Dream of Legends

by Stephen Zimmer

  Dragol looked up for a second, catching the penetrating gaze of the old man’s deep blue eye. He was not entirely convinced that the old man’s question pertained to simply his physical plans in the forest.

  “I do not know,” Dragol answered. “I just have to find my way back.”

  “Mind if I travel with you for awhile?” the old man asked calmly.

  Dragol thought about the request for a moment, before slowly nodding. The man had given him no reason to worry about traveling with him, but all the same, Dragol knew that the old man was not a friend to the forces invading the lands of the Five Realms. “You can travel with me if you wish, but know that I am trying to make it back to my own kind.”

  The old man smiled. “There are many paths back to one’s own kind. You are not limited to just one road.”

  “Your ways are maddening, old man,” Dragol grumbled, nonplussed.

  “All things in time,” the blue-cloaked traveler remarked brightly.

  “And you are not worried about traveling with one of the enemy?” Dragol asked him.

  “Are you my enemy?” the elderly man asked him pointedly.

  “Only if you choose to make me so,” Dragol responded evenly.

  “Then no,” he replied. “So I am not worried in the least.”

  “Then it is best that we set off while there is still good daylight remaining,” Dragol responded, adding a glance upwards, towards the sun, for emphasis.

  He got to his feet, cutting a little more meat off of the Hyaed carcass to take along with him, placing the pieces into one of the large leather bags he carried. When finished, he cleaned off his dagger, and placed it back into the sheath hung horizontally on the right side of his waist.

  He retrieved his shield from where he had left it near the cave opening, cursing himself again for allowing it to get out of arm’s reach. He had not been able to avail himself of it when the Hyaed had emerged from the forest to drink at the pool. Even so, he felt a distinct sense of optimism. The old man’s relaxing presence was truly affecting the hulking Trogen.

  Dragol then walked slowly over to the old man, who had just gotten to his feet.

  “Do you know your way through these woods?” Dragol asked him.

  “I have traveled here before,” the old man answered, a reply that neither confirmed nor denied his level of familiarity with the particular woods around them.

  Dragol looked off through the trees, and up at the sky peeking through the branches overhead. “I want to head towards the south, and try to see what I can from the hilltops. Maybe I can find some sign of other Trogens. As long as we can get out of these woods without being killed.”

  “Then let us head towards the south,” the old man concurred amiably, giving no response to the second part of Dragol’s statement.

  Dragol started off slowly, so that the old man could keep up with him. He then started to increase his gait, making sure that the old man could still match his stride. Before long, he was walking at a forced march speed, as the old man effortlessly strode alongside him.

  “You keep your body in good condition. You seem to have better physical ability than humans half your age,” Dragol commented, marveling at the old man’s exceptional heartiness.

  The old man smiled, and laughed merrily. “And probably some younger than that. Few humans realize that there are things in this world that go far beyond age, and the merely physical aspects of life.”

  Again, Dragol had the distinct sense that the old man’s comments were not strictly confined to the issue that Dragol had brought to light.

  “You are not just talking about the physical, and you are not just physical, are you?” Dragol challenged his new traveling companion, deciding to put himself out on a limb.

  The old man’s wry smile was an answer in itself. “You are perceptive, Dragol. In time you will know more, but you are right in both of your queries.”

  Dragol regarded the old man for a moment, allowing himself to look deeper into the old man’s eye. He had looked into the eyes of thousands of warriors, and he knew very well how to read the look in an eye. Time after time, he had ferreted out hostilities, rebellious flares, and deception, all because he had bothered to study the nuances within a gaze.

  The look in the old man’s eye, as he let himself reach into its depths, took him off guard. There was absolutely no hint of a threat there, or any hidden natures. Even so, there was a quiet strength that pulsed just beneath the surface. It was the type of strength that Dragol could respect, for it centered upon fortitude, and unwavering commitment. He also felt that the old man’s eye contained a look that he had only seen in two individuals in his entire life; his mother and his father.

