Dream of Legends

by Stephen Zimmer

  Earnest nods, verbal encouragements, and nervous smiles met his various gestures. A number of monks and priests followed and preceded him, the dark-robed clerics speaking prayers of absolution, and tossing blessed water out over the arrayed warriors.

  Aethelstan was deeply moved by the pious concern reflected in the faces of the monks and priests. He stopped to watch one particular priest, who was addressing a levy group that clearly had come from the villages that he had long-ministered to.

  The older man’s face was outwardly calm, but his eyes were wet from the powerful emotions that he was feeling in looking upon the men that he had married and anointed in the Western Faith. It was likely that he had tended to some of the younger men of the group from the very day that they had been born.

  Aethelstan knew that it took a great effort for the priest to hold back such powerful emotions, knowing that many of those who his blessed water fell upon would not live to see the dusk. Priests such as that older man had come as shepherds after the most endangered members of their flocks, willing to stand with them, and also face the risks, to whatever end. While they were not ones to fight with spear and sword, they were invaluable to morale. They lifted up the spirits of the men in the midst of the dark hour, giving them the kind of reinforcement that was greater than any warrior’s speech.

  The priest moved in and placed his hands gently upon a particularly young man’s head, exchanging some quiet, private words with him. Aethelstan could see the wide-eyed young man nodding at the words, as the priest traced the shape of the Redeemer’s spear upon the youth’s forehead.

  Aethelstan’s sharp eyes did not miss the priest’s face as he turned away from the young man, acting as if he was glancing back in the direction of the enemy lines. He saw the old priest’s eyes close for a moment, pain echoing in the expression, as he took that moment to regain his composure.

  The emotive expression spoke of something that Aethelstan deeply understood, and he tightened his mouth and steeled his eyes as he moved onward. An overwhelming majority of the young to older males from his own burh were standing with him in those very lines, having followed him on the march out to the west. The reality was that a great majority of the able-bodied males from the region around the burh were now standing resolute behind his command, gathered from all the surrounding villages and thanes’ estates.

  There were more than a few of them who he had witnessed transform from child to young man, just as the priest had experienced. He had shared countless life experiences with men from both his town and the greater province of Wessachia. They had shared his tables, his feasts, his hunts, his trade, and his travels. There were several that could be considered family, being of his own bloodline.

  He recognized some that were brothers, resolutely standing beside their siblings within the battle line. He also saw several instances of fathers positioned close by their sons, each ready to ward the other with their lives. Many were closely related to each other, or had shared lifelong friendships.

  Each and every death of a Saxan would exact a very high, irreplaceable price. Aethelstan could see in their eyes that the men before him were fully cognizant that they might be facing the last day alongside a son, brother, or friend. It mattered not whether they fell themselves, or survived and were separated from those who had fallen by the veil between this world and the next.

  As he looked into each of their eyes, each rife with dreams and ambitions of their own, he knew that many would be still, glazed and lifeless by the day’s end. It was by far the hardest reality to endure, and it was one that he had the most trouble accepting, but as a commander of warriors he had to face such immutable truths in a poisoned world.

  Even more demanding, he could not show them any sign of fear or emotion within himself, or he would be hurting them when they needed as much confidence as they could possibly muster. They had to feel as strong and assured in him as possible, as well as themselves, for any of them to have a chance of making it through the coming fury of battle.

  It was still a difficult thing to do, as dark thoughts tormented him, like demonic whisperings empowered by icy truths. If he were to survive the battle, he would see many dead faces that would bring him right back to these quiet moments before the storm, as he walked down the battle lines in the early morning mists.

  The thoughts were still running through his head after he had taken his position at the center of the Saxan line, listening to the sounds of the enemy advance. A chorus of horn blasts shook the ridge and surrounding hills again, as a light tremor ran through the ground. Aethelstan glanced to his left and right, at the throng of axe-bearing household guards around him.

