“Here, here!” They all yelled as the five commanders spears crossed. Sur Sceaf grabbed their spear shafts in his right hand, proclaimed the blessings of Tyranus upon them and said, “So mote it be! In the name of the Gods, the Elves, and the Thunder Beings, go forth slaying and to slay.”
“We will make it so!” Ilkchild pressed his lips tightly together and this time saluted with his drawn sword.
* * *
It was pre-dawn and fog filled the wood and the meadows. One had to be very close to see the campfire of the two guards watching over the corral of children. Sur Sceaf and Mendaka waited with the dog soldiers hidden in the wood. From behind the Woon Stone they looked down on the pin holes of light coming from the enemy encampment. Mendaka cupped his hands to his lips and gave the call of a mourning dove, the signal for his elite stalkers to begin the rescue.
They waited for a half hour before the water gourd was empty. Perhaps another quarter on the second water gourd had emptied before the stalkers gave the same signal back that the children were procured from their imprisonment and were being taken to safety.
Sur Sceaf waited until the remainder of the gourd poured out, then signaled with a raven’s call to move into position. The light of dawn did very little to improve visibility. As Sur Sceaf took his position with Mendaka and the dog soldiers, they eased up to the wood near the horse corral. The pale Pitter horses were all corralled to the north and showed signs of poor fodder, with ribs showing, feet splintered and unshod, mangy coats, and an altogether ill-favored look.
He adjusted his camouflage and gave a sign to the dog soldiers to move closer to the camp through a fern embankment. Some Pitters, half asleep went to their campfires for warmth against the lingering damp mist. A few were engaged in gambling by tossing small stones, hitting them with first the back of their hands and then catching them in their palm, then laying down gold money and moving sticks in front of them. Most were clad in drab olive-khaki clothing with crude tattoos smeared over their arms, necks, and bald shaven heads. It surprised Sur Sceaf that none realized their guards over the prisoners had been slain and the captives whisked off to safety.
The leader apparent exited the black tent. Two women accompanied him. His gait suggested he had been drinking and was inebriated. One of the girls sported a black eye and had a rip on the sleeve of her grey smock. Discerning that she was Quailor lifted his hopes. She must have been in her early thirties, with long tawny hair. He recollected having seen her before, but did not recall a name. The other woman was an Idoan woman. Idoan women wore their hair cropped into a bowl cut that hung just below ear level. She had obviously adapted better to the harsh treatment, knowing to yield whereas the Quailor woman likely offered all she was capable of in resistance.
The Pitter leader bore the Mark of Seath on his forehead which had the appearance of a chicken track tattooed right between his beady transhuman eyes. He went directly for the fire pit, kicked in it to see if there were still coals, stirred the coals with a nearby stick then tossed some kindling and logs on it. The kindling soon took off and began a crackling fire. He turned quickly to shove the Quailor woman in the direction of the food packs and slapped the Idoan woman on the rump, ordering, “Get me some breakfast and make it fast. You stay alive only as long as you are useful. Nothing more. You’ll learn,” he paused long, then said, “or not.” Which lead to a bawdy laugh followed by a loud, “Sluts.”
Sur Sceaf whispered to Mendaka, “This bodes both good and evil.”
“You speak out of both sides of your mouth.” Mendaka whispered as he wrinkled his brow, straining to assess the lay out of the camp and positions of the guards better.
“This bodes well in that it reveals some of the Quailor from the Retrenchment Society survived the ordeal and are here. It bodes evil, because these women have been so sorely abused. The Quailor girl sports a black eye and her hair is let down, which is not their custom. A woman in their culture only puts her hair down in privacy with her husband. It is a great shame otherwise. I’m going to particularly enjoy killing that bastard in the black cowl.”
Mendaka nodded. “Our blades shall drink their share of blood before this day ends.”
As Sur Sceaf scanned the entire Pitter encampment, he saw fire after fire igniting. The other captive women were likewise pressed into tending fires and cooking, as if everyone had waited for the cue of the black cowled leader. He knew well enough that these women were all pressed into being camp whores at night and treated as garbage during the day. Throughout the camp captive Quailor men were gathering wood and feeding the horses with what fodder they could cut from the sparse forage on the edges of the forest. The guards shouted mean words and snapped a whip over their heads, despite the fact that they were laboring with their might.
