Dream of Legends Page 5

  “You will know, Aethelstan. Our hearts will not tire,” Edmund stated resolutely to the great thane, with a slight nod of his head. His firm, somber tone, and iron-steady gaze conveyed the confidence within him to the man that was both his superior and his friend.

  “This force will depend on the eyes of your men,” Aethelstan replied stoically. “I will depend upon you.”

  Edmund fixed his gaze upon that of Aethelstan. “If peril should come upon you, know that somehow I will be there to make certain that you do not fall.”

  Aethelstan held back the smile that wished to emerge, not wanting Edmund to misinterpret his expression as taking the lesser thane lightly. Edmund’s words were no boast, as Aethelstan knew that the man would go through hell itself if Aethelstan was in mortal danger.

  Aethelstan was so very grateful that Edmund would be there for the coming battle. Edmund’s resolve was infectious, something that was good for all the warriors, including Aethelstan. With the slightest of grins, Aethelstan patted Edmund firmly upon the shoulder.

  “I know you would be there, but it is imperative that you do not fall either,” Aethelstan stated. A wide smile then burst upon his face. “I will trust in Offa’s estimation that we have at least a day left to us. The Trogens can learn no more today than what they have already acquired. Let us go share some ale together, and forget about this turmoil for a few precious moments.”

  Aethelstan glanced around at his houseguard, and the other men with Edmund. “Is there any objection?”

  The men around him smiled back warmly.

  “I didn’t think so,” Aethelstan said, with a chuckle. “Then let us not tarry further. To my tent. Let us fill some cups together! Some Saxan practices must not be ignored, even in such trying times!”

  “Indeed, if there ever was the perfect Saxan thane, such a thane would only be your equal!” Edmund remarked, as he strode alongside his friend.

  *

  WULFSTAN

  *

  “They abandoned all the hill forts along the borders. The forts at the crossroads too. Pulled the cavalry right back out. The garrisons too, they say, and left ‘em abandoned. Heard it with my own ears,” commented a man to Wulfstan’s right, as they worked to break up the hard earth and dig the wide trench rapidly forming along the outermost boundary of the sprawling encampment.

  “Then it must be no small force indeed that comes at us,” added a paunchy, gray-bearded man whose face was caked in sweat. He huffed with exertion as he swung his pick-axe down, scattering lumps of newly-freed earth. “If you are sayin’ the Western March is emptied, that is …”

  “It had better hope to be very strong, if it is to get by us,” Wulfstan riposted firmly, hearing the great anxiety beneath the man’s words. His own chest heaved as he brought the iron headed pick-axe overhead, and slammed it forcefully into the ground, throwing up several substantial chunks of dirt.

  The men spoke with the relaxed familiarity that came from long years of association and interaction together. None of them had ever been so far away from their home villages, but their shared past and current experiences strengthened their bonds even further.

  The Saxan ranks had continued to swell considerably over the past couple of days, as large numbers of the new arrivals were put immediately to work on defenses surrounding the principle Saxan encampment.

  Wulfstan was glad for the hard labor, as it gave them all something to do to pass the time and hold their deep unease at bay. Most of the men had never seen more than a handful of people gathered together, hundreds at the most. The presence of so many thousands was a bewildering sight to most levy men, looking as if the entire world was coming together in one location.

  For his own part, Wulfstan was slowly working to grow used to the presence of so many people in one place. It was certainly staggering to consider the vast sights around him.

  Whatever others were feeling, he knew that his own state of mind had definitely been cast awry, as his recurring dream had been coming back to him on a nightly basis. The visions of destruction and flight towards the heavens continued to permeate his mind, feeling so real that he often woke up in cold sweats, with a racing heart.

  Leaning on the rough wooden shaft of the pick, he looked up at the sky. With echoes of his dreams resounding in his mind, Wulfstan almost expected to see a peculiar, and conspicuous, layer of something like a cloudmass far, far above, of the purest white radiance.