  Many boisterous shouts rose up from the Saxan ranks, as a wall of men emerged in the evaporating wisps of lingering mist, a rhythmic tramp sounding as they made their way steadily towards the ridgeline. They were lightly armored archers and crossbowmen, most wearing soft caps, and only a smattering with iron helms. They were garbed in little more than tunics or padded gambesons as they approached the base of the ridge, and Aethelstan knew that they would not be sent against the shield wall.

  Behind them, another wall was coming, one more heavily armed. But Aethelstan knew that the first flurries of battle would come from the vanguard bearing the missile weapons below.

  Without a tremendous quantity of arrows, Aethelstan did not want to loose the Saxans’ own barrages wildly, and he dispatched commands up and down the lines for the Saxans to brace themselves, and to keep the shield wall in place.

  The front rank, largely comprised of well-experienced fighters, overlapped their round shields, as others below put forth shields to protect the lower parts of their bodies.

  Where clusters of household guards gripped their long war axes, others by them held forth taller, triangular shields. The shields would protect the axe-wielders, so that they could be free to use both hands in wielding the broad, devastating blades.

  More horn signals erupted, as the line of Avanoran archers and crossbowmen came to a halt not far from the base of the low ridge. There was a rumbling noise, which broke out into a crashing roar, hurling a few words in the Avanoran tongue that Aethelstan could not understand.

  The Avanorans notched arrows or brought loaded crossbows to bear upon the long shield wall above them. A long, resonant horn blast then ensued, as a torrent of bolts and arrows were loosed towards the Saxan defenders. Hissing and tearing through the air, the shafts streaked towards the shield wall.

  The fighting was now underway.

  The great battle for all of Saxany had begun.

  A number of screams and cries broke out from the Saxan lines, coming from those caught in the deadly wake of the volley. Only a few missiles had found gaps in the shield wall, or sailed into the second or third ranks, but the grim toll of war had begun to mount.

  Behind the archers and crossbowmen, the next wall of Avanorans was coming into full view, as they marched up behind the front line. The archers, meanwhile, had notched new arrows, readied, and loosed them again at the shield wall. Their barrage of arrows soared through the air in unison, like a dense flock of ravens bringing a pronouncement of death.

  The Saxan line held strong once again, as the shields were tightly overlapped, and held firmly in place. Most of the shower of arrows buried into the planks of wooden shields, or embedded themselves harmlessly into trees or the ground.

  A few more men cried out in pain after the second volley’s impact, several clutching at feathered shafts as they fell over dead, or badly wounded.

  Aethelstan could see that the crossbowmen were almost reloaded for their second shot, pulling the strings up with their arms, while keeping the end of the bow braced on the ground by an iron foot stirrup affixed to the weapon’s end. The archers were nearly prepared for their third wave.

  Aethelstan could not let them continue unabated, without incurring some cost. Waving his sword, he cried out for a Saxan volley, which set off a number of horn blasts in the lines along the ridge.


  The scattered Saxan archers up and down the lines released their own wave of arrows, from the advantage of the higher ground. The height of the Saxan position also enabled a number of javelin throwers and stone slingers to hurl their own missiles forward.

  Aethelstan watched the combined Saxan volley as it descended swiftly, stones, javelins, and arrows arcing towards the front rank of Avanorans. Several archers and crossbowmen fell to the ground, or to their knees, and whether wounded or dead they were removed from the fighting.

  The enemy then released their own shafts and bolts, beginning a small pattern in which Aethelstan had a Saxan round loosed for every couple that the Avanorans sent towards the ridgeline. He did not want to run low on missiles when the main enemy thrust occurred. Perhaps there was even a chance that they could run the enemy low on arrows and bolts, without taking too many casualties in return.

  “When will they come, Thane Aethelstan?” one of the younger members of his household guard asked him, after the two sides had traded a markedly uneven number of blows.

