Witan Jewell

by Russ L. Howard

  “My lord,” Don said, “tis they that have walked into a trap of their own making. All the tracks lead up into the canyon. Unless they brought wagon loads of food, these fools have placed themselves in a perfect kill zone. What they could not have known is that once they cross the rise, the canyon drops you fast into a slippery chasm from which you cannot disengage, once having entered. They likely believed they could go down further and get free of the slippery slope, but the hill drops faster and soon you find yourself in the jaws of Hell.”

  Melyngoch took several minutes to study the situation, before turning to Leowulf, Beoelf, and Hornmead. “What say you, my commanders? Shall we close the mouth of the canyon and await them or should we send in scouts to determine their situation.”

  “I think it wise, that we wait, my lord.” Beoelf said. “The men are exhausted from such a speedy trek. They need rest. I’ve hunted here before; it’s like Don the Umquan said, nothing but briars, thorns, and noxious weeds up there. The only redeeming feature of this place is the sweet water running out of it from that stream.”

  Hornmead said, “S’why the early settlers named this place Tangle Wood Canyon.”

  Melyngoch considered for a moment. He looked at the canyon, considered the stream, and then looked back at his commanders. “Do not drink any water from that stream. They may have poisoned it and have lured us here for that very purpose. Spread out along the mouth of this canyon. Keep your shields up for cover. Suffer none to pass.”

  The sound of the horses sent up a clatter as the four fyrds spread out through the fog along the mouth of the canyon, thus effectively bottling in the Pitter fiends.

  Melyngoch wiped the sweat from his brow. A childhood memory haunted him. He and some friends had placed a glass jar over a yellow jacket’s nest when the boy holding the jar got stung and knocked it over, thus sending a swarm of angry stingers after them. He shook the painful memory off. He rode to the front and whipped his horse around to face his troops. Raising his voice, he declared firmly, “Men and brethren of the fyrds, I hold you to your pledge and oath to never desert your lord. I for one will die here this day rather than let any Pitter pass before Sur Spear can arrive. Are you with me?”

  A roar of affirmation came with spears thrusting up in the air all along the battle lines.

  * * *

  The youth spent an active first night on Raw Top. Building a bonfire which they repeatedly circled had been a sufficiently effective ploy to cause the Pitters to press farther into the forest in hopes of engaging them until they encountered the torture pit of slippery ferns, hawthorns, blackberry brambles, thistles, and nettles. As soon as the youth heard the accompanying screams of horses and the breaking of saplings they new they had caught a host of the Pitters. After thoroughly harassing the Pitters with arrows, rocks, and fallen trees, the torches that had been actively pursuing them stopped.

  On the second night, Ary took the morning watch before dawn. The fire burned low and the fog moved through the canyon, blocking all from their view. At first light he roused the others. They took quick fare for breakfast.

  Bear Jim declared, “I reckon their near done building their bridges and ladders by now.”

  “So that means they can get out,” Brekka said.

  “Yes, they can get out if they cut enough timbers to get to the north side where it is still very steep. But the thickets run on for another half mile after that.”

  Brekka inquired, “What if they succeed and get out?”

  Bear Jim scratched his head. “Our only choice will be to make a run for it down through Wood Bind and that is steep and dangerous, a risk we don’t need to take just yet.”

  “We’ll face that when it happens,” Ary declared as he held up his ax and then pulled out his kukri. “For now, let’s make their lives a living hell. Let’s drop more trees on their heads and keep them in a constant state of turmoil.”

  Bnimin picked up a rock and hurled it through the fog. Bear Jim got the boys attention. “Best you get yourself a pile of rocks and once the fog lifts you can put that throwing arm of yours into action.”

  “What about spears, we can make spears and arrows.” Brekka said.

  “Alright,” Ary said, “you and the twins start making spears. Going Snake, you make arrows. Bnimin get you a pile of rocks as high as you can stack them. Redelfis and I will rekindle the signal fire and then Bear Jim and I will begin cutting timbers down to hurl into the canyon.”

  Going Snake pleaded, “I want to do that. Can I chop trees down on their heads.”