  He also felt unusually secure in the old man’s presence, an uncanny sense that was almost as if there would be no attacks or threats that could harm him, as long as the old man was with him. The perceptions were utterly strange, but Dragol was not about to quibble, stranded as he was within a land whose inhabitants would give him a less than enthusiastic greeting.

  Dragol shook his head, and his lips pulled back in the Trogen version of a smile. It was all mystifying, but, then again, nothing in life had ever made much sense to the stalwart Trogen.

  SECTION VII

  *

  AELFRIC

  *

  The second day advanced without respite out on the Plains of Athelney, as a maelstrom spread wide under the cool, clear skies hovering above the battlefield. The Saxan reserve force gathered around the great dragon standard of King Alcuin remained firmly in place, under the leadership of Prince Aidan, allowing Aelfric to rove freely behind the long lines of the steel-bristling shield wall. He had just finished inspecting the Saxan right flank, giving great scrutiny to the condition of the enemy opposite it.

  The Andamoorans had arrayed a solid line of rectangular, hide shields, seeming content to present a forest of spears, gripped by the veiled men who kneeled down just behind the shields. A few passes of horse archers at the edge of their arrows’ range was about the only gesture of offense from the badly mauled Andamooran ranks.

  Aelfric had little doubt that the enemy’s left flank would be licking its wounds after suffering tremendous casualties during the previous day’s fighting. They were not likely to take any unnecessary chances, whittled down as they were. The stalemate was beneficial to Aelfric, giving him one less thing to worry about, so that he could turn his focus more squarely towards the other areas of the battle.

  Guiding Midnight, he trotted back towards the center of the Saxan line, nodding in acknowledgement of the many men hailing him as he passed by. Only a handful of his household retinue rode along with Aelfric, as most were positioned at the heart of the shield wall.

  The Avanorans had been forced to divert their efforts on the previous day, but no such repeat would be likely on the new one. With the invader’s weakened left flank, Aelfric expected a powerful thrust to come from the enemy center.

  A group of heavy cavalry, mounted upon horses wearing bards of scale armor, were clustered together a short distance ahead of him, with one of their number set a few paces forward from the rest. Aelfric drew up the reins as he approached them, eliciting a curt snort from Midnight.

  Count Gerard II stared out silently over the battlefield, gazing off in the direction of the massed Avanoran ranks, just opposite his force. His face was impassive, but the look in his eye was forged of iron.

  “They are going to move upon us soon,” Count Gerard commented, as Aelfric neared him, keeping his face fixed forward. “I think you will enjoy this, if they choose to try the methods that won them the kingdom of Norengal.”

  “Those monstrous beasts they ride, if you can call them horses, can surely shove our men back, if that’s what you mean,” Aelfric said, reflecting on what he knew of the Avanoran methods of war.

  The Avanorans’ heavy horse would not charge into a solid spear wall. No horse, even the most frothing, cantankerous war stallion, could be coaxed into a
nything so blatantly suicidal. That only left a few options if the Avanorans hoped to employ their formidable knights on horseback.

  One option was to punch holes in the shield wall using men on foot. Once breaches were made, mounted cavalry could then exploit them, a tried and true method that was certainly within their capabilities.

  There was another tactic, and it was the one that Count Gerard was apparently expecting; a disciplined formation, slow, deliberate, and cohesive. One where the ends of their extended lances would be pushed against the Saxan shields, with the force generated by the brawny war stallions that they rode.

  Breaches would be created with the exceptional physical power of the war destriers, jostling and shoving the men in the shield wall back and aside. The horses could be cajoled into cooperating with such a tactic, and their strength would be too much for any normal man to long withstand.

