Within the village was a single timber pole, painted red. It had somehow emerged unscathed from the withering storm of rocks that had showered down upon the village, and Ayenwatha was determined that it would serve its intended purpose once again.
Surrounded as it was by the broken shells of longhouses, and the ponderous silence of the abandoned village, the final stage of the preparation for war was undertaken in a very emotional and heartfelt environment. The single red pole stood unscathed as a symbol of defiance, and survival, within the terrible scene of tragedy.
At first, there was a profound silence, as the horde of warriors assembled in a great mass around the red war pole. One by one, the warriors then began to build themselves into a frenzy, drums thumping as chants rose up into the skies. Over a very long, poignant sequence, the warriors of the five tribes moved in to strike the red pole, as they would soon strike their enemies.
Hundreds upon hundreds filed by, as Ayenwatha looked over the moving ceremony, with a grim expression on his face and a maelstrom of emotion within. By the time the last warrior had struck the red pole, well over two thousand five hundred warriors had passed it.
It would be the final ritualistic act before the war band would disperse to begin their defense. The tribes no longer practiced the dog-feast that had once crowned such a ceremonial war preparation. That was from a darker period, in which the flesh of prisoners was consumed, and the enemy was seen to be no better than a dog. Ayenwatha knew very well that the Great Sachem Deganawida, as well as the Wizard named Deganawida, that had originally founded the Great Law, abhorred such practices.
Even so, Ayenwatha felt a dark rage building deep within him as he looked out over the charred, jagged husks of the longhouses in back of the throng of warriors. As far as Ayenwatha saw things, the current enemy was far lesser in stature than the least among dogs. A primal urge was burning within him, empowered by his great anger, begging for a vicious revenge that would leave a Gallean town or village in such ruins.
The black rage swelled up within Ayenwatha, until his lips began to twitch with the venomous feelings reverberating throughout him. Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing to reintroduce some of the older ways.
He would not have to go so far as to bring the eating of human flesh back, but he could at least bring back some of the extended tortures meted out to the prisoners of war, before the consuming of their flesh had taken place. As far as Ayenwatha now felt, it was the least that the attackers deserved for their unprovoked assault upon his village.
The malefic sentiments shocked Ayenwatha out of his consuming anger. Almost immediately, he admonished himself for giving life to such vile, wicked feelings. Whether or not the Dark Brother was somehow working an influence upon him, he was acquiescing to mordant passions. Summoning up the force of his will, he choked down the bile with a considerable effort.
The Gallean villagers were no more deserving of such a horrible fate, than the tribal villagers had been. Ayenwatha could not, at any cost, lose sight of that. If he did, he would be no better than the Unifier. Perhaps he would even be worse, as the Unifier was still being true to His own evil purposes, while Ayenwatha would be shaming everything that he had stood for, and embraced throughout his life.
Ayenwatha forced his emotions farther down, and brought his thoughts back to bear more fully upon the more practical matters facing him. The ranks of the tribal warriors would undoubtedly expand in the coming days, but Ayenwatha now had a very strong war band to lead. It was evident that a potent tribal force would be in place to oppose the enemy, when they drove into the forest from the west.
The tribal warriors would still be heavily outnumbered, but they would know the terrain, and would be superior in their woodland movements. Ayenwatha’s warriors would need to hit the enemy hard and swiftly from the shadows.
If the warriors could avoid being caught in a conflict of brute force, then a chance remained to inflict wound after wound upon the aggressors. Even the mightiest of bears encountered in the woods could eventually be worn down.
The thought left Ayenwatha with a sliver of hope, as he exited the devastated village with a river of determined tribal warriors following in his wake.
*
AELFRIC
*
The outer scouts, those that had not been captured or slain, had brought back several more foreboding reports to the main Saxan encampment on the Plains of Athelney. The reports merely confirmed the information that Aelfric had gained already, but in another sense they revealed the sheer scale of what the Saxans were going to face, and it was far greater than any of them had ever imagined.
