Crown of Vengeance Read online

  Even though the Saxans were well aware of the general route that an enemy would take, this was still no mere border dispute. Nor was it anything like the common conflicts across the world of Ave through the ages, arising between rival kingdoms or landholders.

  A grave and unique moment had arrived, when the very existence of Saxany was under threat from a multitude of kingdoms now in thrall to the singular will of the Unifier.

  Wind Runner cantered forth alongside the dense column, and Aethelstan slowed his steed as it neared the front where the large banner of Wessachia was being carried. Aethelstan’s ears were filled with the steady tramping of hundreds upon hundreds of feet, and the continual rustles and clinks accompanying the rhythmic tread.

  He glanced back along the winding throng of commoners, following along behind the leading contingents of austere-faced, mounted warriors. A great number of smaller pennons were held high among them, carried forward at the end of long spears.

  The bonds between men of the same village, and with their immediate neighbors, would be of paramount importance in the face of the adversities that the villagers would soon be facing. More similar contingents would be joining the main column near the outermost villages of Wessachia, having mustered well in advance to meet the main force along its route.

  The muster, though hurried, was already going very well by all the latest accounts. Very few of those expected for the muster at Bergton had failed to respond to the summons. It filled Aethelstan with a fierce pride, as he knew that the levy’s nearly total presence made a tremendous statement regarding the strength residing within the people’s hearts. There was no question that they had overcome much to be standing there that day.

  Aethelstan regarded the fearful expressions and anxiety-ridden looks that filled the faces of the commoners as they filed out behind the mounted warriors. Even those who had more calm expressions were betrayed by the tight, white-knuckled grips that they held upon the bows, spears, or farm implements in their hands. Their impending sojourn claimed no end in sight, and promised to draw them very far from the town wall-walks and familiar village surroundings.

  There were so many strong feelings that raced through Aethelstan’s mind and heart at the sight of the commoners, as they started out on the long journey together.

  He had lived and trained with most of the skilled warriors of his household for years. They possessed the best of arms, such as the prized swords on the senior warriors, and the notorious, long-hafted war axes wielded by many of the others.

  Aethelstan had already fought alongside them, such as during a few minor border conflicts with Ehrengardian nobles, and he had no doubts as to their hardiness and abilities. His axe-men, he felt, could match the skills of the vaunted King’s Guard of their mutual lord, King Alcuin.

  The higher level ceorls that were part of the more widespread select levies were capably prepared as well. They were often modest landowners themselves, and some simply had not yet established the fortified enclosure and bell tower that would allow them to officially ascend to the rank of a thane.

  Whether the land of a couple or several families, a designated amount of land, measured as eight hides in total, was made responsible for providing an equipped warrior to a levy. While not necessarily matching the full skills of a garrison or household warrior, these ceorls were most certainly robust, effectively equipped, and possessed quality training.

  It was these more elite portions of the army that Aethelstan was well familiar with; the thanes, garrison warriors, household retinues, and ceorls.

  Aethelstan knew the measure of what he could expect from them on a longer campaign. The rest of the general levy was an altogether different situation, holding so many unknown factors within its broad ranks. It gave him much to think about regarding the military aspects of the campaign and looming battles.

  It was true that a small number of them had solid lances and sturdy knives, the latter including seaxs of lengths substantial enough to be like a shorter sword. A few of them even had shields and helms.

  More often than not, the few better grade weapons amongst the commoners were heirlooms that had been passed down through families for generations. Quite frequently, such items were prizes culled in the aftermath of blood-drenched battles that had occurred long ago.

  The matter of bows and archery was much different within the ranks of villagers, farmers, and artisans.

  There were a substantial number of very good quality bows carried among the commoners. With strings of linen, and staves of ash or yew, the bows were used by individuals that had honed their skills while hunting within the hilly forests of Ealdorman Morcar’s lands.

  Most with bows were competent archers, and a fair number were quite excellent in their ability. Aethelstan knew that they would hold a very important place within the Saxan ranks, and he did not even want to begin to contemplate the detriments faced by a Saxan army without an ample number of the peasant bowmen.

  Even so, the host of commoners was not of the same sort of martial ilk that his household warriors were.

  While most of them were undeniably good, hard-working people, they were not used to the trials and demands involved in an extensive war campaign. How they would respond to the rigors of battle and hardship remained to be seen, and Aethelstan would not know the answer until it was far too late to do much of anything about it. Both he and Saxany were at the mercy of those untested men, in many ways.

  In past times, the farmers and artisans had always seen their role as being to support and provision thanes such Aethelstan and their retinues for the more prevalent type of Select Levies.

  In truth, they had already performed such a role for this very march. They had worked assiduously, applying their skills tirelessly for day after day, whether it was in the making of barrels and chests, building new wagons, leather repair, the fashioning of iron implements, or any one of the seemingly innumerable elements required for outfitting a large contingent for war.