  Aelfric was still more than a little perplexed at Count Gerard’s manner earlier that morning, especially the Count’s unyielding insistence that he bring the bulk of his cavalry to assemble at the Saxan center. He had gotten Aelfric to promise not to send the Saxan forces forward in the center, under any circumstances, at least beyond where some conspicuous white stones had been placed on the ground far in front of the shield wall. Aelfric knew that Count Gerard was anticipating the enemy to attack the center with near certitude, and he also understood that there was a tactical countermeasure in place.

  The blaring of multitudes of war horns called Aelfric’s attentions back to the battlefield. A forest of knightly pennons and baronial gonfalons were surging towards the Saxan center. At the moment, there was a screening line of heavy infantry, archers, and crossbowmen, but they were not a cause for concern. The real nexus of the force was contained in the sleek, muscular forms of the warhorses, and the glinting armor of their knightly riders.

  Aelfric found that he was getting more acclimated to the shaking of the ground, though he could see the jarring effect that it had on the morale of the peasant levies arrayed behind the shield wall. The sight of their extreme agitation gave him some cause for concern. There had been many replacements put into the shield wall for the second day of fighting, with so many thanes and household guards falling on the first. Most replacements on the face of the shield wall were still well-equipped thanes and ceorls, but it would not be much longer before simple peasants would be asked to hold shields, to ensure a continuous, unbroken line.

  Aelfric banished the fears rising up within him, as that moment was not yet upon the Saxan defenders. Turning his head, he looked off towards the left, to see whether he could gain some hint as to what was transpiring on the left Saxan flank.

  The forces of Ehrengard were again deployed in a conservative posture. On the Ehrengardianardan far right was the enormous, shielding hedge of Halmlander pikemen, like the bristling back of some giant porcupine, curled to protect an assemblage of knights sheltered within the underbelly of its center.

  Masses of infantry, like an adjacent shield wall, provided a further line of protection all the way down to the center where the Avanorans were positioned. As before, large pockets of the kettle-helmed archers and crossbowmen emerged to the fore of the line, to loose sporadic volleys of arrows and bolts at the Saxans opposite them. Ranks of heavy cavalry behind both infantry and missile troops appeared content to remain in place under their fluttering banners.

  For the time being, the Ehrengardians would not likely be a major concern, though the dense, spiky formation on their far right continued to worry Aelfric greatly. He reverted his attention back to the center. Peering ahead at the oncoming lines of Avanorans, he quietly took several steady, slow breaths. He could see a large number of Saxan archers gathered behind the shield wall, and knew that the enemy forces would be well-greeted when they reached the barrier of overlapping, wooden shields.

  Arrows had been dutifully collected wherever they had remained intact, after descending in the enemy rain on the first day of fighting. Weaponry, shields, and armor had been stripped from fallen enemies, as non-combatants labored to pull as many of the Saxan dead from the battlefield as they could. Often, they came within just paces of their counterparts from the enemy encampments, though the tense truce that allowed for dealing with the wounded and slain held in place.

  Aelfric was grateful for the diligence taken in adhering to his wishes for that first night. The Saxan archers would have a prodigious quantity of arrows to use in the second day’s fighting, both from their own stores, as well as those collected from the enemy. It was one small reward gleaned from enduring the seemingly endless volleys of the previous day. Many of Saxans had already notched their first arrows of the day on their bows, anxiously awaiting the commands to set them free.

  The Avanorans proceeded at a tight canter, controlled and relatively slow, as they drew closer to the Saxan lines. At a unified horn blast, as if in one motion, their great lances were lowered from their upright positions. The lances were secured in the couched technique that was such a distinguishing characteristic of the Avanoran knights.

  To Aelfric’s eyes, it looked like a solid wall of steel approaching upon a foundation of muscle, as horse and rider readied themselves to connect with the shields of the Saxan lines. They were just about within reach of the Saxan arrows, and Aelfric expected to hear their own horn signals and shouts resounding soon enough.

  Aelfric glanced over at the Bretican noble at his side. A smile was spreading across Count Gerard’s face, breaking into a chuckle as the plainly amused Count of Bretica looked upon the furrowed brows of worry surmounting Aelfric’s rigid, tensed expression.