Incomparably vast, the enemy encampments were now rooted firmly in place. The discipline of the Saxans’ enemy was also very much in evidence.
The arrival of Andamoor’s huge columns had embodied both qualities. Teeming ranks of well-ordered Andamooran infantry, bearing tall shields of hide, and distinctive, long bamboo spears, had fanned out shortly after their arrival over the horizon. They had provided a warding perimeter of living fighters, while trenches were swiftly dug by other Andamoorans around the boundaries of their encampment.
The interior of the marked encampment was soon filled with the presence of thousands of warriors, horsemen, pack mules, and a huge number of the strange, hump-backed creatures that were so unique to the Andamooran contingent. Tents of a wide range of varieties, from small, simple constructs, to what looked to be ornate, lavish pavillions, were erected. Hosts of vividly colorful banners were soon waving in the breezes where they signified the location of high-ranking Andamoorans.
There had already been a few fierce skirmishes with small bands of swift, lightly armed horsemen, who were serving as auxiliaries and scouts for the Andamooran force. The brief encounters with the Andamooran outriders had drawn a little blood on both sides, though the enemy scouts were always quick to withdraw.
In and of itself, the Andamooran ranks would have constituted an invasion threat, but Aelfric was faced with the presence of no less than two other enormous contingents.
The banners of many great lords of Avanor were now flying high over the masses of tents in the middle enemy encampment.
Small bands of foraging Avanoran squires had recently been encountered by Saxan patrols, but these were swiftly driven off, wherever they were found. Squires were of little concern, as Aelfric knew the core strength of the Avanorans lay with the multitude of veteran knights quartering within the encampment.
Most daunting to Aelfric, there was considerable evidence of a great siege train being present with the Avanorans, as well as a host of wagons and supply carts filled to capacity to reinforce the Avanoran ranks. The siege train and overabundance of supplies indicated the intention of a long, thoroughly prosecuted campaign, which was exactly what Aelfric had feared.
The third force, from Ehrengard itself, was now resting at ease amid its own tents and considerable array of supply wagons. Stately, powerful bishops with strong retinues, exalted princes far removed from their lofty, crag-surmounting castles, and mighty bond-knights alike were quartered all throughout the Ehrengardian camp.
The Saxan scouts had not been able to confirm whether ranks of the dreaded Halmlander mercenaries were currently settled among the Ehrengardian camp, though Aelfric would have been very surprised if they were not there. The uncertainty was quite bothersome nonetheless, even though Aelfric was making all plans as if the murderous hirelings of Ehrengard would be arrayed against the Saxans on the very first day of battle.
Aelfric stood quietly with a pair of highly respected ealdormen, Morcar of Wessachia, and Byrtnoth of Sussachia. They listened intently to the latest scouting reports, far away from the ears of others in the camp.
A light, crisp breeze danced along the air, and the bright, clear skies above contrasted starkly with the dark essence of the growing threats on the ground, just beyond the horizon. The lazy, lowlying white clouds that traversed the sky foretold no hint of storms whatsoever, though Aelfric knew that a trem
endous one was right on the verge of breaking upon all of Saxany.
It was a day that would normally have found the ealdormen and their thanes out hawking or hunting within the woods of Saxany, where the only dangers would be falling from a horse, or getting attacked by a great boar or other fierce beast caught at bay. It was not an environment reflective of the grim reports currently being given to the prominent Saxans.
“These creatures with humps, I do not know of them, or what they are called, but they seemed to be used to carry packs and men in the manner of horses,” stated one of the scouts, a wiry youth named Osmod.
Aelfric saw the young scout’s eyes reflecting a great wonder at witnessing the foreign dress and contents of the Andamooran ranks. The Unifier had been very wise in assembling His invasion force, as the exotic nature and appearances of the Andamoorans would undoubtedly have an unsettling effect on men who had never before beheld their like.