  “Follow your orders first and we’ll see. But maybe I do have a valuable chore for you.” Ary turned to Bear. “Bear Jim, you said there was a spring just to the north, do you think Going Snake would be safe taking the horses to water?”

  “Wouldn’t be no problem at all. He just needs to go to the large bay tree, turn east and he’ll hear the water trickling out of the rocks. There’s a hole big enough for the horses to drink out of.”

  Ary ordered, “Russell and Ev’Rhett, go with him and fill all the flasks with water. I suspect we’ll be here for quite a spell.”

  While the boys were gone, they cut some branches for arrows, some for spears, and others for the bonfire. As they worked they began to hear the crack of falling trees down below.

  Brekka said, “It looks like you were right, Bear Jim.”

  “Usually am,” he grunted.

  Gradually the fog thinned and the tops of the trees in the canyon could be seen. The day was heating up, so Ary tossed off his tunic. Sweat ran down his neck. By the time the boys returned, he was able to see much more clearly. Horses and Pitters laid bloated and mangled, strewn over the muddy slide. A few still twitched and kicked. Vultures feasted. A gust of wind brought the stench of death up to Arundel’s nostrils. He shivered with disgust. The canyon had been transformed. An enormous swath had been cut out of the forest’s vegetation. Makeshift ladders laid on the forest floor, bound with rags made from Pitter clothing. Many Pitters were busy hacking at the blackberries with their swords, while a few were engaged in hacking down trees and lining up the trunks toward the mouth of the canyon for more ladders to be made.

  “By dammit, the bastards are a hell of a lot smarter than I thought. Looks like they’ll be out soon. No more than a third is stuck in the hole.”

  What Ary saw struck fear into his heart. “I estimate there’s two thousand, at least, in the meadow.”

  The Pitters in the meadow above were hauling as many of their men out by rope as they could.

  Brekka shaded her eyes to peer through the mist. She moved over to a jutting rock for a better view. “Ary, I’m seeing red through the mist.”

  Ary ran over and climbed up beside her. He strained his eyes to spy the several lines of red-coated fyrd warriors forming at the mouth of the canyon. “By Almighty Tyranus, those are fyrd warriors lining up there. But I don’t think they can see over that hill or through the forest at all. The legion’s hidden in there. The fog won’t linger much longer before it melts off. It’s time to get our signal fire going.”

  As he continued to watch he identified the sea wylf banners of his fa bro, Melyngoch.

  “Let’s get to cutting those trees down. We have to afflict the enemy as much as we can.”

  “I’m lovin’ this bear hunt more and more as the time goes by,” Bear Jim said walking to his saddle bags from whence he pulled out a couple of axes. “Let’s bring the whole damned forest of Raw Top down on the bastards. Oh,” he caught himself, “I almost forgot the girl. Forgive my language, my lady.”

  Arundel and Bear Jim took turns chopping down the trees along the steep canyon walls, which sailed down the cliffs, striking with crushing force, killing any below them. The crashing sound, havoc, and commotion of the timbers coming from the skies compelled many of the Pitters that were attempting to rescue those in the hole to retreat.

  The three young striplings hurled branches, spears, and stones over the edge. Screams and cries echoed from below.
The falling trees caused the bridge building to cease and the enemies in the hole ran for cover. The twins cheered and shouted insults they had learned from their older siblings, as they gathered large stones which Bnimin found worthy targets for.

  “Take a break from chopping,” Arundel ordered, his arms and shoulders burning from the steady exertion and rising temperatures. He glanced at the piles of spears and arrows. “On the other hand, let’s give them some Herewardi rain, and then I’ll signal to the fyrds below what’s happening.”

  With great pleasure they shot rudimentary arrows and continued to hurl make shift spears as well as stones down upon the entrapped enemy host.

  * * *

  The morning fog finally lifted by afternoon. Melyngoch noticed the small stream running out of the canyon had turned pink. “Someone is giving battle to these Pitters or livestock is being slaughtered, else why would there be the blood in the stream!”

  He signed for three of his scouts. They rode up beside him and he ordered, “Now that the fog is lifted, sneak up the canyon and see if you can give us a clear picture of what is up ahead. None of it adds up.”

