Crown of Vengeance fie-1 Read online

  The uncomfortable silence around Logan deepened, as all seemed to be waiting for Deganawida to break the impasse.

  “Do not trouble yourselves, honored guests of the Onan. Now is a time to leave the worries of the world behind us, at least for a little while,” Deganawida said at last. His voice was soothing, as he smiled reassuringly at the others. “Perhaps it would be better to let me tell you a happier tale, one about the origin of the five tribes, and how the Five Realms came together.”

  One by one, Logan and the other exiles nodded to Deganawida. For his part, Logan was ready to hear about something a little less foreboding.

  The old sachem needed little further encouragement. Without delay, he began to relate the account of the origins of the Five Realms.

  The tribes, as it turned out, had not always been so cohesive with each other. The tale of it all was quite fascinating, and featured a powerful Wizard from whom Deganawida had derived his own name. The ancient Wizard had brought the five tribes the Great Law, and instigated the Grand Council around the Sacred Fire, the flames of which had been tended and warded ever since then by the Onan tribe.

  Even more intriguing, one of the major figures in that story was an Onan by the name of Ayenwatha, who had endured a terrible ordeal. In a time of great war and strife among the contentious tribes, the other Ayenwatha had lost his wife and three daughters. The tragedies had been attributed by many to an Onan shaman named Atotarho, a practitioner of magic who was given to dark leanings. Rumored to be under the sway of the Dark Brother, the malevolent shaman lived in the depths of the forest, and was reputed to have living snakes coiled within his hair.

  It was in that time of terrible darkness that Ayenwatha had cried out in the midst of his tremendous grief, hesitating in pursuing the revenge that was expected in such loathsome situations. The Wizard Deganawida had heeded his call and come to Ayenwatha, bringing him consolation and revealing a new, more enlightened path for the tribes to take.

  Out of that healing time, Ayenwatha had joined with Deganawida, and the two had worked together to found the Great Law, the Grand Council, and the Sacred Fire.

  Ayenwatha had even shown compassion to Atotarho during that legendary time, bringing his former adversary to a kind of redemption that was represented with the combing of the shaman’s serpent-infested hair. The humbled shaman had renounced his previous ways, embraced the Great Law, and then had taken the second seat upon the Grand Council.

  When peace and harmony among the five tribes had been achieved, and everything was set in place, the Wizard Deganawida had abruptly departed. It was said that one day, when the peace of the land had failed, and when the people faced certain destruction, that the powerful Wizard would return to them once again.

  Logan found the story to be profound and compelling, rich as it was with the foundational elements of the Five Realms themselves. The tale was also intriguing, in that it contained the namesakes of two of their prominent hosts.

  It also had another more immediate effect. By the time that Deganawida had finished, the mood of Logan and the others had been lifted up once again, and the look of serenity on Deganawida’s face was unmistakable. The renewed spirits were much more appropriate for a welcoming feast.

  GUNTHER

  The trespassers had unusually strange clothing, and their speech was like nothing that Gunther had ever heard before, not in even one of the many lands that he had traversed during his lifetime.

  While they did not yet appear to be minions of the Unifier, Gunther stalked them with due caution. Life had long ago taught him very hard lessons about taking anything for granted. One erroneous judgement could be lethal.

  Times were more shadowy and dismal than ever before. The most recent tidings were a constant burden to Gunther’s mind, and he wondered as to whether the strangers had anything to do with the darkness sweeping across the Saxan lands.

  Males from the outermost villages of Saxany were being called up by a full-scale, general levy, known in the Saxan lands as the General Fyrd. The distressing news had reached Gunther’s ears when he had recently visited Ebba, an older blacksmith who lived within the village of Oak Crossing.

  The village was the nearest human habitation to Gunther’s solitary woodland abode. It was named after an ancient, majestic oak tree that sat astride the crossroads of a couple of the more remote forest trails.

  Not liking the droll field work that so many Saxan villagers were engaged in, Ebba had stepped forward when the village’s previous smith had taken sick and died. Having aided the smith often before, Ebba had gained just enough skill, and had scraped up enough equipment, to serve as an adequate blacksmith for the small village community.

  As practically everyone needed his services, including all the other artisans, he had soon enjoyed a more prominent position in the village, even though his work was fairly mediocre.

  His time was largely spent on simple, practical fare, such as the making of nails, working with small knives, and other common implements. He was also one of the very few people that the reclusive woodsman interacted with more than once a year.

  The sight of the thin-faced older man was always amusing in itself to Gunther. Regularly coated with charcoal dust, and with his sparser strands of graying hair disheveled all about his narrow head, Ebba’s appearance alone had often evoked a smile from Gunther.

  Gunther’s latest visit to Ebba had been for some strap-end clasps, a quantity of iron nails, a pair of small cutting shears, and the acquisition of a new hand axe head for use around his homestead. As Ebba retrieved and gathered the items together that Gunther had requested on his previous visit, the blacksmith had related the dire tidings that had cast such a pall over Saxan hearts.