“If the beasts carry packs and men, then they are likely no greater threat than a horse,” Aelfric responded firmly, seeking to encourage the wavering young man. “No matter how strange their appearance, there is likely little more to worry about regarding them.”
“We could take the battle right to them,” Morcar suggested then to Aelfric, a determined edge in his voice. “We could take our army and strike them now, before all three armies are fully settled, or can array together.”
Aelfric looked over at the rough-countenanced, thickly bearded ealdorman. Like Byrtnoth and himself, Morcar was truly a likeness of the hilly, mountainous, and forested terrain that they all hailed from. They were of the blood of the older Northern Kingdom, which had so capably endured for long ages before the union with the southern realm had taken place.
The Saxan majordomo took great comfort being among his fellow men from the cherished lands spanning the north and north east of the Kingdom of Saxany. A long, hard-won heritage was shared among them, and he could fully relate to the fiery passions that drove such men.
The will to meet a challenge burned strongly indeed. There was no lack of bravery within the man, but Aelfric knew well that Morcar was very quick to judgment, and was often impatient towards any extended counsel. Aelfric did not have such a tendency, which he knew was a significant reason why he had risen to such a preeminent standing with King Alcuin.
“It would be a good course, Morcar, if we knew exactly where their full force of sky warriors was gathered. We have only seen small groups of enemy scouts in the skies around their encampments, which have harried and kept our own few back.
“Their total force is clearly growing with every incoming report. They have far more horsemen than we do. Of that there is no doubt at all. If we attack their encampments, and commit our own forces in full, they could unleash a punishing attack with a great force of horsemen on our vulnerable flanks. Here, arrayed on the plains, we can break them against our shield wall,” Aelfric stated carefully.
Morcar’s brows furrowed in apparent frustration, and though his mouth tightened, no argument was forthcoming. Aelfric knew that the ealdorman had inwardly accepted the reason and logic in Aelfric’s reply, even if the taste of it was bitter. He could see the Ealdorman of Wessachia’s discomfort in holding his passions at bay.
“You speak truly,” the northern ealdorman huffed, “but this is a tremendous agony to a spirit such as mine. I would strike at their heart like a bolt of lightning from the sky … and sear it to ashes.”
Aelfric allowed a thin smile to show on his face. It was one of empathic understanding, and in no way demeaning to the impulses and fires burning within Morcar.
“And I think you would indeed strike at them all by yourself, were it not for the men under your command,” Aelfric responded. “There will be time enough for battle, my friend, when the enemy will surely come to know the skill of your arms, and those of the fighters of Wessachia … those here with us, and those with your great thane Aethelstan, warding the forested hills north and east of here.”
Morcar straightened up a little, appearing somewhat placated by the flattering words from Aelfric. They were not spoken untruthfully, for Aelfric did indeed respect the valorous character and exceptional skill at arms of the veteran warrior before him.
“What do the scouts say of the current strength of this army from Andamoor?” Aelfric then asked of Osmod, all vestiges of mirth leaving his face, as his expression hardened again.
“Thousands upon thousands, upon more thousands,” Osmod replied somberly, his face taking on a hint of dismay as he voiced the words.
Knowing how swift the Andamooran outriders were reputed to be, Aelfric had a sinking feeling that the enemy had intentionally allowed some scouts to draw close enough to behold the colossal size of the invader’s army. The conveyance of reports concerning the daunting sight among the ranks of the defenders would undoubtedly serve the invader’s wishes. Fear was also a powerful weapon, and how the Saxans handled it would undeniably be a determining factor in their chances.
Yet there was one other truth that was evident in the reports of the immense size of the enemy ranks. It was paramount in Aelfric’s planning.
The attack of the enemy could be expected to come very soon. Armies of such astounding size could not linger for long in the field with the constant demands for prodigious quantities of food and drink. Steeds, draft animals, warriors, and camp attendants alike needed to be sustained, and armies of the size facing the Saxans would be voracious in their requirements.
