edmund knew that it would not last long.

  “Aethelstan, I will not leave you here! You must come with me!” Edmund shouted emphatically, in the tone of both an order as well as a plea.

  Aethelstan stared into Edmund’s eyes, and shook his head vigorously. He clenched his blood-drenched sword, and proceeded to stride right past Edmund, heading towards the regrouping Avanorans that had been splintered apart by the Himmeros-riding band.

  “Aethelstan, get on my Himmeros, now!” Edmund reiterated, reaching out to grasp the great thane’s shoulder.

  “I will fight on with my warriors!” Aethelstan growled at Edmund, forcefully shrugging off the grip.

  “We need your mind, Aethelstan! If you do not survive, then countless more Saxans will die because you needlessly fell here!” Edmund hastily pleaded.

  His impassioned entreaty was to no avail, as Aethelstan broke into a trot, closing with a few Avanoran horsemen that were besetting a patch of Saxan levymen. Aethelstan plunged into the fray, first slaying a mounted warrior, and then cutting down a foot soldier. His slowing reflexes allowed another glancing sword blow through, tearing across his left thigh.

  Edmund, frozen in indecision behind the battle, momentarily did not know how to proceed. His lord and dear friend, as close as a brother, was openly bleeding, and would soon fall beneath exhaustion and the weight of the far too numerous enemy. Frantic, he cast his eyes about to see where the other Himmeros-mounted warriors were located. Seeing two nearby, who were not yet engaged heavily in the fighting, he spurred his mount towards them.

  “Defend Aethelstan, I will get him out of here!” Edmund shouted at the pair.

  The two warriors moved with alacrity to attend to the task, getting their steeds into a position where they were on either side of Aethelstan. Using their lances, they drove back a number of enemy warriors. Edmund guided his Himmeros in closer behind Aethelstan, who continued to strike fiercely at the enemy fighters.

  He was slowing down as Edmund watched, and would not be able to sustain his effectiveness for much longer. A killing blow could land at any instant, the likelihood greatly increased as Aethelstan’s defenses continued to deteriorate.

  Edmund’ heart nearly stopped, for as he drew near, an enemy axe narrowly missed Aethelstan’s neck. As the gallant warrior stood up from where he had crouched to avoid the strike, a blow from a short-handled axe held by another mounted warrior caught him on the left side of his helm.

  Fortunately, the blow was not direct, or balanced, and did not impact fully. Aethelstan, rendered unconscious nonetheless, instantly had his legs fall out from under him as he crumpled heavily to the ground.

  “Protect him!” Edmund frantically implored.

  The two warriors to either side of Aethelstan attacked the enemy soldier who had landed the blow. Their selfless movement, though, left them exposed for a brief moment to enemy attack. One of the Saxan sky riders was struck with a mortal blow, from a spear wielded by one of the enemy’s infantry, but not before the axe-wielder was stilled.

  Edmund gripped the reins of his Himmeros tightly, guiding the creature up to where Aethelstan lay oblivious. Hopping off of his saddle, he gingerly gripped his lord and comrade, lifting the great thane with a burst of exertion borne from sheer desperation. Edmund lay Aethelstan across the back of his steed, placing him just in front of where the sky warrior sat in his saddle. Carefully, Edmund remounted, and did not waste another moment as he turned his steed. He knew that he could not likely go up into the sky, but the steed was more than strong enough to bear the additional weight along the ground level.

  Upon sight of Edmund being occupied with Aethelstan’s inert body, several other Himmeros-mounted warriors moved in, providing him with a makeshift escort of seven. Risking arrows, but keeping to the back of the ridge, the group of eight turned their backs as they trotted away from the edge of the maelstrom. Building up speed, they streaked deeper into the forest, soon bounding amongst the trees.

  Their hurried movements did not go unnoticed by the Trogens monitoring the battle overhead, however, as was evidenced by a new round of cries emanating from the airborne observers
. Several Trogens upon Harraks streamed downwards, intent on cutting into their Saxan counterparts.

  They had seen the group of Himmerosen moving to escape together, positioned around the rider bearing the wounded warrior. It took little insight to assume the importance of the coordinated movement.

  Five of the Saxans, knowing that they could gain some additional time for Edmund, whirled about to meet the oncoming Trogens. The other two continued forward with Edmund, who was eager to put more distance between them.