  Looking at Aelfric the whole time, Count Gerard spoke loudly, to one of the horsemen in attendance upon him. “Ready the signals.”

  “Now I think that I just might have an idea as to what your men were heading out to do last night,” Aelfric said, as his brows gradually relaxed.

  He looked back out to the battlefield, his sight focusing in upon the white stones placed along a roughly even line. The stones were within the range of the Saxan bows, and though that might have factored into their placement, Aelfric knew that they signified something much more ominous for the enemy ranks.

  He looked back to Count Gerard, as the corners of his own mouth turned up in a subtle smile. The Count now had one of the most wry grins that he had ever seen, winking to Aelfric, before turning his head back towards the battlefield

  “Just an extra precaution for your center. My men took care of it last night, as you noticed. I hope you do not mind my initiative in this matter,” Count Gerard stated, as he settled himself in his saddle. He hefted up his circular shield, where it had been hanging from a guige strap on his left side. Reaching across his body, he drew his sword out, and held it high. “I will see you in a little while. It is time to greet these Avanorans properly.”

  It was about that moment that Count Gerard’s plan manifested. Aelfric’s spirit leaped, as he saw a considerable number of horses and riders in the forefront of the Avanoran ranks suddenly go tumbling down, falling out of his sight. He recognized that they had fallen into pits, which had been dug under Bretican supervision, carefully covered by turf, and marked by the small white stones.

  The Avanorans had encountered no pits the previous day, and were pressing a direct attack from the onset on the second. The pits were a brilliant move on the part of Count Gerard, and Aelfric wished that he could take a moment to congratulate the man’s genius.

  The Count had already moved onward, and horns were sounding among his own horsemen, as those manning a few areas of the Saxan shield wall parted aside to allow the riders through. Aelfric’s gratitude would have to wait for later, as there was an Avanoran harvest to reap.

  Confusion was rampant up and down the Avanoran lines. The back ranks, and those few knights in the front that had not fallen into one of the pits riddling the ground, jerked in panic on their reins, pulling their steeds to an abrupt halt.

  Many of those who had fallen into
the pits were badly injured in the avalanche of horses and men. Cries of man and beast emitted from the hollows, some pitiful, and others full of rage. A few knights who had freed themselves from their mounts were trying to scramble out of the pits, just as the Bretican cavalry emerged from the Saxan lines and counterattacked the Avanorans with brazen ferocity.

  The clash of steel erupted, swelling into its own chorus as a host of swords danced. Avanoran knights swiveled their mounts about to meet the unexpected onslaught, and to acquit themselves honorably. Sergeants and squires pressed forward wherever they could to aid the knights that they so dutifully accompanied and served.

  The Avanorans were not the only ones to press forward, as many thanes recognized the stagnation and severe disruption in the Avanoran advance. The advantage that the Avanorans held moving in tight, coordinated units had been cast into disarray. With masses of horses and men jammed together and constricted, without coordination, an irresistible opportunity arose.

  Aelfric dismounted quickly, as he watched the development unfolding, hurrying towards the shield wall the second that his shoes touched the ground. He called out to a number of his household guards and thanes, joining with a large throng hastening forward to the Saxan shield wall.

  A cluster of his elite household warriors surrounded him, as he moved with alacrity out onto the battlefield. They bore their long-hafted axes eagerly, intent on inflicting great damage to the Avanoran invaders. Raising his own sword high, Aelfric passionately exhorted them, as he felt the upsurge in adrenaline, conveying a tempest of fury throughout his body.

  The knights in the pits were at a terrible disadvantage as the Saxans on foot reached the edges of the earthen cavities. Swinging long axes, or thrusting and slashing broad-bladed spears downward, the Saxan defenders slew many of the hapless knights, delivering torrents of blows.

  “The mounts! Go for the mounts!” a thane close to Aelfric cried out to some of the axe-bearing men, who obliged the order with great rapidity.