  “Soon enough. The Avanorans are fierce in battle, and will soon test the shield wall,” Aethelstan replied. He gave the young man a brief smile. “We will be able to fight them back with our full strength soon. Keep your axe at the ready.”

  The young soldier nervously returned the smile, and looked back out from behind his shield. The few rounds of missiles that the Saxans had levied had indeed weathered down the foremost line of Avanorans, bodies lying on the ground peppering the full length of their ranks.

  As Aethelstan had predicted, the enemy did not wait overly long to challenge the shield wall. A braying chorus of horns sounded, and the following ranks surged forward at once. A wall of warriors engulfed the archers and crossbowmen, leaving them behind as the solid rank of infantry marched in long strides up the incline of the ridge. A thick mass of triangular shields and long spears crept steadily forward, approaching the shield wall.

  Light glinted off iron helms and coats of mail. Aethelstan knew that these warriors were no lesser levies. They were heavy infantry, well-equipped with excellent weapons and armor. They were likely bolstered by dismounted knights, as Aethelstan could see a number of men with swords withdrawn, trudging up just behind the front line of spears.

  “Get ready!” Aethelstan called out down the Saxan lines. “They come!”

  A host of long spears were lowered along the shield wall, points facing down the slope, extending well beyond the overlapping shields.

  “Fight for your lands! Fight for your families! Fight for your Faith!” Aethelstan shouted, as the Saxans braced behind the wall of spears and shields for the imminent clash.

  “Out! Out!” thundered the Saxan ranks towards the invaders.

  Just before the lines clashed, the deeper ranks of the Saxans released a thick hail of javelins, arrows, and sling-stones into the masses of oncoming Avanorans. Despite the heavy, tall shields, helms, and coats of mail, the missiles were coming at full force, from a much closer range. A number of advancing spearmen crumpled to the ground, some even tumbling backwards down the slope, and knocking still others awry.

  The shield wall then met the impact of the oncoming Avanoran line, as a cacophonous din erupted throughout the wooded hills. The attackers were not limited to just spears, as the swordsmen and others bearing hand axes worked feverishly to puncture holes in the Saxan shield wall. Shields shattered, steel rang against steel, and men loosed cries of pain or fury. The deadly hiss of missiles continued to pass overhead, some heading down the hill and others passing up it.

  At a few points along the Saxan line, wherever there was tight coordination between thanes and their household warriors, the men swinging the long-hafted war axes lashed out fiercely into the Avanoran ranks. The shield bearers by them protected their exposed sides, as the axe-wielders attacked with unimitigated furor. Even mail was of little use in stopping one of the broad axe blades, swung with such determined power. Like trees being felled, many enemy warriors were swiftly cut down wherever the axe-bearing household guards fought.

  Aethelstan could not hold back for long himself. Sword raised, he dived into a couple of places where Avanoran knights appeared to be making inroads towards forcing a gap in the shield wall.

  Wherever men in the front Saxan lines fell, the more inexperienced men of the levies patched up the gaps. With cruder weapons, some wielding nothing more than wooden clubs, and largely devoid of armor, the levy men presented a much easier opponent for the highly-skilled Avanoran knights. Once they moved into a breach, it did not take long for the knights to begin to hack a swathe through the Saxan defenders.

  The ferociously swung war axes of Aethelstan’s household guards and the heavy sword blades of the thanes quickly turned the momentum back in places where the enemy was making a little headway. Aethelstan gripped his shield tightly, swinging his sword in his right hand, as he found himself at the front of the line after driving a number of Avanoran spearmen and a few knights back from one gap.

  Aethelstan’s shield soon began to grow heavy, as it was embedded with the upper part of a lance, as well as a couple of arrows from below. He would soon be forced to discard it, if he could not take the time to cut the hafts off to tiny stumps, but he had little time to think as a number of spears, axes, and swords were bearing down on them again.

