*
Aethelstan watched the events transpiring in the sky, gripped with trepidation, and an acute sense of helplessness. The Saxan warriors that had been sent up to strike at the seemingly small Trogen patrol had suddenly found themselves facing a wide array of expectant, prepared Trogens.
A clever ruse had been enacted by the Trogens, the emergence of which had made time stand still for Aethelstan.
The Saxans had scattered apart almost immediately, which Aethelstan deemed to be a reactive decision on the part of Edmund. It was a very wise one, undoubtedly the only chance to salvage a few Saxan lives from the clamping jaws of the Trogen entrapment.
The Trogens had demonstrated a remarkable cunning, the bulk of their number waiting within the obscuring cover of the lower clouds until all of the area’s defenders had been drawn forth. The bait had been well set, and a fearsome ambush had been sprung.
The actual fighting had not lasted very long. Aethelstan had witnessed in rising dismay as many brave Saxans hurtled downward with their steeds from the lofty heights. For a sky rider, one of the greatest fears once airborne was having their steed slain from under them. It doomed the rider to a horrific death, following a terrifying, dizzying descent that ended with the bludgeoning and shattering of their bodies upon tree, stone, and hard earth.
The lifeless bodies of several Saxans were being returned upon surviving steeds that had begun to trickle back in to the Saxan encampment. The steeds had been gathered and led in by Saxan scouts who were very familiar with the surrounding woods. The scouts guided them back from where they had strayed without the conscious direction of their riders, who had been slain during the battle.
Aethelstan’s keen observation of the fighting revealed that only a scant few of the Trogens had been slain in the airborne melee. The ferocity of the Trogens’ attack was something incredible to behold. The great thane could not begrudge the Trogens the fact that they were fearsome warriors.
They wielded long, singled-edged weapons, akin to great swords, as well as great lances, and strange long-bladed, long-hafted weapons. All were wielded with tremendous force and dexterity in their parries and strikes. They utilized their rectangular shields very capably, and also displayed exceptional control of their hardy steeds.
One against one, the Saxan warriors were at a significant disadvantage. Sorely outnumbered, as they were, the outcome of the fighting had been left little in doubt. As far as Aethelstan could surmise, only a few Saxans from the group that had ascended, and a slightly larger proportion of their steeds, had survived the gruesome combat.
Inevitably, the strongest of his worries and fears gravitated towards the fate of Edmund, without whom the surviving Saxan sky warriors would be left with no experienced leaders, for any kind of sky maneuvers. For Aethelstan, the matter was even further compounded, as it was not only the possible loss of one of their better fighting minds that concerned him. It was the potential loss of his best friend that Aethelstan feared the most, a loss that he could never hope to replace.
Aethelstan paced for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, striding back and forth along the top of the ridge. His mood was tense as he watched new groups of Trogens appear in the skies overhead, taking up uncontested patrols that kept a regular surveillance upon the area.
His men looked up nervously around him, eyeing the gliding Trogens almost as if expecting an attack at any moment. The Saxan thane was not so lost in his thoughts and worries that he failed to perceive their agitation.
“They will not strike now, they merely serve as eyes for the army that is to come,” Aethelstan said to a group of simple village men from the General Fyrd, several of whom appeared to be on the verge of panic.
More than one of them clutched tightly onto an old spear, makeshift club, or other weapon, with whitened knuckles that betrayed their inner emotions more than the stony looks upon their faces. At his words, they relaxed only slightly, a few of them nodding speechlessly in response.
They were far from alone. In this matter, those of poorer means were in union with those that possessed mail coat, helm, and sword. Even the hardier of the Wessachian thanes that Aethelstan encountered along the ridge reflected an unnerved state within the look of their eyes.
Aethelstan knew that he would have to address them all soon, as morale was always tenuous in the aftermath of a very visible loss, such as the one suffered that day.
His greatest worries were soon assuaged, when a heavily downtrodden-looking Edmund was ushered up to the ridgeline, and over to Aethelstan by a couple of warriors from his personal household retinue. The sky commander’s eyes had a hollow look to them that echoed the debilitating nature of the recent defeat.
“Edmund! Praise the All-Father,” Aethelstan stated exuberantly at the sight of the approaching men, striding forth quickly, and firmly embracing his friend. In his zeal and euphoric relief, Aethelstan, almost knocked the dispirited man into a nearby spruce tree. “By heaven, you were spared! I give thanks to the All-Father for that!”
Edmund shook his head slowly as they broke apart, hesitant to bring his eyes up to meet those of Aethelstan. His voice carried a bitter edge. “And the All-Father should not have spared me, least of all. I did not deserve to survive that battle. I did not consider that they might have an ambush lying in wait, letting a small patrol sit so obviously out in the open. I fell entirely for their lure, and these Trogens have shown much more skill in their tactics than I expected. I deserved to die more than any other.”
