Daughter of the Windswept Hills

by A. S. Warwick

  "The lowlander will sting from this rebuke," Aifgar stated. "He will attempt it again, and with more men at his back, I foresee."

  "I am sure that he will, which is why we must send a message to the lowlanders to remind them what happens to those that transgress upon Aedring lands. We shall send word to the clans, to bring them together and then we will go to Abas Sul and punish them by such means that it shall be long ere they attempt such an outrage again."

  "What of I, grandfather?" Fianna asked.

  Hraega gazed upon his granddaughter, his expressions unreadable. "You know our customs and our law, and you know that they can not be broken, no matter the circumstances. I can do no else but to pronounces your exile for the period of five years. Given what you did for the clan, that you sacrificed your honour for it, we shall likewise honour you. You shall march with us to Abas Sul, and take pride of place in the assault upon it. And when it comes time for you to leave us after the punishment has been delivered upon the lowlanders, we shall send you on your way with gifts and sing the praises of your name so that none may forget you or your deeds."

  * * * * *

  6 – I Will Prove My Honour

  It took the better part of two weeks for the word to go out and the clans to assemble, coming in from all along the hills that made up the Aedring lands. With dozens of clans in attendance, carrying many more feuds and disputes than that between them, the air around the gathering hung charged with potential and possibility. Through hard work, perseverance and even a few threats, Hraega kept it all together, for, despite their differences, the Aedring brooked no interference in their lands or ways by lowlanders. An attack on one, even a despised foe, was an attack on all.

  It did not prevent arguments or disagreements though, and Fianna found herself at the heart of them. By the traditions of their ways, Hraega, as chief of the wronged party, would lead the retaliatory attack, yet there were always those who would seek to take over that position, looking out for any means by which to do it. And in Fianna, some think they had found it.

  One short brawny chief approached Hraega early on as the gathering started, Rafgar of the Caedran, chief of the clan with whom Hraega's were feuding.

  "I have come as expected and required, Hraega," Rafgar announced, "But there are matters to discuss. You are not worthy to lead this raid."

  Hraega folded his broad arms across his chest. "And what makes you think that, Rafgar?"

  The man jabbed an arm towards Fianna. "Her. She failed her initiation. All know of it. She should not be here, and yet she is. If you can not exile one of your own as I have had to, then you are not worthy to lead this raid."

  "You let me worry about my own, Rafgar, and you worry about yours. Her exile has already been announced, but she is still Aedring and will take part in the raid, with pride of place."

  "And yet she still lives among you. You are going soft, and a soft man can not lead."

  Hraega's face grew harder yet, his eyes like frozen daggers. "Are you challenging my authority to lead, Rafgar?"

  "I am, Hraega," Rafgar confirmed, a grim smile touching his face. "I, at least, hold to the ways of the Aedring, and by those traditions I call you out to prove your worth."

  "We have enemies enough to deal with without the need for this too, Rafgar."

  "Are you that far gone to honour that you will not take up the challenge?"

  Hraega's eyes narrowed and then he gave a brief nod. "I will meet you, Rafgar, and I will prove my honour for all to see."

  * * * * *

  7 – Honour Is Satisfied

  A vast multitude from all the clans of the Aedring assembled to watch as the two chiefs met, to settle the dispute as to who would lead the raid, and of the status of Fianna in it.

  "He is right, grandfather," Fianna told Hraega. "I should have left the village already, gone into exile as it was meant to be. I am at fault in this."

  "Is this what you think?" Hraega asked. He loosed his muscles by swinging his hammer around in whirling arcs. "This dispute has been a long time brewing. One way or another, Rafgar would have found an excuse to challenge me. It was unavoidable."

  A roar sounded from the throng as the two men stepped forward into a ring formed by the watchers. Hraega wore his shirt of bronze scales and carried his hammer, while Rafgar was in iron mail, carrying an axe and shield.