  Yet while they had performed their tasks wonderfully, a growing weight had surely dragged upon their minds. They all were mentally ready to respond to any immediate threat in the vicinity of their villages, or a nearby burh, but it had never before entered their minds that they could be called upon to leave their homes indefinitely, to fight in a far distant war.

  This call to arms would take them to fight in just such a battle and war, whose magnitude threatened to take an unprecedented number of lives.

  Aethelstan found himself worrying ever more about protecting these people in any way that he could. Never before had he come to the full realization of just how deeply he had come to care for the rugged, plain speaking, soil-tilling people of the hamlets and villages.

  The General Fyrd was a terrible burden that he now had to bear, but there was no other choice left to the thanes, ealdormen, counts, and others of the realm. The messengers had been clear about the fearsome war storm that had gathered far to the west, and was now approaching Saxany.

  Each and every man would be needed if the Saxan Kingdom were to even have a hope of surviving. The only other path was to submit to the Unifier’s growing authority, and to Aethelstan that was no choice at all. To him, and to everyone that he had spoken to, that would be an abandonment of their very souls.

  Whether tacit or by overt means, the Unifier was concentrating ever more authority to Himself. Aethelstan could not fail to see that it was pure recklessness to bring so many lands underneath one singular rule. While it might appear to some that kingdoms and empires still existed, Aethelstan knew it was all just illusion.

  King Alcuin had been absolutely right in having defied Avanor and the Unifier. Something truly dark and terrible was afoot, as only a kingdom established and ruled directly by the All-Father could be trusted to avoid the kinds of corruption and tyranny inherent in a fallible, imperfect world. Placing such a concentration of power into the hands of mortal men was perilous and foolhardy.

  Aethelstan snapped out of his momentary rum
ination, as there would be plenty of time for thinking once they were fully underway. He did not yet move forth to draw alongside the high banner with the red trees and white background, choosing instead to keep holding Wind Runner back, just off to the side of the proceeding column.

  He gazed back upon the long, thick column wending its way down from the tower-gate of the burh. The end of the column had still not emerged, though well over fifteen hundred men were now moving within Aethelstan’s sight.

  In spite of all the burdens weighing upon his spirit, a flaring surge of pride came over him as he listened to the rumbling marching of the men and watched their ranks file by him.

  Saxany was rousing itself to meet a dangerous threat once again, issuing forth in a dark hour to meet its enemy openly and with courage.

  Aethelstan and all the men of the column were joining themselves with many honorable generations of Saxan warriors that day, transcending all time as they merged their number to others who had stood forward in times of threat and dire need.

  Whatever the result of the coming battle was, the exercise of will, and affirmation of loyalties and values, that was reflected in the great column could never be taken away.

  Aethelstan burned with a great pride to be going forward with such men, from the least of the villagers to the most renowned of the veteran warriors. By stepping out of the gates, and setting their foot on the pathway towards the west, each and every one of them was making a firm declaration about themselves.

  In the final account of one’s life, the measure of oneself, and what one took a stand for, was all that truly mattered anyway.

  The recognition of the assertion being made by all the men before him strengthened Aethelstan’s spirit greatly, bolstering him at a moment when so many things were battering incessantly upon his mind.

  Without thinking about it, his left hand dropped slowly to the leather grip of Aurora, the storied sword sheathed at his left side. His fingers felt the familiar leather wrapping, as they settled between the silver-gilt, tri-lobed pommel and straight cross guard, also gilded with silver.

  The blade was named many years in the past, on the very day that it was first wielded in battle. One of Aethelstan’s ancestors had raised it high in the morning’s light, at the forefront of a Saxan force mustered to face a powerful and determined enemy.

  Witnesses later said that the blade radiated the light of the new dawn, just before the Saxans had gone forward to rout one of the last incursions of Midragardan raiders to come into Saxany.

  That revered sword had been drawn by others of Aethelstan’s line, and it had been a part of many brave exploits done on behalf of the Saxan people.

  Aethelstan wondered if the light of the sun would strike the sword once again, when the time came for him to draw it and lead the men of his homeland into the thunder of the coming fight.

  His hand squeezed the grip a little tighter, as he uttered a silent prayer that he would measure up to the thanes that had gone before him in a storied and revered line.

  Nudging Wind Runner forward into a canter again, his left hand still resting upon the hilt of Aurora, Aethelstan brought the stallion up alongside the warrior carrying the banner of Wessachia just as the front of the column neared the edge of the woods.

  The pathway would shortly intersect with a main route for martial forces, or herepath, as they continued westward, where more musters would be linking their numbers to the column as they progressed.

  So much lay ahead, and so much remained unknown, but all journeys began with the initial step.

  Aethelstan had taken that first step, as had over two thousand other men that day, despite all their fears. That alone made it an equivalent honor for Aethelstan to lead each and every one of them, simple villager and wealthy thane alike.

  DEGANAWIDA

  Solemnity filled the faces of the modest gathering seated around the hearth fire. The men were assembled in a chamber within the longhouse that displayed the image of a bear, rendered upon the facing of the bark panels suspended over the sheltered porch-entrances at each end.