  The ploy worked, as each of the five Saxans put up a furious fight, in an ultimate sacrifice, taking a few of the landing Trogens with them as they fell one by one into death’s embrace. Their resistance stalled the pursuit long enough so that Edmund and the others were able to continue forward under the denser tree cover. Once under the more solid canopy of foliage away from the ridge, their movements were well-shielded from the searching eyes of the Trogens remaining above in the sky.

  After some time had passed, and the steeds were breathing heavily, Edmund gave the command for the trio to slow down as he espied the emergency landmark that he had kept embedded within his mind, ever since an earlier scouting foray. Seeing the small cave opening set towards the bottom of a hillside, he dismounted, and asked for one of the others to assist him in helping to carry Aethelstan over to the mouth of the cave.

  They moved with as much haste as possible, not knowing how long they had until the Trogens located them again. Edmund hoped that the Trogens had lost interest, or were more tethered to the main battle site.

  The cave was just big enough for the warriors and their steeds to enter. For the time being, they would be safe from the enemy forces, if they had not been tracked from the sky, but Edmund knew that it would not be a permanent refuge.

  Having traveled along the ground, the Himmerosen had undoubtedly left distinctive tracks behind. After the enemy had concluded the fighting along the ridge, the unique imprints would be found sooner or later, and they would lead the enemy right to the maw of the cave. Nevertheless, Edmund had to see to the state of Aethelstan’s condition, and needed a little time to regroup his thoughts.

  As fast as they could, taking packs and cloaks from their steeds, the Saxans fashioned a crude bed upon which Aethelstan could rest. They gently carried their unconscious leader, entirely a dead weight, over to the makeshift bed, and lay him down upon it.

  Almost at once, Edmund began to tend to Aethelstan’s wounds, working to bandage them, and stem the bleeding. The other two warriors kept a constant eye on the mouth of the cave. Edmund feared that at any moment the sound of angry Trogens, successfully discovering their hiding place, would reach his ears.

  The fighters’ weapons were out and close at hand, although they would be of little use if they were all cornered within the cave. Edmund now keenly understood the awful plight of the rabbit facing the cunning fox.

  Perhaps they would be passed over for the moment, if they were very still. If they were discovered anytime soon, then Edmund knew that they would have little chance of survival.

  *

  WULFSTAN

  *

  Many Saxans fell under the hail of arrows, including several from the villages within Wulfstan’s home region. The enemy horse archers had made many deadly passes, evoking a tremendous respect for their skill, dexterity, and the great power of their smaller recurved bows.

  The composite bows used by the enemy archers, both mounted and within the hosts of infantry, were devastating weapons. Wulfstan witnessed several instances where arrows from such bows had pierced right through iron mail, despite being loosed from what he would have initially thought to be a reasonably safe distance for the Saxans. More than one thane had been grievously wounded or killed by the mail-penetrating shafts.

  The thundering drums continued to roll as the veiled spearmen in the front ranks maintained their wall of tall hide shields. They provided a refuge for the horse archers sallying forth to harass the Saxans, as well as a barricade for the infantry bowmen engaged in showering the defenders with a lethal rain.

  Just when it seemed to Wulfstan that the Saxans would have to outlast the enemy’s supply of arrows, the timbre of the drumming changed. A rhythmic surge of powerful booms accompanied the sonorous braying of horns, and Wulfstan knew that a marked shift in the attack was about to occur.

  The horse archers swiftly looped back around, and reentered the narrow openings in the shield wall created for them by the spearmen. The latter promptly closed their ranks when the last of the horses were securely through.

  The huge wall of spearmen lurched into motion, tromping forward in a disciplined line, as the tremors rippling through the ground grew beneath Wulfstan’s feet. The foremost ranks of the enemy drew to a halt several paces before coming into contact with the Saxan lines, as warriors deeper in their ranks began to add hurled javelins to the mass of arrows still soaring overhead.

  With the closer positioning of the enemy lines, the impressive range of their composite bows reached even deeper into the Saxan ranks, as the first of the javelins flew in high arcs over the shield wall. The head of one javelin buried itself in the small gap of space between Wulfstan and Cenwald, who flinched at the quick hiss and ensuing thud of the impact.