Aethelstan could feel the pall of heavy guilt shrouding his friend. Knowing Edmund as well as he did, he was not surprised at all.
Aethelstan placed his hand down upon Edmund’s shoulder, clasping him tightly. “None of us would have expected them to strike by force, in such a clever way. We have not seen them do such a tactic before. Why would you have expected them now?
“How could they have known that our full sky forces were not in the area? It is clear that they took a great risk as well. The tilt of fate does not render one the wiser, and the other the more foolish. It is merely that fate tilted in their favor, and not ours. Nothing more, and nothing less, Edmund.”
“We could not stand and fight against that force, I could only urge them to try to survive,” Edmund replied gloomily. He looked as if he needed to explain his immediate decision to fragment the cluster of badly outnumbered Saxans at the onset of the ambush, imploring them to try and escape with their lives. “The Trogens were far too many. Each one of them is a great wolf of the skies, and their steeds are no lesser. If we had stayed, I am certain that none of our men would have survived.”
“None would have,” Aethelstan said quickly, with firm certainty, wanting the continuing onrush of guilt to ebb and cease in his friend. “Anyone could see that plainly enough. It was more than evident. The Trogens are no ordinary warriors, and there were several of them for each Saxan… at least four or five to one. They fight with a fury beyond the natural order, as if possessed by the fell spirits of the Lord of Fire Himself.
“In no time you made the wisest of decisions, Edmund. Because of you, some have lived, where none would have if you had not decided to break up your formation. Each and every one of those in the skies would have been destroyed, as your own mouth has spoken.”
At that moment, a Saxan fighter hurried towards Aethelstan and Edmund. He brought himself to an abrupt halt, heavy of breath as he lowered his eyes and gave a bow towards the thanes.
“What is it?” Aethelstan queried insistently of the warrior.
“I am here to report that nine sky warriors have survived the sky battle, and are now safe within the camp. Only one of them was badly wounded, but the Sister tending to him said that the wounds will not be fatal. The steeds of these men have also survived. Seven other Himmerosen have been found, or have made their way back as well. There may yet be others, but that is the latest count,” the man stated.
Aethelstan turned back to face Edmund. “Then nine men owe their very lives to your decision. Nine who may come to be very important when we make our inevitable stand here, do not forget that. Only the living can be of help to us in the future. Dead warriors can do us no good.”
Edmund still refrained from meeting Aethelstan’s gaze, though Aethelstan saw that a little of the despondency that had been present had departed his friend’s expression. Still, there was little doubt in Aethelstan’s mind that his friend would yet feel deep pangs of guilt at his survival of the conflict.
It was the kind of man that Edmund was, and one of the great qualities about him. He truly was willing to meet the worst fate experienced by any one of the men that he led forth.
Sorrow would still be a ponderous weight upon Edmund’s spirit, as there was also a very personal aspect to the deaths of the men that Aethelstan and Edmund led. Their forces consisted of warriors who had lived alongside each other throughout their entire lives, within the villages and burhs of Wessachia. As such, concerning those who had recently fallen, Edmund had almost certainly known several of them as long as he had been alive. As many of the deaths were so personal in nature, it made the burdens of spirit even heavier.
Aethelstan understood that onerous weight, and patted Edmund reassuringly upon the back, glad that his friend’s eyes were not looking to see the sadness present in his own look.
His voice remained steady and encouraging. “Come now, Edmund. There is yet much to do, and I need your mind clear to help our people. The enemy is even now relaying our positions from the skies, and we are going to have to work hard and think cleverly to undo the damage that their constant observation of us brings. Remember, Edmund, they can only watch us. They cannot hear us, and they do not know what our plans and intentions may be.”
Edmund’s eyes remained downcast, but after a few moments he finally brought his gaze up. A different look was now reflected within his eyes. Aethelstan was not surprised at the change, as he knew that Edmund would swiftly come to reason.
“Let us resume our work here, Aethelstan,” he said, with an edge of resolve, though his next words carried a trace of despair. “But is there not anything in this wide world that can ever work to our favor?”
Aethelstan smiled gently. “In such times it seems there is nothing going in our favor. I can only believe that there are things that happen, far and wide, which we ourselves may never know of, that work to our aid in many enduring ways.”
“I would like to believe that, but I cannot see it,” Edmund replied dourly.
“And neither can I, but then again, we cannot see all things, can we, Edmund?” Aethelstan queried.
He placed his hand again on Edmund’s shoulder, stepping past him before the other thane could feel a need to answer Aethelstan’s question. The question was intended to be more rhetorical in nature, something for Edmund to ponder as he wrestled with his turbulent emotions.
Edmund hesitated for a moment, perhaps already thinking upon the words. Aethelstan looked back, and gave a gesture to his friend to follow him to the tents.
The beleaguered sky warrior would need some food and rest, as all of his men undoubtedly would. There were physical needs to address. At least that could be achieved, even if his friend could not really hope to take his mind completely away from his inner torments.
*