*
Mershad, Kent, and Derek carefully made their way to the cover of the second longship, before quickly moving onward. They continued to the last ship of the group resting along the shore. It was one of the homestead’s vessels, which had been there prior to the arrival of the pair that was to take the exiles on to Midragard.
Located down the beach, it was farther removed from the core of the intensive fighting. The ringing clang of steel on steel filled Mershad’s ears, along with the frenzied cries of the combatants behind them, both human and inhuman.
“Mershad, get a weapon!” Derek shouted at him, in the sharp tone of a command. A short-hafted hand axe was clenched in Derek’s own right fist. While it was an axe intended for woodworking, it could certainly serve as a weapon.
Kent held onto a long, single-edged knife, and had also managed to grab up a round shield from the beach. He gripped both shield and knife tightly, though he carried the latter awkwardly.
At the least, Kent had some means of protection and self-defense. Mershad could not say the same for himself. His mind had gone entirely blank during the initial stages of the attack. It was all that he could do to stay close to Derek and Kent, as they raced away from the shoreline.
It was fortunate that they had done so, as the huge, feral-looking attackers had swarmed over the area soon after. Their roaring battle cries filled the air, as they descended with fury upon the Midragardans.
Mershad looked around frenetically. He knew that he could not climb up on the longship to their side, as the risk of exposing their position to enemy eyes was far too great. Similarly, it was even more dangerous to stray out into the open. In a way, they were trapped.
“There is nothing here!” he stammered back to Derek, a feeling of panic swiftly building up within him.
Without a weapon in hand, he felt vulnerable. One of the most basic rights of a person, to defend his or her own life, was in serious jeopardy for Mershad, as he was totally bereft of the means to fight back against any potential assailants.
“Then stay close, right by me!” Derek ordered him curtly.
Derek chanced a glance around the narrow end of the longship, where they were gathered at its bow. Mershad edged forward to take a look from just behind him. Hand to hand fighting raged up and down the length of the shore. A number of bodies from both sides lay strewn about the increasingly chaotic landscape.
“You three, come with me! Now!” cried out a loud voice from a few paces behind them.
Mershad and the others whirled about at the sound of the voice. Derek and Kent brought up their weapons, readying to defend themselves.
The grips upon both Derek’s axe and Kent’s seax were slightly relaxed a moment later, as the three otherworlders recognized the Midragardan who had escorted them to the last meeting with Eirik and Ayenwatha.
The lower part of the Midragardan’s face was smeared with streaks of sweat and blood, and his tunic displayed a substantial gash, where he had already received a small, grazing wound. He held a sword and shield, and he had managed to don a half-helm as well. The iron helm was fashioned with a spectacle-like eye guard projecting down from the front rim, an extension meant to protect his eyes and nose. It gave the warrior a decidedly grim, dispassionate look, as he faced the three exiles.
He beckoned urgently to the trio, eyes darting about as he trotted away from the end of the longship with a slight limp to his movements. The man’s labored gait drew Mershad’s attention to another openly bleeding wound on the warrior’s right thigh.
“Come with me! If you want to live, come now! It’s clear!” the Midragardan repeated emphatically, again signaling them to follow.
Mershad looked to Derek and Kent, as Derek nodded back to both of them. Without a better strategy of their own in the offing, they set out quickly after the wounded warrior.
The Midragardan guided them around the outskirts of the homestead buildings, heading back toward a long, low structure located a couple hundred yards away. The edifice sat towards the back of the homestead, on its northernmost edge.
Out in the open again, Mershad could not resist peering back over his shoulder towards the shoreline, expecting either pursuit or arrow fire. His heart pounded in his chest with every stride, but there was no outcry, or other indication of pursuit.
In a sliver of good fortune, the four men were able to cross the open ground and reach the elongated building without incident. The combat had engulfed everyone by the ships and water’s edge, confining it to that area for the time being. Even the enemy archers that had taken some shots from the rooftops of the Midragardan buildings had descended from their perches to join the intense shoreline fray.
The Midragardan warrior hastily drew the three otherworlders into the shadowy interior of the building. Almost at once, Mershad found himself sheltered away from the battle outside, the sounds of combat seeming much more distant. While his mind was swirling, he drew some security from the fact that they were no longer so exposed out in the open.
As Mershad caught his breath, he sensed the presence of animals nearby. A powerful musk filled the languid air, coursing into his nostrils with each breath. A moment later, he heard a few low growls and whines coming from deeper within the shadows of the rectangular structure.