  Cautiously the pair began to circle around each other, watching out with the wariness of a prowling wolf. They moved with the grace of hunting cats, all sleek and flowing. Rafgar was first to attack, letting forth a roar as he leapt at Hraega, his axe cutting a glittering arc through the air. Hraega was not there though, dancing aside with the instincts honed from birth in a harsh land and the blow cut through naught but air. Rafgar leapt back again after his strike had missed, tapping his axe to the iron rim of his shield.

  "Yield to me and you will live," Rafgar told Hraega. "You will be banished, as is customary, but you will not die this day."

  Hraega laughed long and loud, throwing scorn upon the idea. "To live in banishment after surrender is not to live as Aedring. There can be honour in exile, but not the way you propose. I would die rather than to betray my position as leader to you."

  "Then die you shall, and still I will lead." Rafgar promised.

  Hraega was then upon him, with swift strides across the uneven ground to close the distance and his great hammer came crashing down. Rafgar took the blow upon the shield, but such was the force of the blow that it shattered. Rafgar tossed the remnants of it aside, clenching the fist of his shield arm tight. His axe swung low and caught Hraega in the side, though the scales of his armour took the strike and resisted. Even so Hraega growled like a trapped beast and stepped back.

  Both men were cautious now, having taken blows and injuries, even if no others could see them. Hraega whirled his hammer about and leapt forward with a shout. He smote full at Rafgar, yet the man had moved aside so that the hammer slammed into the ground. An axe swung at Haega and he was forced to duck beneath it, letting it whistle just above his head. A boot lashed out, glancing off Rafgar's leg, even as Hraega heaved his hammer back up form the ground.

  For a moment the two men paused again and took stock, their chests heaving as they breathed in. Both had taken the measure of the man across from them, knowing now that this was no easy thing, and that the result would be decided more likely than not by a simple mistake or random luck.

  Rafgar came charging in again, intent on ending it quickly so that it did not drag on, to lessen the chance of an accident interfering. A series of axe blows hammered in at Hraega, who turned them aside with the heavy handle of his hammer, each strike cutting notches into it.

  The end came so quick that few had time to see it, only the aftermath. An axe blow rained down, just one more in the onslaught, caught upon the handle, but before Rafgar could recover, Hraega swung the end of the handle into his opponent's face, smashing it open. As the rival chief staggered back, Hraega tightened the grip on the hammer and crashed it down on Rafgar's head, reducing it to a bloody pulp of shattered bone and teeth and grey matter.

  Rafgar fell backwards, the only sound to be heard over the silence of the observers that of his body hitting the ground.

  Hraega looked steadily around at the gathered hillsmen. "Honour is satisfied," he told them.

  "Honour is satisfied, as we bear witness," they responded in the time honoured way.

  Hraega strode away as men of Rafgar's clan came to recover his body, and more importantly, his arms and armour.

  "He almost had me there," Hraega grunted as he rejoined his clan. "He may have broken a rib or two as well. Little matter like that won't stop me though. Tomorrow we march."

  * * * * *

  8 – The Aedring March

  It dawned grey with the arrival of the following day, rolling clouds sweeping down from the mountains and across the hills, while distant peals of thunder rumbled ominously over the pea
ks. Down from the hills marched the implacable host of the gathered Aedring, numbering in their hundreds, even unto a thousand, making for the Ishmarite city of Abas Sul. Hraega led them, his hammer over his shoulder. Beneath his armour his ribs had been taped up tight, though he did not let them slow him down, marching on stolidly. Fianna accompanied him at the front of the advance, while their clan took the vanguard, as was their right by tradition.

  They were a fearsome sight to behold, men and women of all ages, wiry, hard faced, toughened by the elements and the wilds of the hills and a thousand generations of barbarian heritage, outsiders to the civilised races of the lowland cities. Each bore unique arms and harness so that the whole was a mass of weapons of dozens of varieties, bristling with spikes and shafts and more.