Adding to the issue of supplies, many warriors among the enemy contingents would only be expecting to serve for a certain amount of time, and a very limited one at that. It was the way of the western kingdoms, in terms of how forces that were not hired outright were levied. Obligations owed to lords were set in very defined terms, most being just around six weeks a year.
It was likely that many of the Avanoran and Ehrengardian knights that had just arrived over the horizon were of such a disposition. If the campaign lasted beyond the designated period, such knights would be in their rights to go back to their homelands. Aelfric was well aware of this reality, and it constituted a significant part of his speculation regarding the enemy’s inclinations.
The enemy leaders would seek to create a major breach into the Saxan Kingdom before such knights would expect to return to their home territories. Others could be summoned, or brought up in time, and still others would remain with the tantalizing lure of acquiring new land holdings, but not all the elements among the invaders would remain intact for a sustained period of time. The longer that the Saxans could resist the enemy, the more possible it was that complications would arise within the invader’s ranks.
The past few weeks were little more than a hazy blur within Aelfric’s tumultuous mind. Images of all kinds rushed through his inner sight, some clear, and others more vague.
He vividly recalled the momentous confrontations with the Unifier’s emissaries in Alcuin’s court at Aixen, and the ensuing acceptance of the fact that war would be unavoidable with the forcible expulsion of the Unifier’s representatives. He also remembered the lighting of the beacons, and the sending of numerous messengers upon horses and sky steeds throughout the lands, to spread the call to arms.
Aelfric thought about the musters and how they had swelled, and had then set out in their lengthy columns upon horse and foot. He could even now see the pennons fluttering proudly in the breezes, and hear the wagon and cart wheels creaking with the strain incurred under their heavy loads of arms and supplies.
Everything had led right up to the moment that he now found himself in, converging within the quiet, resigned intake of breath before the thunderous roar of battle sounded. Aelfric looked outward, far past Morcar, Osmod, and Byrtnoth, towards the flowing grass blanketing the open plain and stretching beyond the farthest edge of the horizon.
The cleansing air filled each breath with a sense of the blooming spring that should have been a time for uplifted spirits and hope throughout the realm; the hope of bo
untiful fields, a wealth of wool, and increased trade in the markets. It was a time that should have been filled with riddles and song, abundant with ale and meat.
The coming onslaught was an absolute mockery of everything that Aelfric believed that the All-Father had intended for humankind. A part of him wondered why the All-Father would even tolerate the passing of such insidious times, when so many innocents would be caught up in an inferno of war, death, and suffering.
Aelfric did not need to be reminded that mortal life was so very fragile. Only the present moment promised even a shred of stability, and even that little scrap could unravel at any time, without warning.
The great thane and Ealdorman of the Wesvald had already lost two children. Both of them should have easily outlived him, but he had been made to helplessly witness a wasting sickness, as it voraciously consumed his young son and daughter, down to their last drop of life essence. He had prayed to exhaustion, but the disease had not hesitated to devour that final spark of light within his two dear children.
He had also lost one brother, one that he had grown very close to throughout his life, due to a vicious fight over the perception of offended honor. The sorrowful and unexpected loss had happened just a month before his beloved brother was to be married to the daughter of a thane that Aelfric’s family had long embraced, in warm friendship.
Aelfric’s own blade had taken vengeance on the man that had slain his brother, but only a cold emptiness had been left in the wake of the act of retribution. The passage of time may have aided him in learning to live with the hole in his heart, but it had never truly gone away. The sting of the shock of the loss still resided deep within Aelfric’s soul.
Life was not assured, nor did it ever seem to proceed in what Aelfric could deem to be any semblance of a sensible, understandable fashion. The empty horizon that he now beheld would shortly be filled from one end to the other with ranks of enemies, whose only purpose was to conquer and destroy the Saxan realm for all time to come.
Dream of Legends Page 9