  Sometime after the scouts departed, Leowulf Sharpknife directed his attention to the naked ridge in the west. “Up above, my lord, there appears to be a signal fire. They shaded their eyes against the glare of the sun.

  “Good eyes, Leowulf. It is a signal fire. And the smoke says it’s a group of Herewardi young bloods.” He paused to read more. “By its location, they must command the high ground...signal says they’re safe. Says they will... continue fighting the enemy.”

  “Don the tracker was correct. The Pitters apparently pursued them into this box canyon, and got themselves in a real pickle, as he predicted.” Melyngoch took off his helmet and shook his hair before wiping the sweat from the hard ride off his brow. “I’m willing to bet, the whole damned bunch of urban, flatland Pitters have found out just how punishing this landscape can be.”

  He was just reaching for his water skin when one of the scouts he had sent out gave an alarm whistle. At the same time a Pitter bugle signaled alert. Before he even had time to give it thought, the Pitters came screaming over the rise like crazed mad men, swinging swords with wild abandon as they charged en mass like a pot of tar boiling over.

  “Oh hell! Where did they come from? Here, we die!” Melyngoch shouted, “First line, use your spears and pikes to break their thrust and, by Tyr, show them the edge of your blades. Second line, commence using your shields and bucklers. Third line, archers commence firing arrows at will.”

  The clash hit with such force that it drove Melyngoch and his fyrds back four man lengths, but so effective was their defense that the approaching horde could not breach all the fallen Pitter soldiers laying before them.

  Melyngoch dropped back and reformed a double line phalanx, preparing for the next attack. This time the enemy came leaping over the corpses of their own dead and wounded comrades in a constant wave of bodies till Melyngoch’s fyrds were greased from head to toe in slippery blood and all were collapsed on their knees sucking for wind. The cries of the wounded went up pitifully for help from the stacks of bodies before them. With only enough strength to rise to the occasion once again, the men rose and resumed their phalanxes.

  Arrows whizzed by and some horses fell, lending their screams and thrashing to that of the carnage of the fallen men. Even though the fyrds fought ferociously, their ranks were steadily growing thinner and the casualties were mounting to the tipping point. Wounded comrades lay strewn on the ground moaning and maimed and calling for the aid of their brethren. Brave comrades attempted their rescue only to join them. Arms were growing weary and the enemy host only increased its fury as they rained down in successive waves of highly trained legionnaires.

  Melyngoch realized they would not be able to hold for much longer and that the legionnaires numbers were far greater than they could have imagined. Fyrd members were falling too often all along the lines. Even as he swung his sword against the belly of an enemy he lifted his voice in a vocal swan song which Herewardi swan lords deliver in the face of certain death. In the lull of the battle he heard the twang of bowstrings behind him.

  “By the gods, they’ve got us in a trap.” But risking a look back, he saw fresh red coats filling his ranks and recognized his father on his steed.

  Barely able to catch his breath, Melyngoch saw a wall of elm leaf spearheads advancing before him, followed by a wave of shields as the fyrds littered the earth with legionnaire corpses, hewing their way through the rat-faced hellions.

  Wave after wave of fyrd warriors passed around him, hewing down the enemy hosts like barley stalks. A long sigh of relief escaped Melyngoch’s lungs. He was no longer capable of lifting his sword arm and collapsed down on one knee while he wept. “Praise Tyranus! Thank you, All Father Woon!”

  Within minutes the enemy was put into retreat, fleeing and disappearing over the rise and into the trees of the canyon. Dog soldiers under Onamingo and Snake Horse cut down the ones who were fleeing until the enemy was driven completely into the forest.

  * * *

  Twilight came hard and chill with a deep fog settling over the battlefield. The anguished moans of fallen comrades and Pitters could be heard in the thick night air. Sur Spear ordered a search brigade be formed to retrieve the wounded Herewardi and to finish off any wounded Pitters. He kept silent watch as the warriors went out by lamplight to execute their grisly work while others ran to retrieve the seriously wounded safely off the battlefield.