  Long had it been since the lowlanders had suffered a raid of such magnitude, such unstoppable fury and vengeance, for the Aedring were proud of the individualism and freedom, bowing to none, and jealous of their lands and heritage. When they followed, it was out of honour, respect and strength.

  Around the foothills none dared live, for any who tried to do so found their lands raided, their crops and livestock stolen and their dwelling burned. Those who fought died, but those who didn't were simply expelled, for the Aedring did not believe in slavery, nor cruelty for cruelties sake. They would not brook others living on what they considered their lands though.

  Seldom did the Aedring come down into those lands either, for the cities sent regular patrols of horse to sweep across them, and ever had cavalry troubled the Aedring. Each clan was too few in number to fight off the cities alone, and rare it was that they come together. Thus the lands were left wild and untamed and unclaimed.

  This raid, though, was from no single village or clan, but the collective might of the Aedring, in numbers not great enough to fight off a coalition of cities, but enough that one city alone would fall to them, its riches plundered, enough for a generation.

  The first day of marching went uneventful, and not until early in their second day did they come across their first signs of civilisation upon the plains. By the banks of one of the tributaries that fed the great river of Far'hadal, a recently built watchtower stood, overlooking a cluster of small wooden buildings. Great piles of lumber were stacked among them, taken from a nearby small forest, where could be seen the evidence of axes at work, for its eaves had been pushed back.

  As they drew closer, from the tower came the report of a horn, sounding long warning blasts.

  "Forward!" Hraega bellowed in response.

  With echoing shouts, the Aedring masses surged forward without semblance of order, running hard as they swarmed towards the small outpost. Spears and swords, hammers and axes were shaken in the air and the ground rumbled beneath their feet. As Fianna ran alongside them, she could see activity among the buildings. Men spilled from them, and from the watchtower, racing down towards the tributary. A boat had been moored there, half loaded with timber, into which the men piled, scrambling for safety.

  "They flee by boat!" she called out. "They will warn Abas Sul."

  Hraega laughed as he reached the edge of the outpost, watching as desperate men poled away from the shore and out into the current, ducking low behind the sides of the boat to find what cover they could. The current caught them and tugged them along, drawing them away from the Aedring.

  "This leads not to Abas Sul," Hraega told her, "But to an Akuvian city, Colanium. They are no friends of Abas Sul, and will send no warning to her."

  A splintering crash came from nearby as the Aedring hillsmen overran the outpost, taking axes to doors to break into the buildings.

  "No fires!" Hraega bellowed. "Warn the fools to start no fires else our presence will be given away to Abas Sul."

  They found the outpost completely abandoned. No man had been willing to risk their lives against the Aedring for such a place. The Aedring thoroughly ransacked it, leaving it a broken, shattered remnant of what it had been. Any loot discovered was dragged out and laid before Hraega for his clan to hold onto. Once they had returned to the hills, Hraega would see it split evenly between the clans.

  When at last the place had been reduced to a memory, they headed off for Abas Sul once more.

  * * * * *

  9 – First Blood

  The first riders out of Abas Sul met them short of the walls of the small city, a dozen men on wiry horses. They were alike in appearance, in spiked helms, and armour of silks and irons. Curved scimitars were at their sides, lances and small shields in hand and from their saddles hung quivers of arrows, as well as short composite horsebows. The riders took one look at the oncoming Aedring and drove their lances into the ground. They drew their horsebows and strung arrows to them. Riding in closer to the Aedring, they wheeled about at the last moment, sending arrows flickering through the air to rain down upon the body of the hillsmen. Few arrows there were, but they sent flight after flight, all the while guiding their horses with their legs to keep them at range. The arrows dropped into the mass of men and women, here and there defeating shield and armour to slay a man, but few they were in comparison to those they faced, some of whom carried bows of their own.