  After two more arrows struck, the great Saxan thane was forced to discard the sorely riddled shield in back of the shield wall. He turned just in time to engage two mailed warriors, one a knight, and one a spearman. The Avanoran fighters had just broken through the shield wall, just to the left of him.

  Rotating, he raised his sword with a passionate cry and advanced. Catching the spearman unawares, Aethelstan dropped him with a crashing blow to the side. He then traded two powerful strikes with the knight, sword to sword, before landing a clean slash to the neck that hewed the Avanoran down.

  Whipping back to his right, he brought a heavy blow to bear on the mailed side of a third opponent, who was about to thrust a spear at him. The man had a look of utter shock on his face, as he collapsed to the ground in the wake of the crushing impact.

  Without hesitation, Aethelstan turned the grip on his sword, and stabbed it straight downwards to finish the fallen warrior off. He instinctively grabbed the triangular shield of the dead man, clean of any shafts in its hide-covered surface.

  Though different in design than the shields he was used to, with a wide, rounded top, narrowing sharply in convergence downward into a small, rounded lower end, the shield nonetheless provided him ample protection for the moment.

  He used the Avanoran shield to deflect an oncoming sword strike, swiftly putting his weight forward and thrusting his own blade out, catching another knight of Avanor flush in the chest.

  A gasping, desperate cry arose from next to him, as his eyes took in the sight of the young Saxan who had spoken to him just before the Avanoran infantry had pressed forward. The young man’s eyes were already glazing over as he slumped to the ground. A short-hafted axe had been buried deep in his neck, and the attacker was stooping down to wrench it free.

  With an enraged outcry, Aethelstan slew the young man’s killer, bringing his strongest blow yet to bear on the man’s own neck. The Avanoran did not free the axe, nor did he threaten any more Saxans, falling lifeless to the ground.

  Another rumbling ran through the ground underfoot, but this time it was from a small, mounted group of Saxans that Aethelstan had cleverly placed behind a rise on the far end of the right flank. They were from Annenheim, cavalry men that had been spared for Aethelstan’s use while most of their brethren had proceeded onward to the great muster at the Plains of Athelney.

  With the battle fully enjoined, the riders had emerged and were now bearing down upon the enemy forces. There was no time for the enemy to erect a shield wall of their own.

  The mass of horsemen curved back inward, falling upon the left flank of the enemy, thrusting spears, slashing swords, and vigorousl
y swinging axes until their weapons were drenched in the blood of their enemies. The stallions they rode exacted a toll of their own amongst the enemy ranks, using their lashing hooves.

  Aethelstan’s men in the front lines, seeing the enemy’s left flank folding, fought with renewed vigor. A loud roar emerged up and down the Saxan ranks as they hewed, stabbed, and thrust. In just a few moments, the battle was tilting back towards their favor.

  A number of frenzied horn blasts again filled the air, the sound of which brought feverish commands from enemy officers spread throughout the forward ranks. The enemy forces, wherever they could disengage, fell back in a disorganized flurry. The temptation to pursue and attempt a route was very inviting. For a great many Saxans, it was impossible to resist, and they charged down the hill at the heels of the retreating enemy.

  “Hold! Hold!” Aethelstan cried, and his commands were repeated up and down the ranks. Horn signals were sounded, holding the small group of cavalry and the bulk of his front lines from continuing their pursuit of the retreating enemy warriors.

  Shooting a glance upwards, he could see the Harraks flying above. He knew that they possessed a full scope of the Saxan troop movements, and would help the enemy ground forces to engulf any pursuit. What might start as a rout of Avanor’s forces could well end up in a decisive defeat of the Saxans. However tantalizing the situation appeareed to be, it was not a risk that Aethelstan could afford.

  Turning, he shouted, gesturing urgently back towards some men who blew out a series of horn signals a moment later. The Saxan forces, including most of those that had begun to pursue the Avanorans, tightened up, reforming into denser lines a little farther up from the base of the ridge. Well out of arrow range now, they reorganized to form another strong shield wall.