  “They’ll get by you for sure, dreaming while awake,” jibed the first man with a chuckle, snapping Wulfstan out of his reverie.

  “It is a nice day for such,” the second man remarked.

  Wulfstan smiled, heaving the pick back up to his shoulder. “Okay, I’m guilty, you all caught me. I’m getting back to work now, if you do not mind.”

  He swung the pick again with renewed force, feeling the strength unleash through the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. Ultimately and in truth, there was little else to do, other than await the certain approach of the enemy.

  “You’d face an army by yourself, says I,” the first man uttered, chuckling and shaking his head as he glanced at the stout-hearted warrior.

  “And what is that?” queried the second, older man, a curious lilt to his tone of voice. He rested the head of his own pick-ax on the ground, and peered out towards the plain in front of them, squinting.

  “You’d better not take another break, Cenwald. Your bones are not that old. Even if you always try to make us think so. Nobody believes it during the plowing time at the village back home. We all know you are one of the best hunters and all … and I …” the first speaker started to say.

  His jovial smile faded as fast as his words, as his own eyes rose upward and gazed out. His attention was drawn suddenly in the direction of the west, towards where Cenwald was staring.

  Wulfstan followed their gazes, seeing the trepidation spreading on their faces. Out on the very edge of their vision, the men beheld the distant, swift movement of several horsemen who were circling about on the open plain to the northwest. The horsemen had just crested the low, long slope of a distant rise. It took no expert amongst them to immediately recognize that the horsemen were of a foreign nature.

  The horses moved with speed and grace, flowing in harmony across the grassy plain. They looked to be smaller of build than any horses that the village men had seen before.

  Overall, there were only a few of the galloping horsemen, but all of the men in the developing trench knew what their presence meant. It signified boldly that the time that they had all been inwardly dreading had arrived at last. The horsemen could be none other than the outlying scouts of the invaders, in the vanguard of the enemy force.

  “From Andamoor, I’d say. The turban-wearers far from the north, across the seas. Their horses look fragile enough. We will see what kind of warriors they are soon enough,” rumbled a grizzled thane, standing on the lip of the deepening trench.

  The thane rested his strong, weathered hands on his hips, as he looked out with a hard gaze towards the plain.

  Wulfstan looked from the thane and back out toowards the plain with increased wonder. He had heard a few gleeman tell tales of the lands far to the northwest, but had never actually seen anyone from Andamoor before with his own eyes.

  He continued to marvel at the swift, slender horses that gracefully navigated the plain. He did not see anything fragile about the elegant, controlled way that the riders and horses seemed to glide in harmony across the open ground.

  Instead, the sight of their dexterity was at once a thing to instill caution in him. It was the first, unmistakable sign that the enemy would be coming at them with new types of fighters and cavalry, of kinds unknown to their own lands and ways.

  Something in Wulfstan’s mind told him that the strange horsemen would be far from the only different element within the invading army now marching upon their lands. Yet there would be no way of knowing what was truly coming until everything was already upon them. Even then, t
he things that were unknown to the Saxans would be just as confusing and hard to fathom.

  The enemy army would be like a dense, impenetrable storm surging relentlessly towards them, vast and mysterious in the power that it would hurl against the Saxans. In some ways, it was like the cataclysmic forces of Wulfstan’s dreams. Their promises of destruction always preceded the deep, distinctive voice that Wulfstan heard in his dreams, and the subsequent flight into the skies toward a faraway, cloud-like shape.

  That thought, coupled with the cognizance of the implications displayed out on the plains before his eyes, caused a slight agitation to take hold within him. He fought an impulse to look back up to the skies, to again look for a cloud-like shape of opalescent brilliance.

  The horsemen showed little worry about being seen, almost as if they wanted to herald the arrival of their army. They were not worried about silence, either. The air carried their faint, distant cries across the ground. Wulfstan held little doubt that they could have easily remained hidden if they had wanted to.

