Crown of Vengeance Read online

  Though the parchment map was rather simple in its display, it was quickly proving to be a very valuable and welcome gift. It had come from an elderly monk, who resided in the esteemed monastery of Jafarne, located in the neighboring province of Wesvald. It had already become of great use to Aethelstan, both in his planning and in conferences with the other thanes.

  He silently pondered the general area where the bulk of the missing scouts had recently disappeared, working to grasp some further insights beyond what his instincts had already told him.

  One scout had managed to return from the disconcerting region. Aethelstan had met with the scout privately upon his return, just before the larger conference had taken place. The lone scout had traveled far enough to reach the outlying edges of the marches that bordered Wessachia to the southwest. The area was situated just a little farther away from the core area of Aethelstan’s concern, where most of the scouts were vanishing.

  The scout had taken a more circuitous route upon his return, avoiding the less traveled woods right along the Wessachian border. In Aethelstan’s eyes, it was likely a decision that had inadvertently spared the fortunate scout’s life.

  The great thane was enormously thankful for the scout’s successful return, for the scout’s own sake as well as the precious information that had been gleaned. The scout had brought back some very disturbing tidings with him, mostly gathered from a visit to one of the easternmost march forts.

  Word had come to the scout of entire horse-mounted patrols, of the kind sent out from the fort garrisons for routine forays, not returning. The number of horse-mounted couriers arriving at the march fort had also dropped sharply in the recent few weeks.

  As patrols disappeared and arrivals declined, occupants of the fort had quickly noted that the riders continuing to arrive safely were those coming in from the direct north, south, or southeast.

  A few unusually large clusters of sky warriors had been reported within the same period, witnessed in the skies high over the western marches. They had curiously kept their distance from the march forts. They had not visited, or even come anywhere near to the garrisons, as Saxan sky warriors traditionally would have whenever they were within the marches.

  A couple men of the garrison had commented to the Wessachian scout that these distantly observed clusters had appeared to be flying in an unusual formation. Instead of flying abreast of each other, or in a discernibly spearheaded type of formation, the observed groups had been crossing the skies in a loose throng.

  A few other garrison men had then remarked that the steeds especially appeared to have a different profile in comparison to the winged Saxan mounts that the garrison men had observed on many occasions before.

  The men had attributed the anomalous perception to deceptive tricks of the sunlight, the great distance, or fanciful imaginations fueled by anxiety on their part. Apart from the brief mentions of the observation, little else had been said on the matter during the scout’s visit.

  Aethelstan was immensely glad that the scout had deemed the fleeting observations valuable enough to remember and pass on formally to the great thane. Aethelstan was not quite so sure that the garrison men were deceived by mere tricks of sunlight, or by active imaginations.

  It took little to recognize that something was most certainly amiss in that region. Aethelstan could not overlook the possibility that the perceived anomalies could well indeed be dire warnings, of something much worse to follow.

  After some further discussion between the scout and Aethelstan, the great thane had come to a firm determination. The areas where the garrison patrols and the scouts had seemingly vanished were both within in the general region around the headwaters of the Grenzen River.

  It did not take much further consideration to recognize that the disappearances of the mounted patrols and the scouts were not likely a mere coincidence. It was all but certain that they had a common cause. The faces of the other thanes in the dim firelight within the tent’s confines reflected the same worrisome concerns that Aethelstan now held tightly inside of him.

  It had now been many hours since the farthest ranging scouts had been expected to return, not to mention a small number of scouts sent out to closer areas along the immediate western boundary of Wessachia. The latter were far past overdue for returning. Aethelstan held out few hopes that the Wessachian scouts would be making an appearance in the camp anytime soon.

  The anxiety among even the greatest of the thanes was building towards a very uncomfortable level. Like Aethelstan, most had begun to fear the worst.

  “The mounted patrols sent out by the garrison forts that did not return were traveling in the very same area that our missing scouts were probing,” Aethelstan stated, sweeping his steady gaze across the faces of those gathered around. “It is obvious that a very serious threat has emerged, one that we need to identify as soon as we can. It may involve the very purpose that we have mustered for.”

  “And what of the Woodsman? Our missing scouts were not all that far from his hunting grounds and dwelling. Certainly not if they went to the territory immediately to the west. It is said that the Woodsman knows of every beast that crosses through his hunting range … and that no outlaw dares to seek refuge there. If anything threatened and harmed our men, then the Woodsman would know,” Ceolric, one of the other thanes, suggested.

  “Yes … yes indeed. The Woodsman … Gunther,” Aethelstan responded slowly, looking up to Ceolric. “He would surely know of any disturbances. It is excellent advice that you give, Ceolric, and we should dispatch a heavily armed group of warriors to try and make some manner of contact with him. Gunther dwells to the south and west of where we now stand in this encampment. With all our scouts sent to the west not reporting back, I would not desire to send any man out alone now.”

  “But we have no idea what it is that we face in that area! Should we not be very careful in learning more? Send a larger force immediately to the west? Is that wise?” sharply questioned another one of the thanes, named Ethelred, a thin fellow of about thirty years of age with a haughty expression upon his face.