The nature of the sounds surprised him, as he had expected to hear the whinny of horses, or possibly the bellows of oxen. He had seen both creatures being used for the labors of the Midragardan estate.
“I am Einar. My brother, now looking for your friends, is Sigurd. We cleared this byre, and kept a few Fenraren hidden in here, from the group that was sent with the warriors from the tribes,” the warrior swiftly explained, as quizzical looks were turned towards him. “These few were left behind for us, by Eirik’s private order. This was done the night before the morning that you saw the rest of the steeds. It was known only to a few of us, for the possibility of a time just such as this. I am a skilled sky rider, and Eirik personally charged my brother and I with your safety. We must get off this island right now. I can take you towards the Midragardan lands. Going by sea is no longer a choice left to us, but remaining here is certain death or captivity.”
“And what about the others?” Derek asked, with an edge to his tone. “We cannot leave them here.”
The warrior fixed Derek with a hard, unflinching gaze. His steady, firm voice conveyed the severe gravity and logic of the situation at hand. “My brother seeks them out as we speak, as I have told you. We cannot wait to gather the full group together here. We have no time. He will try to guide them here, and we hope to meet them on the way to Midragard. Listen to me. There is no further time. We must get underway now.”
Derek made no reply, nor did Einar await one. The Midragardan turned away, moving deeper into the byre.
As Mershad’s eyes adjusted to the darker interior, the forms of several Fenraren became more visible amongst the dim shadows. There were around ten of the creatures within the byre, as far as Mershad could tell. Their dark forms looked even larger in the confines of the byre, which was structured for the stout, smaller Midragardan horses, and the oxen.
Speaking softly, and working quickly, Einar labored to saddle up four of the creatures. During the pensive moments, the Midragardan kept glancing back towards the byre’s entrance, where Derek was keeping a steady lookout for any threat of enemy approach.
“Is there any sign of them?” Einar asked, as he finished saddling the third steed.
“None yet,” replied Derek, gazing outward. “The fighting is still down along the shore.”
Mershad looked from Derek to the Midragardan.
The two men were keeping up strong appearances that obscured their truer feelings. Underneath the hard tones in their voices, Mershad recognized that one was greatly worried for his friends, and the other was anxious for news of his endangered brother. Only their honed discipline kept them focused upon the tasks at hand.
The four steeds were finally saddled up, and Einar helped Mershad and the others to mount the winged creatures. He hurriedly secured the long leather straps that served to tether them to the saddle.
Under any other circumstances, the chance to ride such gallant creatures would have been the experience of a lifetime. Mershad had envied Janus’ opportunity to go skyward on the Brega with Ayenwatha. He could see the thrill of the experience reflected in Janus’ eyes, as he had spoken later of the adventure. But the circumstances deprived Mershad of any enjoyment regarding his own impending experience.
Einar mounted the fourth and last steed, wasting no time in leading the quartet out of the stable’s entryway. The thick, pungent scents were cleared the moment they stepped out into the open air, as was any feeling of concealment. Mershad instantly felt vulnerable, as the sounds coming from the beach and waters were no longer muffled.
“We need to get the others,” Derek said, echoing the thoughts that gripped Mershad’s mind.
Mershad looked towards the shoreline, his eyes searching fruitlessly among the combatants down along the water’s edge for any sign of their companions. He quickly noticed that there was one solitary longship that had been pushed off the beach since they had gone into the byre. It was now rowing out to sea, and the modest distance prevented him from discerning the identity of any of the forms on the longship. As far as he could tell, all of the figures on the ship were Midragardans.
His heart then caught in his throat. The longship was not alone on the open waters. It was in great peril, beset by a much larger enemy galley that was swiftly overtaking it. Mershad watched in great anxiety, as an initial shower of arrows and bolts rained down from the attacking galley upon the exposed deck of the longship.
Several Midragardans fell to the planking, as the deadly missiles riddled the deck. A couple of the men tumbled over the sides of the ship during the terrible hail, plunging lifelessly into the waters. At the bow and stern of the attacking galley, bows and crossbows were readied for another volley. There was no doubt that the Midragardan longship was doomed.
“We need to find them,” Derek stated, in a very strained voice.
“Do you not think that I wish to find my own brother?” the Midragardan warrior snapped at Derek.
The look in Einar’s eyes penetrated deeply into Mershad’s stalwart comrade, and Mershad felt the surging presence of a challenge. The Midragardan’s look conveyed a horrible pain that the man was struggling to stifle, and Mershad could see he was barely able to choke his emotions back.