  The narrowing of ground between the opposing forces also benefitted the Saxans, who were finally able to draw blood. Saxan horns blasted, and the shouts of thanes went up, as their own archers, slingers, and javelin throwers unleashed a ferocious response. Flurries of missiles arced high over the tall shields of the enemy line to fall down within the Andamooran ranks. Cries of pain erupted in the wake of the retaliating hail, and a deafening cheer went up among the Saxans.

  Wulfstan’s sword grip was on the edge of turning his knuckles white, as he was still largely helpless during the current course of the battle. He kept his mind steeled upon keeping his shield raised up, knowing that even a moment’s lapse in concentration could be deadly.

  The shield itself was already a little heavier, as an arrow shaft was embedded into one of the lime-wood planks. The thwack of the arrow, as it burrowed into the wood, had caused Wulfstan’s heart to skip a beat. He had uttered a brief prayer of thanks to the All-Father for having the good fortune to possess a shield of modest quality.

  He could only imagine what the highly exposed, vulnerable levy men towards the rear of the Saxan lines were going through in their minds. There were probably several men huddling together under each of the few old, battered shields held amongst their ranks.

  After the first wave of javelins, Wulfstan angled his shield a little higher. The downward trajectory of the javelin stuck in the ground by his right leg prompted him to make the adjustment, as it would have made it past the rim of his shield in its former position, had the thrower’s aim been a little more to the right. Another deep thud of steel into wood sounded. A quick sideways glance revealed a wide-eyed Cenwald, who had just caught one of the thrown missiles with his own shield.

  “It can do you no harm, while you keep behind your shield,” Wulfstan said to Cenwald, while trying to keep his own nerves steady.

  Just in front of him, he could see the tensed forms of many axe-bearing household guards, who were tantalizingly close to being able to strike at the enemy. Thanes cried out exhortations to keep the shield wall tight.

  The sky above was blurred with the streams of missiles flying back and forth. There was little to do but wait, for either the thanes to call for a march forward, or for the enemy to do something similar. The inaction was torturous to endure, as the lethal torrents continued to exact a bloody toll upon the Saxans. The only consolation was that cries continued to arise from the enemy’s ranks, too, derived from Saxan arrows, javelins, and sling-stones.

  The sound of a muffled gasp emitted suddenly from behind Wulfstan, as a javelin claimed the life of a man with gray-streaked locks of hair. He felt the man’s body bump against the back of his legs, as the dead Saxan slumped to the ground.

  Wulfstan recogniz
ed the fallen levyman. He had known the family, and he was aware of the terrible price that had just been paid. In one flashing moment, seven Saxan children had lost their father, and a generous, warm-hearted woman had lost a caring, hard-working husband.

  Wulfstan hardened his mind, as the pang of sorrow bit sharply into him, forcing himself to keep his focus squarely on the battle at hand. There would be time enough to agonize over the horrible fragility of life, and the mounting losses around him that were far from over. He quickly reset his feet, sliding about half a pace to his left. Tripping on a fallen body, in the midst of combat, could easily mean a quick death.

  “Watch your step,” he called to Cenwald with a downward glance towards the body. Cenwald’s expression showed that he understood the warning, as he nodded back to Wulfstan.

  The ground then reverberated with the thrumming sound of a great mass of hooves striking the earth. Wulfstan chanced a glance around the edge of his shield, elated to see a force of Saxan horsemen charging into the zone between the two opposing forces. He could see the mounted warriors flowing across his view, just above the heads of the Saxan warriors forming the front line.

  The mounted Saxans hurled javelins as they neared the enemy, bringing the horses around quickly to angle back for the Saxan ranks. Wulfstan watched their arms rear back and snap forward, sending iron-tipped shafts whistling into the dense, enemy ranks.

  Simultaneously, as if it was the signal the enemy had been waiting for, the wall of spearmen surged forward to engage the Saxan cavalry. Bait had been taken, as Wulfstan witnessed a keen strategy unfurling.

  The famed warriors of Bretica, bearing the proud standards of Count Gerard II, suddenly emerged from behind the lighter, javelin-throwing horsemen. Their horses, resplendent and proud in their trappers of iron scales, gleamed brightly as they bore down heavily upon the freshly-opened channels in the Andamooran ranks. Their stalwart riders, mirroring the steeds in their own scale armor, held spears in high overhand grips, or underhanded ones out from their bodies. Others carried swords, holding them high in the air as they cried out loudly, charging into the fray.