  “You have heard our scout’s report, as I have. Yes, the mounted patrols have been said to disappear here, but it would be foolhardy, even disastrous, to be willfully blind to what is happening there,” Aethelstan said gravely, pointing again at the map in the area where the scouts and patrols had seemingly vanished.

  “What do you think it is?” asked Ethelred, his tone less strident than before.

  “I fear that the enemy means to come at us in strength right through this area, but we cannot pass firm judgement on what we do not know. There is something very important to learn here, but we must not be reckless either. … What is the mood of your men?”

  As Aethelstan posed the query, his eyes swept again across the faces of the men gathered around him, the question being directed to all of them.

  “There is much worry. Many have been drawn away from the fields. … For some there is nobody to shear their herds of sheep, for that season is nearly upon us. Even the newborn lambs are at greater risk, with fewer hale bodies to watch over them. It was fortunate that the plowing of fields was largely finished. The full muster has sorely depleted the villages and towns,” Ceolric commented somberly, being the first to voice a reply to Aethelstan’s query. “Many have never traveled so far from their village. It is like nothing that even we have known.”

  The sentiments expressed by Ceolric were soon echoed by the other thanes, all of them pointing out the unique nature of the immense mustering of the Kingdom of Saxany.

  “All of you speak truly. What you observe and hear is no different in my own eyes and ears. This is like no time that my father, or father’s father, ever knew,” Aethelstan replied ruefully. It was the irrefutable truth, and it served no purpose to try and deny it. “We all know that the king would call a full muster for no small reason, and would not ask Wessachia to watch the passes towards the north and east without a grasp of the enemy’s intention
s.”

  Aethestan’s gaze passed once again across the faces of the stalwart thanes. “Are all the levies in?”

  “It seems so,” Ethelred replied. “The last group from the villages around the burh at Devonton have arrived in full, five thanes, many ceorls, and a good number of very capable villagers in their force, many of whom possess good arms. These villagers are from thickly wooded areas, and there are also many among them who possess good skill with a bow.”

  “If the muster from Devonton is in, then we have our full strength here in this camp, as much as we will have available to us. We will need every last man,” Aethelstan replied firmly. “And we will also need to learn whatever we can of the enemy’s forces, and most importantly, their intended path.”

  Aethestan’s gaze then grew iron-hard, and his tone reflected his conviction. “This means that we must try and make an incursion into the troubled region.”

  “Then we must decide who it is that will go,” Ceolric stated matter-of-factly.

  A number of thanes immediately volunteered for the hazardous and uncertain mission, creating some initial disorder within the large tent. The momentary disarray prompted Aethelstan to raise his arms up to quiet them down, to try to bring some coherence back to the discussion.

  “We will need to go in some strength, greater than that of an average patrol, as that is our best chance at success. As it is my decision to try and enter this area, I shall personally lead the group,” Aethelstan announced, bringing all lingering murmurs and conversations to a full halt. He paused for a moment before continuing. “I will bring several of my own men with me. I would ask no man to take a risk that I would not be willing to take myself.”

  He straightened up and looked around to the others with a grim countenance that girded the seriousness of his words.

  “We must take close assessments of the land,” he continued. “The word that has been gathered from spies and scouts tell us that our lands will be facing a great and terrible strength from the west. Our enemies will also know soon enough that we are here, through the eyes of their minions in the air. It is my belief that the men of the march garrisons espied the first of the expected enemy sky riders. I also fear that it is those sky riders that have much to do with the disappearances of so many Saxans in the region of concern. While I am gone, those here must find and prepare the best positions for our coming defense.”

  In the wake of the great thane’s words, a murmur rose up again among the others, as all wanted to accompany Aethelstan on the imminent foray.

  Aethelstan knew that the strong-headed thanes would not come to any compromise on the matter, even if they knew that all could not go. To break the impasse, there was little other choice remaining than for Aethelstan to delegate.

  Brooking no arguments in the matter, Aethelstan called for total silence. He then proceeded to select about half of the leading thanes from among those surrounding him.

  Aethelstan then instructed the others that he had not chosen for the mission to see to the location of the most defensible positions. He then entrusted the map back into the care of an older priest named Father Wilfrid. Clad in a full-length, flowing, dark tunic, the priest had been standing quietly just in back of the Saxan thane.

  The old priest nodded serenely to the great thane, as his weathered hands grasped the parchment. He gave Aethelstan a few subtle words of encouragement, barely above a whisper. Aethelstan returned the priest’s slight bow, and gave a warm smile in return, very glad for the man’s presence. The sight of the old priest always bolstered his spirits, as it did even at that very troubling moment.

  The old man had held up very well over the tiring journey from Bergton, having taken extended leave of the church there to accompany the great many men from his parish who had been levied for the looming war. The elderly priest had not complained even once during the arduous travel, spending most of his time among the villagers and common men.