  Sur Spear had a triage tent set up for addressing the injured and torches lit against the oncoming darkness for smoother operations. Hospitaler surgeons dug out arrows and set broken bones, while comrades stitched those with lesser wounds and slathered healing balms on their injuries before bandaging them in swaddling. A mess tent went to work immediately cooking the fallen horses and cleanup crews set about stacking enemy bodies for burning while gathering their own dead for a proper burial.

  After receiving a report that the battlefield had been fully searched, Sur Spear ordered the guards to remain on full alert. He gathered around a moot fire with his commanders, Fergenstream, Aethelstan, Onamingo on one side, and Melyngoch, Leowulf, Hornmead and Beoelf on the other. Redelfis was there, having caught up with the fyrds as they passed by Bear Jim’s cabin.

  “Melyngoch, please explain to me, why you did not have your fyrds deployed to detect such an intrusion?”

  Melyngoch swallowed hard, his red-blond head downcast. “To my shame and regret, Father, I neglected my responsibility. I went out to sea and allowed my fyrds to be employed by the queen for civil works which took them from their posts. I have no excuse for that. I have sinned against you and my people, and though I do not deserve it, I beg your forgiveness.”

  Sur Spear was disappointed that Melyngoch had made such a grievous mistake, but on the other hand, he was proud of his son for taking the responsibility, and suspected the story was far more complicated. He knew all too well the machinations Clotilde was capable of. “It is true the fyrd is a citizen army that they may be deployed to do capital works for the commonwealth, but it is unlawful ever to do so at the expense of security. I know your worth, my son, and I know the selfishness of your mother. Don’t tell me I don’t see her fingers in this. I commend you for taking the responsibility upon your own shoulders in attempting to rectify this. But I know full well where the responsibility truly lies. The only capital work I know of in Charly’s Harbor is the one at Sunset Bay. The Roufytrof will require Clotilde to surrender her ring of authority and be stripped of all future command over the fyrds.” He paused in deep thought. “But still your explanation only solves half the puzzle.”

  “What’s the other half, Fa?” Melyngoch wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “The Pitter legions could never have been that opportunistic to have responded so quickly to a breach in our defenses. Someone has exploited your weaknesses, my son. There are spies in our midst or they coul
d never have pulled this one off. Thank the gods Redelfis and the Arundel were hunting here and trapped them.”

  Beoelf Sweet Tongue offered his observation, “My lord I have noticed some very shady looking rogues milling about in Charly’s Harbor lately. There’s that one group of peddlers. What was the rogue’s name?” Beoelf paused and adjusted the leather hair tie on the pony tail atop his head. “Yes, now I remember, his name was Mik Kurtz. A dark soulless spirit if ever there was one.”

  “Follow up on that observation, Son,” Sur Spear said. “Try to identify any characters in your midst who are not proven friends. Send your spies among them to see if they can win their confidence and have your spies fill their ears with as much misinformation as you can cram down their wretched throats. Usually that will aid our cause more than what they might reveal.”

  “My lord,” Snake Horse said, “Such a strategic deployment required a lot of long term planning. Generally, the Eugene Zonga commanders wear green plumes, but most of these Pitter commanders wore red plumes. What should that mean?”

  Onamingo sucked his lips in. “Well, it can only mean one thing. They are now building up their numbers from the East Lands and want to trap us in a pincer attack. We’d better look to the South Herewardi coasts and alert the settlements there.”

  “As soon as I return I shall send out my spies to try and discover the traitor who is feeding the Pitters all the chinks in our armor.” Melyngoch vowed. “I will comb one end of Charly’s Harbor to the other with a fine toothed comb until I have squashed every last nit.”

  * * *

  The following day as soon as the first fingers of light touched their cliffs, Ary, Bear Jim, and the striplings checked the mist that still lingered beneath to survey the outcome of yesterday’s bloody battle. Visibility was not yet sufficient to see through the rising fog, but the smell of carnage and smoking flesh ascended up into their nostrils. They made a quick breakfast consisting of hard tack, pemmican, and some huckleberries they found nearby.

  Ary commended, “Going Snake, you did a fine job with getting those horses some fodder and grooming them. I had no idea, you were this good with horses.”