  A massive storm front of war had been hurled forth by the Unifier. It was heading directly eastward, rolling steadily towards Saxany, being conveyed through neighboring Ehrengard. Many allies of Avanor were involved in supporting the war effort, from what Ebba had learned from some messengers and Saxan warriors that had passed through the village on their way to designated mustering points.

  There had been no choice left to King Alcuin in the face of the impending war but to issue a full levy summons. Even little, remote Oak Crossing had not found itself immune from the demands of the General Fyrd.

  Ebba was one of the few remaining adult males left in Oak Crossing, just old enough that he was deemed incapable of holding up to longer marches. Ebba had still been working long hours to help ready the men of Oak Crossing that had since departed for their assigned mustering point.

  Ebba had shaken his head sadly, describing what he had thought as he handed over reforged knives to anxious village men, and done whatever he could to shore up the iron heads of picks and scythes normally used for farm work. The only true weapons in the village had been the hunting bows possessed by a few of the men.

  In Ebba’s opinion, a rabble was being sent out to meet a well-prepared invader in battle, and nothing about it boded well to him.

  Gunther tried to comfort Ebba by reminding him that the villagers were just part of a much larger force that would include thanes, household warriors, and many other better trained and equipped men.

  Nonetheless, the news had been very disheartening, especially as this was no summons for a localized defense. Ebba would have been expected to take part in repelling such a threat, as he was strong enough to hold a weapon. Rather, the Saxans were moving huge forces far from their home regions, bolstering up a line of defense that was being positioned in the far west of their realm.

  The grim news had put Gunther on immediate alert, and he had mulled it all over carefully by the time that he had returned to his dwelling from Oak Crossing. He had kept the news in the forefront of his mind all throughout the far-ranging hunting foray that had now brought him to the very edge of Wessachia’s boundaries.

  He did not often venture into the nearby County of Annenheim, but a part of him wanted to have a look around the outskirts of the area to see if he
might come across any signs of the impending invasion.

  A general levy of all able-bodied men, to be sent on a campaign, was no small matter. It heralded a very dangerous emergency, with existential implications for the Saxan Realm.

  Gunther had not yet come across the enemy, but he had picked up the trail of the four peculiar strangers. It was clear that the members of the quartet were neither advanced in woodland skills, nor particularly adept at masking their travel.

  Any advance scouts sent by a mighty power like the Unifier would be among the best culled from powerful realms. Such individuals would likely prove a challenge even to one as practiced and experienced as Gunther.

  The woodsman had now been shadowing the quartet’s moves for a couple of leagues. Five of his Jaghuns had accompanied him on the hunting expedition, including the one that had first picked up the strangers’ trail. The huge creatures moved dexterously and nimbly alongside Gunther, with nary a sound.

  It was fortunate for the strangers that Gunther held such a degree of control over the massive, highly intelligent creatures.

  The group of strangers had been walking along the forest’s edge for most of the morning, but had just recently turned inward, striding deeper into the woodlands. While still a considerable distance away, Gunther knew that if the strangers kept to their current path that they would eventually come upon his secluded homestead.

  Gunther could not assume that they would change directions. He knew that he would soon have to determine whether or not they were truly of the Unifier. The last thing that he wanted was the Unifier’s minion’s becoming aware of his homestead, especially in the context of an imminent invasion.

  If the strangers were innocent of such an association, as a significant part of him suspected, then they would be free to go on their way with Gunther’s blessing. If not, then they would not be leaving the woods alive.

  Gunther still clung to a faint hope that the affairs of the world at large would bypass his small nook within the woodlands. He was realistic enough to know that such a hope probably would not be justified.

  Yet as long as he could do something to affect matters, he certainly would try to guide his fortunes.

  Clad in earthy colors, with a knee-length woolen tunic, breeches with narrow lengths of gartering wound snugly about the lower legs from his leather shoes up to his knees, his appearance blended quite well with the shadowy forest environment. Gunther was quite proficient at melting into his surroundings, as well as being adept in not providing his intended quarry with any sign that he was approaching.

  Gunther realized that a part of him did not entirely care if the newcomers were investigated or interceded for. He could allow them to amble right into the two Jaghuns currently back guarding his homestead. He knew that his Jaghuns and their bone-crushing jaw strength would make very short work of the four humans.

  The stark honesty of the realization was a notion that immediately shamed him, because at one time Gunther knew that he would have sought to protect any creature of the All-Father from avoidable harm.

  He had indeed become very hardened over the recent years.

  After much travel, pain, and sorrows, he had finally gotten his wish to live the way that he wanted to. He was just over forty, in full health, and still in possession of a very capable body. He was a little slower in reflex and speed than in his youth, but was stronger, more experienced, and far more skilled.

  He had fast become defensive towards any unwanted intrusions, discovering a higher degree of sensitivity within himself at each ensuing instance. Most of the occurrences had involved woodland stragglers, whose presence and motives in the sparsely inhabited wildlands were never above suspicion.

  Discernment of strangers was becoming an ever greater challenge, as Gunther grew to be fiercely protective of his solitude.

  The occasional outlaw or brigand, sometimes appearing in small groups, wandered into his territory. Darker intentions did not always match with courage, as they were easily driven far off from the area. Only a very few had been foolish enough to make a fight of it, and those ill-advised men had met with a very quick fate.