  His presence alone had boosted their morale considerably. While it was held among the Saxans that the afterworld was secret and hidden, as no mortal man or woman had ever returned from it, it was nonetheless a great boon to the men of Father Wilfrid’s parish to have a beloved representative of that unseen kingdom with them. A priest of the All-Father, especially one that had taken care of their families throughout their life in times of sorrow and joy alike, reminded them of their strongest foundations.

  The old priest had given all the young men of the parish the anointing rites of the Three Immersions. He had bonded a good number of them with their wives in the sacred rites of marriage. Furthermore, the priest had given many of their loved ones Transition Rites during their last moments, and had buried them when finally deceased. The kind of bonds that were forged between the men of the parish and the priest during such momentous times in their lives was far stronger than the finest iron.

  Aethelstan had been unable to talk the old priest out of going with the Saxan force. He had tried to discourage the priest out of concern for the old man’s health, but he was not entirely disappointed that his efforts had failed. The morale of the men, and of Aethelstan himself, was far better with the kindly old priest’s imminent presence.

  “It shall remain with me until your return. Do not be reckless, my dear friend. Passions triumphing over calm minds can bring you defeat when victory is present,” Father Wilfrid then said gently, in the warm, soothing tone that Aethelstan was so accustomed to.

  The words were not an admonishment, but simply cautionary and advisory in nature. The sincerity of the priest’s concern was indisputable.

  “And I shall keep a calm mind Father, here and in the battle to come,” Aethelstan responded in a low voice.

  Aethelstan placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, and patted him affectionately, in a gesture of reassurance.

  Turning back to the men gathered around him, Aethelstan took his leave of them, so that they could all attend to their preparations. Stepping out from behind the low trestle table, he walked briskly through the gathered thanes and exited out the entrance flap of the large tent.

  A few of his household troops were gathered just outside. Having been waiting around a nearby fire, they rose to full attention as he appeared before them.

  Their looks were expectant in the glow of the firelight, as Aethelstan took a slow, calculated breath of the immaculate night air. The cleansing intake of breath felt good to his lungs as he glanced up at the twinkling night sky above. Yet as clear and beautiful as the night was, there was no time to savor the vast sight spread out to the horizons overhead.

  Aethelstan brought his gaze back down with a little regret. He ordered his household warriors to summon ten more of his most senior retainers, even as the major thanes selected from amongst those who had assembled in Aethelstan’s tent hurried to gather up their own elite warriors.

  If the Unifier had some advance contingents and scouting groups probing the outer borders of Wessachia, ones strong enough to overwhelm small mounted patrols, Aethelstan intended to give them a greeting woven with strength and fury if they were to meet.

  It was not very much longer before a solid force numbering just over a hundred well-armed and equipped Saxan warriors were gathered, mounted, and ready for the impending sojourn. Even Aethelstan’s own stallion, having rested and eaten, seemed restless and eager to go forth into the night. Wind Runner gave a deep, vigorous snort as the thane climbed into the saddle of his mount and took up the reins.

  At Aethelstan’s signal they all set out under the silvery light of the two moons; to explore the hilly forest region to the west, locate the woodsman Gunther, and learn whatever they could of the great menace gathering to strike their lands.

  LEE

  Traveling by night, Lee and his companions were afforded only a scant few, very brief rests. Even those fleeting respites were allowed only in order to prevent the group’s total collapse from exhaustion. Lee and the others covered a considerable distance of ground during the forced march, under the
steady pressure and guidance of the woodsman Gunther.

  The unobstructed two moons far above cast a moderate amount of light down among the surrounding trees. At the least, the illumination was enough to walk by without undue fear of stumbling into some unseen obstacle.

  Though his legs felt as if they were fashioned of solid bricks, and his knees and lower back cried out continuously, Lee trudged onward with grim resolve. He glanced often towards Gunther, though he had to concentrate more and more in his increasing fatigue to avoid tripping on the uneven surface of the woodland floor.

  The dour woodsman had been fairly silent and withdrawn all throughout the journey. A cloud of tension and dark thoughts had seemed to envelop the woodsman shortly after they had gotten underway.

  There were no efforts on the part of Lee or any of the others to try and interject into the man’s brooding aura. Lee was more than content to wait patiently until Gunther opted to let them into his private and mysterious world. The woodsman was not the sort of individual to be coerced, and Lee knew that any attempt to do so would be feeble and likely provoking.

  For the most part, the four otherworlders had capably handled the exacting pace that they had all been subjected to. Even Erin had been without outward complaint. Gratefully, she seemed reticent about doing anything to offend Gunther. Though Lee felt strongly that she eventually needed some harsh admonishment, he did not want to witness what an irritated response by the stern, grieving woodsman might be like. The man looked to be capable of loosing a hurricane of wrath.

  Mercifully, Gunther finally decided to call an extended halt for the rest of the night as they reached the base of a large hill.

  The Jaghuns appeared out of the darkness again, soon after Gunther sounded a short series of deep, barking calls. The Jaghuns stayed only briefly, before Gunther dispersed them, sending the creatures trotting off into the shadows of the night.