  The Aedring sent their arrows back towards the riders, thought their bows lacked the strength and range of those carried by the riders, for they were not Ishmarites, but their desert cousins, the Hashalites, experts with horse and bow and nearly as untamed and wild as the Aedring. Yet the arrows were not without success against them, and rained down in numbers. First one man fell, then another, feathered shafts protruding from them. When a fourth had fallen, the remaining men wheeled about one last time, riding away. They snatched up their lances as they went, headed back for Abas Sul.

  On came the hordes of the Aedring, towards the city, an inexorable tide that could not be stopped. All that stood before it would be swept away. As the riders streamed back into Abas Sul, the gates were shut behind them. Horns sounded up and down the length of it, sounding warning and calling men to arms. Yet not the entirety of the city lay secure within the walls, for it had spilled out beyond that protection as the city grew, and into the ramshackle maze of houses came the Aedring. Not all had been able to make the safety of the city, and among the houses battles were fought and blood spilled. Buildings were set to the torch and soon the city was ringed with an inferno of flames and smoke.

  Those who would not fight streamed away from the flames, hounded by grim Aedring warriors, left to flee out onto the plains. All manner of loot they took from the city before it had caught aflame, anything of value they could find. Money, ale and wine, carpets and cookware, bags of grain and vegetables, dried meats and cheeses, all that and more they took and piled before the feet of Hraega.

  And as the fires raged and the pillars of smoke billowed high into the sky, Hraega stood on the banks of Far'hadal and watched it all and planned. It took a long time for the fires to burn out, but once the outer town had been reduced to smouldering ashes, he sent forth a herald to speak with the defenders.

  "This is what Hraega of the Aedring says to you," the herald called out in a loud, thunderous voice. "You have wronged us by your actions, and the devices of your sheik, Mashraf. Therefore your city and all that it contains is forfeit to us. Surrender now and all who are within shall be spared, but for the sheik. Any who resist will be put to the sword and the city reduced to rubble."

  But the herald was met with naught but jeers, and arrows, for some upon the wall were without honour. They saw that the walls stood strong and tall, and those upon it were confident that it could hold, as the Aedring had no weapons of war to siege them with. Their actions the Aedring remembered, and it was held against them as further proof of their sins.

  * * * * *

  10 – We All Of Us Die

  Night blanketed the lands, with a few stars shimmering through patches of clear sky in the clouds. The moon had not risen, and so all remained in a deep gloom. The lingering scent of
smoke and ash hung in a still air. From the walls of the city, the defenders of Abas Sul dropped burning bundles of wood and rags and pitch, illuminating the area around the walls so that the Aedring could not approach during the night. Not all of the walls were covered, for the land dipped and rose in parts that proved difficult for the light of the flames to reach. Through these areas the Aedring were moving up, with all the stealth of wild animals, silent and unseen. Some had made their way down to the river, slipping into the water and wading along the banks with nary a sound or ripple to betray them. They carried with them ropes and muffled grapples with which to climb the walls. Out in the dark beyond the city, most of the Aedring waited until the small teams had scaled the walls and readied the way for them.

  Fianna led the team at the river, pushing her way through the cold waters from the north, headed towards the walls which showed dark against the night's sky. The river approach had been badly illuminated by the fiery bundles, giving them a way to the walls through the river that would minimise any chances of being spotted. A small band of around a dozen, they moved slowly, with a great deal of care, yet they made the walls with nary a sound, or a shout of warning.

  The river gates had been dropped, barring entry through the river into the city, much as had been expected. Fianna led her band up out of the water, right up to the base of the wall. Ropes were unwound and made ready. Strong arms twirled them about and then cast them aloft. They sailed up through the air and fell over the parapets. The muffled grapples landed without giving away the presence of those below. Hauling back on the ropes, the hooks caught. Fianna swarmed up the first rope with the grace of one who had learnt to climb in rugged hill country, her sword across her back. Around or behind her, the rest of the Aedring started to climb as well.