  “They will camp beyond the edge of our sight,” added the thane, before returning his attentions to the men in the trench. “But the battle is not long off now. Something you must keep in mind. There is no time for delay. Finish this trench.”

  Despite the strong tone to the thane’s words, there was a perceptible undercurrent of grave concern in his voice. The men needed no prodding or cajoling to achieve a greater sense of urgency.

  Wulfstan barely heard the thane’s words, absently nodding, as he brought his pick up and down again. In between blows to the earth, his gaze returned to the horsemen.

  To the right of his field of vision, a small group of Saxan cavalry galloped in the direction of the scouts. He could see the sunlight glinting off their iron helms and the spear-blades of their long lances, pennons flapping in the wind from a couple of them.

  Even from his distance, Wulfstan could assess the differences in the two types of mounts. The strong Saxan steeds were indeed hardy, but they were noticeably slower than the breed utilized by the enemy scouts. The gap still closed as the enemy horsemen circled, yelling out some unintelligible cries at the approaching Saxan warriors.

  When the gap had shortened considerably, Wulfstan watched as the enemy horsemen swiftly turned their mounts and galloped back in the direction from which they had come. In an outright race on open plains, there was absolutely no danger to the horsemen of being caught by the Saxan warriors upon their slower steeds.

  The enemy horsemen soon disappeared over the edge of the far horizon; a horizon that obscured a vast, oncoming storm.

  *

  GUNTHER

  *

  The majority of the Jaghuns had been recalled into Gunther’s humble timber dwelling. To his best judgement, leaving them out in the open, wandering about the forest around his demesne, would do little other than to advertise their exact location.

  With a little luck, he hoped that the enemy would pass by in their haste to press against the Saxans. They should have little interest in a solitary forest dweller, one that could provide nothing of advantage to their army.

  The best-trained pair of his Jaghuns remained outside, Fang and Nightshadow. Both had been given firm commands to come back to Gunther if outsiders neared. They were the only two that he trusted enough to override their instincts at the sight of threatening Licanthers, and obey the order rather than attack a natural nemesis of theirs.

  The others had been gathered into the main building on the entry-level floor, a few growling and whining incessantly in their agitation. Increasingly fidgety, the Jaghuns inside of Gunther’s home announced in their own way that the forces of the Unifier were close. The creatures clearly seemed to sense an intruding presence within their forest.

  Gunther had to frequently move among the group of Jaghuns to settle them down, from the largest male to the youngest two, Skyheart and Darkmane.

  Lee and the other foreigners appeared to be astonished at the level of discomfort and nervousness being expressed among the animals. The creatures had, until most recently, exhibited calm demeanors.

  “What is making them so upset?” Lee asked Gunther, standing near to the wooden staircase leading up to the second level.

  Gunther looked up from where he was rubbing the head of a particularly irritated female Jaghun, Merein. He knew that her agitation was compounded by the fact that she was a mother to both Skyheart and Darkmane, and was undoubtedly feeling protective about her offspring.

  Gunther had a far off look in his eye as he responded to Lee. “It is not taught so in my own faith, but I believe that the creatures of this world also choose either good or evil to serve.

  “The choice of the animals was once told to me, long ago, by a man who said he was from the far northern lands, in territory now held by the followers of the Prophet. He was a man who had still not adopted the religion of the Prophet, and worshipped in an ancient way and custom. In many ways, his faith was not altogether different from my own.

  “Anyway, he spoke of how the animals of the world divided themselves in loyalty. Some siding with the good God, and the rest with the evil One. It is a strange belief, but if he was somehow right, that animals also choose sides in the struggle of good and evil, then I believe that the Jaghuns choose to serve the All-Father … and also that the Licanthers of the enemy serve the great Adversary. It would surely explain why my Jaghuns grow so upset at their approach.”

  “So even the animals have free will?” murmured Erin, almost in a mocking tone.