The shrill bleat of a Pitter bugle caused Sur Sceaf to squeeze his tomahawk tight. It sounded a warning of general alarm. Someone had detected the young bloods.
He watched as the majority of the Pitter hell-rats dropped their plates and ran for their weapons. Some raced for their pale horses, others jumped over the corral fence, and several mounted without even saddling. Their pompous leader struggled to mount in his black cowl as he shouted commands to pursue someone.
The red arrow of war flew through the camp followed by a fusillade of other arrows being fired by Ilkchild’s young bloods, who were doing a splendid job of waiting to the last possible moment to stage their feigned retreat. To his great satisfaction, the Pitters had taken the bait. The few guards left behind to tend the camp took little more precaution than that of gathering the Quailor and camp whores into a cluster with the snaps of their whips.
Sur Sceaf signed to hold. He waited in crypsis until the sounds of hooves could no longer be heard. With one sharp sign of drawing the fingers in quickly to a fist, he signaled the attack. Employing their usual pin point accuracy, the dog soldiers sent swift arrows into the unsuspecting Pitter guards. The thundering of Sharaka ponies cut through the shouts as the dog soldiers rode down on the few remaining Pitters in an avalanche of tomahawks. Adept blows from Sharaka smashed the skulls of the fleeing enemy like pumpkins under sledge hammers.
The Quailor prisoners and the camp whores were in a state of utter shock. Only a few realized this was a rescue. Sur Sceaf swept into their camp with the dog soldiers and quickly dispatched the last of the remaining Pitter guards. Mendaka hurled a knife through the throat of one of the hell-rats that had lifted his bugle.
A creepy silence settled over the enemy’s encampment. Rat faced Pitters lie contorted and mangled all about the camp. Some of the camp whores were hugging each other and crying while the Quailor men and the women slowly came out from behind the trees to see if their abusers were indeed dead.
One of the young men, Fritz Walner, yelled, “I know him! It’s Lord Sur Sceaf of the Herewardi. Praise Gott, we are saved. Praise Gott, brethern we are saved.”
Sur Sceaf and Mendaka rode up next to Fritz. “Mendaka, see to it, some of your dog soldiers remain with and lead these lost sheep into our camp along with the children.”
The prisoners drew in closer. Some stared hollow-eyed, others wept, and all showed visible relief in their faces. He noted one of the Quailor women was with child and looked utterly bedraggled. How she had managed to survive the hardships of the trail and the abuses of her captors was a testimony to what hardy stock the Quailor were. He dismounted and put an arm around her shoulder to quiet her. “Be at peace, Sister, all will be well soon.”
“My lord, wilst thou please save my children?”
“We have them safely protected up the trail. They will join you soon.”
The woman with the torn sleeve was trying to cover her hair with her hand. Sur Sceaf handed her his scarf. As she quickly covered her hair, tears ran down her face. “My lord, these fiends have made our life a hell.”
A freckle faced man inquired of Sur Sceaf, “My lord, my lord, I am Gustav Richter, is my family alright?”
“I’m sorry I don’t
have that information yet and there is no time to tarry. We must pursue the enemy. What I can tell you, is that there were survivors of the Retrenchers and they are now at Glide Garth. Soon we will take you there.”
Mendaka turned to Deep Voice. “Take the dead Pitters outside of the Woon Stone and see to it that you burn their bodies to ash. They must not desecrate this holy place. Keep the women, children, and the Quailor safely hidden until you receive word from me or Sur Sceaf that the way is clear.”
“It shall be done, my chief.”
Once Mendaka returned to Sur Sceaf’s side, they rode off in pursuit of the Pitters the Young Bloods were baiting. Sur Sceaf was careful to not let the enemy know the dog soldiers were following. After a short pursuit, the Pitters came to a halt where they engaged in a fierce battle with the young bloods at the Narrows of the Stone Gate.