  There were a few rare positive exchanges, including some occasional interactions with the men who served Aethelstan, a great thane in service to the Ealdorman Morcar of Wessachia. Aethelstan lived within the nearest burh, a fairly large one called Bergton that lay to the east of Gunther’s abode.

  The men of Aethelstan, and the great thane himself, respected Gunther’s desire to live in peace. They also did not mind Gunther’s unceasing tendency to drive off any brigands or outlaws wishing to take up residence within the wilderness area.

  As such, they had never tried to pressure him in any way to conform to the usual standards expected of most men. Gunther knew that he did not actually own the land that he lived upon, but it was wild forest, and he did inadvertently provide Aethelstan with a very effective watch close to some Wessachian villages.

  Gunther had long ago surmised that Aethelstan had deemed the stalwart’s woodsman’s shunning of brigands and outlaws as a worthy contribution, in lieu of any other service or material obligation to the Kingdom of Saxany. The King’s reeve at Bergton, an honest enough of a fellow named Behrtwald, had never even paid Gunther one visit.

  Gunther could also tell that Aethelstan’s men were entirely fascinated with the exotic Jaghuns that he raised. They were creatures native to the legendary Shadowlands, which lay far to the east, across oceans and other harrowing lands.

  Like Ebba in Oak Crossing, the great thane’s men brought Gunther periodic news of the broader world. While remaining isolated, to the point of being fairly reclusive, Gunther was not completely disinterested in word about the happenings in the Kingdom of Saxany and realms beyond.

  The larger world had been at the center of his life, up until his self-imposed exile to the woodlands in the Saxan province. Regardless of everything, he was wholeheartedly prepared to live out his life in those woods, with the company of nothing more than his small brood of loyal Jaghuns.

  Despite his chosen way, Gunther knew deep within himself that he could not let fellow creatures of the All-Father become needlessly endangered. He still believed firmly that the day would come when he would have to account for his entire life with the Creator of all things.

  On that momentous day, no excuses would suffice. Only what he had done, and the choices that he had made, would be weighed in the balance to see whether or not he had truly accepted Emmanu.

  Gunther admonished himself harshly for his insular, selfish, and undeniably cruel inclinations, at least until he fully determined the allegiances of the four outsiders.

  Even with a modicum of understanding, Gunther was confident that he could determine whose side they were truly on; that of the Unifier, or those that wished to be free in will.

  Confrontation on some level was inevitable, but there were no concerns if it turned for the worse. He had five fully trained, matured Jaghuns with him. Furthermore, any of the Ealdormen or Counts in the Saxan Kingdom, even King Alcuin himself, would have given anything to have the martial skill of one such as Gunther in their service.

  Gunther quietly kept stride with the group of strangers as he pondered the challenges of his situation.

  It was then that a voice, like a soft breeze, came abruptly to his ears.

  “Gunther, hold for a few moments. I would speak with you.”

  Gunther spun around at the sudden words, raising his arm with sword in hand to defend himself. Only at the last instant did he hold back the blow that he was about to deliver.

  Standing calmly before him, in long blue robes, was a tall, elderly man, with a bountiful white beard and a similarly snowy mass of hair.

  His face was set into a warm smile. He looked out from under the broad brim of his low-crowned hat with one blue eye, which seemed to sparkle with an inner light. The old man showed absolutely no concern over the upheld sword that had barely been held back by Gunther, his right hand resting w
ithout any sign of tension upon a tall wooden staff.

  “Stranger, you truly show yourself at the most unexpected times,” Gunther remarked curtly, not entirely amused at the sudden surprise.

  He lowered his sword point, and slowly slid it back into the sheath affixed to his baldric.

  Gunther could not stifle a chuckle, as two of his huge Jaghuns bounded right up to the old man. Standing idly, their broad heads came up above the man’s waist. They angled their wide, short muzzles upward to gaze expectantly into the old man’s face.

  The corded muscle massed all around their jaws, thick necks, and shoulders gave evidence to the sheer, awesome power held within their devastating bite. Those massive jaws were now less than an arm’s length from the old man.

  Yet there was no tension on the part of the Jaghuns, or unease on the part of the old man. It was as if they were simply old friends, and the old man smiled warmly as he reached down and gently patted both of the great beasts upon their heads, scratching them behind their dark ears as they wagged their medium-length tails briskly.

  “They really do have a great affection for you, Wanderer. And I do trust their judgements,” Gunther said, shaking his head in wonder once again. “You are very unusual among those I have come across in this world, and you give little warning to your visits. We have spoken together a few times, and I find myself with more questions and fewer answers with every new encounter of you. I am certain that you will perplex me again before you depart.”

  “I must confess that I am sometimes in a world unto myself, and perhaps should be more forthcoming,” the old man replied with a grin, seeming to almost laugh. “But then again, you are not the most sociable of men that I have encountered in my journeys, my reclusive woodland friend.

  “Your point is conceded,” Gunther retorted, a smirk now upon his face.

  “And I suppose that you were following the four newcomers too?” the old man then inquired of him. “They are unlike any within our world’s realms.”