  Situated near to the highly prestigious, central longhouse that housed the revered Sacred Fire of the Five Realms, the Bear Clan longhouse that Deganawida dwelled within was one of the most prominent structures of the village.

  The Bear Clan longhouse currently served as the main site for the meetings of the village council. It was the traditionally appropriate location, as Deganawida was the chosen headman of the Onan village called The Place of Far Seeing.

  All of the main members of the village council were now present and fully attentive, as Deganawida had expected in light of the unusual, recent developments.

  The eight other clan sachems looked expectantly towards Deganawida, their faces illuminated by the flames of the hearth fire. The blazing tendrils crackled steadily within the ponderous silence of the chamber.

  Along with Deganawida himself, the sachems represented the nine clans that were present within the Onan Tribe; The Bear, The Wolf, The Firaken, The Beaver, the Shadow Flyers, The Tortoise, The Hawk, The Moose, and The Deer.

  The venerated clan matrons of the substantial village had appointed each of the other eight sachems, just as they had appointed Deganawida. The clan matrons could similarly remove any of them, if they were ever deemed to be failing in their charge of guiding the village judiciously.

  As of yet, all of the sachems present had served steadily and capably ever since their appointments. It had been quite some time since a sachem had been deposed for perceived failure in their given duty.

  In addition to the sachems, the Wise Ones, the elderly men of the village, were also in attendance to give their own counsel and insights.

  At first, all of the men had engaged in a sequence of chanted prayers, offering the rhythmic devotions to the One Spirit. As always, the prayers to the Sky Lord had largely centered upon simple thanksgiving, rather than the asking of any favor.

  The men had then shared sacred tobacco together. They had smoked it reverently in the special, ornately carved wooden pipes, affixed with eagle feathers, that they passed carefully amongst each other.

  A spirit of openness and harmony predominated within the longhouse when it finally became time to discuss the important village and tribal matters at hand. At this particular council meeting, there was one predominant issue that stood forth from all others.

  Deganawida’s task, as always, was markedly different than that of the other ruling entities in the neighboring kingdom of Gallea. It was true that Deganawida carried more authority within the village in a more direct manner than he did on his seat at the Grand Council of the Five Realms. Yet his challenge was still to build consensus and wield influence, rather than issue indisputable and binding commands, as did the rulers in the western lands.

  The thunderclouds of looming war were most certainly casting broad shadows upon the minds of the clan sachems and Wise Ones. The unexpected appearance of the strange foreigners had not helped matters in the least.

  The presence of the foreigners had evoked thoughts of old prophecies and tales, all of which were set within a foreboding, worrisome context. If the foreigners were truly from another world, then there was likely much more to worry about than just the massing forces on the western borders of the tribal lands.

  Aside from the daunting, broader implications, there also remained another underlying reality if the foreigners’ story was indeed true. Assuming that their tale was sincere, they were still seven fellow humans, vulnerable and lost within an entirely unfamiliar world.

  That, more than anything else, weighed heavily upon Deganawida’s conscience as he looked out to his fellow council members.

  Underneath the wampum banners, signifying the tribe itself, and referencing momentous events of their heritage, Deganawida convened the village council with a few opening words. When finished, he sat back down and waited with an attentive ear and apprehensive heart.

  One by one, in the time-honored fashion, all of
those wishing to speak rose up to address the council, taking a seat again when they had concluded.

  The implications of this particular village council meeting were far reaching. Likely, its conclusions would reverberate all the way to the Grand Council itself. Deganawida was not the only man of the village who was also involved with the Grand Council of the Five Realms. There were three other men present who served as Pine Tree sachems for that august body. Their duties to the Grand Council included the running of messages, and acting as emissaries from time to time on behalf of the Five Realms.

  Deganawida could not help but watch the faces of those three men in particular, knowing that they were listening to the discussion with some thoughts already given towards Grand Council matters. Their reactions might well give him a hint of what to expect in the times to come.

  The series of speeches that ensued were quite uninhibited, as each speaker spoke frankly regarding their own perceptions and counsel. None would take offense for bluntly given comments during such an assembly. Candor was the way of the Onan, as it was for the other four tribes.

  In general, the sentiments that were expressed by the litany of speakers were not particularly harsh. They tended to be ones of caution, balanced with the typical desire to show generosity towards accepted guests of the tribe.

  Nearly all of the speakers expressed a concerted desire to keep the guests under close watch, as well as keeping them guarded should they venture beyond the boundaries of the village. It was clear that no man of the council felt comfortable enough to allow the seven free reign, both for their own protection as well as to address concerns of the unknown.

  Their impressions of the guests themselves, for the large part, were very positive.

  As a whole, the seven were being regarded in good favor, if not yet unconditionally embraced. To a man, the council members that spoke sensed that the seven’s claims of being from thoroughly foreign origins were genuine.