When he saw the trap was fully laid, Sur Sceaf yelled out the war cry, “Yeoh Wah!” dropped his arm, and charged forth, slaying the enemy host with sword and tomahawk. The impact of their horses broke the ranks of Pitters like a chisel into smelted steel. Horses collapsed and blood splattered over their saddles and the horses’ necks, like sparks from the forge. Mendaka was chanting and swinging right at Sur Sceaf’s side. The enemy’s rear guard was caught unawares and the Pitter forces were slow to react. The first quarter of enemy troops were swiftly cut down with sword and tomahawk.
Ilkchild held the bottle neck long enough for Crooked Jack and Pyrsyrus with their fyrds to fall upon the Pitters from both sides like smithies tongs. Sur Sceaf and the dog soldiers provided the anvil with their forces coming from the rear. By the time the Pitters realized they had been led into a carefully sprung trap they fell into bedlam trying to escape.
Fast and furious, the ranks of the Pitters fell under the death blows of the knives, arrows, and hooves of a highly disciplined war machine. Sur Sceaf slashed his way through carnage, seeking out the black-cowled Pitter commander. Just as Sur Sceaf was closing in on him the commander turned on his horse, saw he was being targeted and fell off the horse onto his own blade. His lieutenants quickly followed suit. It was like the Pitters had been tossed into a meat grinder until all were utterly slain.
Sur Sceaf signed for all officers to gather round him. He gave Ilkchild a thumbs up as he rode in over the Pitter corpses.
“Damn it!” Sur Sceaf let out. “I wanted to get information out of them.”
“Don’t berate yourself.” Ilkchild said. “Suicide is a sacrament to them. Apparently Fa, we’re never going to be able to take any of their leaders alive.”
Mendaka added. “The ones with the Mark of Seath on their foreheads are indoctrinated to never yield to interrogation. Suicide is their only way out of it.”
Crooked Jack rumbled out, “Which is why we’ve never been able to take any of their leaders alive. Well, not yet anyway. I’m confident with stealth and cunning that we one day may capture one of the rat-shits alive.”
Young bloods went throughout the battle scene searching for fallen warriors and spearing any Pitters they suspected of playing possum. Sur Sceaf gave the order to stack and burn the vermin. Their own fallen they took back for proper honors.
From atop his steed, Paladin, Pyrsyrus said, “We’ll have a count of casualties and wounded as soon as my boys are finished.”
Ilkchild turned about on his palomino, Fire Fang and with a quirk of a smile on his face, asked, “How did we do, Fa?”
“You held the enemy and you followed orders.” Sur Sceaf reached over and slapped him on the back. “I would say you are definitely warrior material.” Ilkchild beamed.
Pyrsyrus nodded, “Your sire would have been very proud of you, lad. You will soon be his equal.”
Sur Sceaf lifted his eyebrows. “After all who’s to say he isn’t here?”
Ilkchild frowned. “If the gods had only preserved my father, he would be here in the flesh. I haven’t much use for spiritual help. Metal and arrows are what decided the battle today not some ghostly mist or apparition.”
Pyrsyrus and Sur Sceaf exchanged an indulgent look.
“I want you to know, Son, that you have the makings of a great leader, but unless you rid yourself of these foul emotions and hostility to the gods, your potential will not come to full fruition.”
Pyrsyrus added, “Surrey is right. There have been many times when the spirits have won battles for me. Cursed is the man that trusts only in the arm of flesh.”
“Besides, I’m not saying it was any more than the workings of a tortured mind, but I believe Ilker visited me in the spirit whilst I was in the Pit, as did Brekka. Spiritual connections are powerful things, my son. Do not neglect cultivating the powers of the unseen world.”
Ilkchild looked at the ground as if contemplating their words. Only a powerful experience could bring Ilkchild an understanding of spirit.
“Now, let us all gather firewood and burn these bodies to ash so that there will be no memory of these sinister people in our lands from now until forever.”
The fyrds and dog soldiers shouted. “So mote it be.”
Sur Sceaf ordered a silver harrier to deliver a message back to Glide Garth and Witan Jewell that the three tribes had won their first battle against the Pitter invaders.