  Gunther nodded, with a slight expression of puzzlement at Erin’s comment, while feeling a sharp irritation at the flippancy of her tone.

  “Perhaps some do,” he remarked. “Who am I to say absolutely that they do not?”

  “There’s only one entrance into this place, right?” ventured Ryan. He eyed the restless Jaghuns with an edgy demeanor. “There is no secret side door or anything, is there?”

  “No, there is only the cave passage into the depths of the lower world. Those of the Island of Gael would say a passage to Otherworld,” Gunther stated, with a trace of a grin, thinking of the hardy, devout people. “Even a large force could not pursue us there. They would soon enough learn the truth of the Stone Hides, if they had heard the old tales of the tribal lands.”

  His words caused all of the others to peer inquisitively towards the thick, wooden door in the back of the chamber. Anxiety flickered on their faces, as to them the doorway was one that opened upon the sheer unknown.

  “Do not worry yourselves unduly. There will be no danger to you from the Unguhur. I will make certain of it. As for now, I am going to go outside, and take a look around,” Gunther announced. His voice then took on a sharp edge, which brooked no question or dispute. “Do not leave here. Your lives may depend on that. If you are threatened, and I have not returned, go through that door, and do not fear the race that you will find in the depths. Tell them that you are friends of Gunther, and that he told you to seek refuge with Treas. Do not hesitate to announce that … not for a moment … no matter what fear may rise at the sight of the beings you will encounter beyond that door.”

  Without another word, he grabbed up his longbow, scabbard, and belt, and quietly left through the front door. The Jaghuns rustled about and whimpered at his departure, but did not make any move to disobey their master.

  *

  LEE

  *

  Despite the stated escape rout being within just a few short strides from them, Gunther’s four guests exhibited a range of morose expressions in the aftermath of the woodsman’s departure. Lee felt as if he could now relate to a cornered rat, helplessly waiting to see whether or not a hunting snake would discover the entrance to its nest, to enter and devour its trapped quarry.

  The notion of another race of creatures, located within the depths of the ground, was not very reassuring either. Each moment spent within Gunther’s dwelling increased the overall feeling of trepidation, though Lee was not about to
question the woodsman’s admonishment to remain where they were.

  Lee realized without question that to try and go out into the woods by themselves would be virtually suicidal. All too recently, he and his companions had personally experienced the sheer folly of such a situation. He knew that Gunther’s intervention had enabled them to survive, and, as a result, gain from the valuable lessons concerning their great vulnerabilities in Ave.

  Even so, their trust was now placed with a man whom they knew very little about, in a world that they knew even less about. For four people who were not from a world that was very oriented towards trusting strangers, it was a very uneasy and burdensome predicament to be caught within. Lee could not deny that such a reality did not sit entirely well within his own heart.

  Ryan paced back and forth anxiously, while Lynn and Erin sat quietly nearby on stools, with pensive expressions on their faces. All cast periodic glances at the Jaghuns, exhibiting a sustained wariness towards the woodman’s formidable creatures. Lee kept to his place near the bottom rung of the staircase, leaning up against the wall as he regarded his companions, and the Jaghuns.

  It could not be denied that they were all effectively prisoners of the new world, especially relating to the situation immediately at hand. Lee felt ill prepared for what was rapidly descending upon them, and knew that his three companions were faring little better as they struggled with their own inner turmoil.

  After several ponderous, uncomfortably silent moments, Lee finally straightened up and meandered slowly over towards the broad door on the back wall of the dwelling. He looked at it carefully, taking in its crafting and texture. There was very little that was special about the door. It was just a plain wooden door, constructed of rough-surfaced planks, with an additional wooden plank that was used to bar it shut from the inside.

  His thoughts and curiosities were fully directed to what lay just beyond the door. Lee had an instinctive feeling in his gut that they would all be crossing through that doorway soon enough. It was better to expect the worst, if only because it was a much more honest and likely expectation.