* * *
Three days after the defeat of the Pitters at Woon Stone, Sur Sceaf marched into the encampment at Glide Garth with his fyrds, dog soldiers, the troop of misused women and the Quailor prisoners. Runners had been sent to the Garth to tell the leaders to assemble secretly under the Council Oak of Tyranus. He had also requested that Dr. Shanks and the Hospitaler wagons be brought and stationed a plow length away from the oak so that the traumatized could be treated and evaluated before exposing them to the general community. Dr. Shanks would have to pronounce them clean and free of any infectious diseases before returning to camp.
Sur Sceaf glanced back at the former prisoners on the Pitter mounts they commandeered, horses which would later be used for food so as not to pollute the purity of the valuable Sharaka and Herewardi herds.
It took a lot longer to return because of the tender years of many of the captives. As he neared the great oak at mid-afternoon the brown leaves rustled overhead in the gentle breeze. The tree was beginning to drop the last of its leaves. A hint of crispness filled the air with the promise of colder air to come.
Ilkchild lead the refugees with the aid of the young blood fyrd and the field medics into the sacred space of the Tyranus Oak. Many young bloods had carried the smaller children on their horses with them. Once all were safely in sight of the Holy Oak, the fyrds and dog soldiers broke off to return to their camps. Ilkchild and his men escorted the survivors to the hospitaler wagons for Dr. Shanks to do triage and inspection.
Now this Holy Oak of Tyranus was so called because in the days of migration up from the Taxus and the White Mountains, King Sur singled this oak out as the mightiest in the Umpqua Valley. He blessed and sanctified it and made sacrifices to the Gods Ullr and Tyranus as the tree was the first harbinger of hope that they had finally found a fertile land upon which to rest their feet and be safe from the emissaries of the Empire. After the sanctification of the Ancient Oak he prophesied to his son, Leofric, that one day the gods would raise up a man from his seed who would in the distant future discover the Ring of Ullr, by which all enemies may be slain.
Looking upon the wide arms of the mighty oak, how Sur Sceaf wished he were in possession of that ring so as to deliver his people from the increasing horrors of the Pitters. Many treasure hunters had in days past dug on and about the oak in hopes of finding the Ring of Deliverance. Even in his day Sur Spear had asked the mighty seeress, Redith, to scry the whereabouts of the ring on Ullr’s Day. When asked what she scryed she declared, “The ring lies nowhere in these parts, but in another land beyond the reach of men.” Thus the treasure hunters put away their hopes and no one ever sought to find the ring again.
Approaching the perimeter of the tree, he could see the excitement in El
ijah’s face at the arrival of his lost sheep, the survivors.
The high priest’s face was bright with hope. “We are grateful for thy successful campaign, Lord Sur Sceaf. Never did the harriers bring greater tidings than those who were lost are found. All of us have prayed for thy success and hope there is no loss of life.”
“Thank you all. We felt your prayers and support. On behalf of our forces, I am happy to report we return.” The flapping banner of the fire-drake snapped in the wind. “We have slain the self-same Pitters who had slain our brethren in the Salem Massacre.”
Elijah took on a pitiful countenance. “Were the losses great?”
“We sustained some injuries to a score of fyrd warriors, but they will heal soon enough. The gods were truly with us. Even your Christ must have been with us.”
Mendaka edged forward to say with a grin, “Yes, the gods were good, but the plan was better.”
“We bear both good tidings and evil tidings. The good is that, yes, some of the Quailor brethren are yet living. The bad is that they have suffered horrible abuses and indignities beyond what is in the nature of man to endure.”
Habraham said, “God be praised all the same! Our prayers have been answered.”
“Who liveth?” Elijah anxiously inquired.
“Adolf Gmund, Samuel Gmund, Fritz Walner and two of the Gutwein’s boys were rescued. Also, Eva Scheible lives and is heavy with child. Dori Linsner, the wife of Otto Linsner was a survivor---”
Habraham interrupted, “Only seven out of so many. Not that we are ungrateful. I chust hoped for more.”
The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2) Page 44