“You must live, and I am the only one you have here to guide you. To the skies!” Einar shouted forcefully at Derek.
Mershad could hear the regret and restraint underneath the clarion call for duty. Einar turned the steed about, so that it was facing the open ground in back of the byre, oriented away from the shore. The other three steeds followed, as they stepped away from the building.
At a cry and signal from Einar, the four Fenraren lurched forward with explosive bursts of motion. They propelled forward into a run for several steps, and then took off to the sky with prodigious leaps and wing beats. The three ridden by Derek, Kent, and Mershad followed the lead of the Midragardan’s steed, as Einar climbed upward and set off across the island.
Mershad felt himself at a great loss, as he did not know the means of guiding his steed. It occurred to him that the lack of instruction was precisely what the Midragardan had wanted. Einar had purposely left the otherworlders ill-prepared, as an extra safeguard, in the case of reticence or resistance during a situation like the present. Even Derek was locked into the course set for them by Einar. Among his capabilities, the Midragardan warrior was certainly gifted with foresight and shrewdness.
Einar led them on a route that meandered up north, taking them along the western side of the island. It seemed like a long and circuitous route to take, but Mershad surmised that the warrior had his reasons.
They continued to gain altitude as they flew. Mershad kept his feet pressed firmly into the iron stirrups, even as he felt the pressure increasing on his lower back where he was thrust back by the steep incline. Mershad’s heart raced, and he found himself glancing back over his shoulder time and time again. He hoped that there were no errors with the saddle straps, fearing that he would slide off the back of the Fenraren at any moment.
There was no pursuit, much to the relief of Mershad’s flayed nerves. The quartet of riders proceeded at a moderate pace, as Einar turned them to the right, continuing along the northern edge of the island until the landmass turned south along its eastern side. At that juncture, the Midgardan guided them straight ahead, leaving the island behind as the glittering sea sprawled out far underneath them.
They hastened towards the east, as the island dropped farther away. Mershad watched the island shrinking in periodic increments, casting occasional glances over his shoulder, half-expecting to see signs of pursuit. Thankfully, each time he looked, Mershad beheld no such indications.
Gradually, Einar guided them into a long, looping arc, which finally turned the group due south. As they began the curve, the steeds took a level path, ceasing in their ascent. They had attained a tremendous altitude, at least as far as Mershad was concerned. His stomach fluttered, and his head swam as the steed bobbed and jostled about in the high, flowing breezes.
The group traveled onward in a brooding, tense silence. Each one of them was left to wrestle with his own thoughts and fears, not the least of which was the mode of travel they were experiencing. Yet there was one issue that was paramount in Mershad’s mind, and he knew without asking that it was much the same for his comrades.
He was already tormented by thoughts of the friends and companions left somewhere behind. He could barely imagine the agonizing thoughts plaguing Einar, who undoubtedly was consumed with worry about his own brother’s unknown fate. Great turmoil lay beneath the warrior’s rigid, stoic facade.
While Mershad desperately wished that they would meet up reasonably soon with the others, he held out little hope of it actually happening. He knew that it would do him no good to stake his hopes on a swift reunion. With the ferocity of the attack, and their own narrow escape, Mershad knew that the likelihood of rejoining the others anytime soon was very small.
His spirit was weighed down heavily as he ruminated upon his companions’ fate. He closed his eyes, taking several breaths to calm himself, as he thought about Erika, and wondered about the plight she was facing. She might well have been captured, or even be dead, both seeming much more plausible outcomes than the idea that she had escaped. The thought of her dying was gut-wrenching, inflicting a sharp constriction upon his heart.
She was Mershad’s lone friend from his home world. The uncertainty of her fate evoked a helpless, overwhelmed feeling within him. He had to fight back a muster of tears that threatened to burst forth. He wished that he could just know if she had survived, even if that meant that she and the others had been taken captive.
Of the others he had been separated from, he feared for Janus most especially. Mershad had come to see him as a very thoughtful, compassionate individual, one who was barely withstanding a great level of inner torment.
Mershad also felt anxiety over the trusting and kind-hearted Antonio. He even sincerely hoped that Antonio’s surly, abrasive friend, Logan, was unharmed. He admittedly had to trust that there was something good that Logan’s friend could see in the brooding man. Mershad had yet to find much to convince him that Logan was anything other than unfriendly, and largely self-absorbed.
Heading southward, Mershad surmised that Einar must have judged it necessary to take the excessively long passage around the island, and make the huge arc to turn south, so that they could reduce their chances of being seen while escaping.
The Fenraren, for their part, had taken vigorously to the skies, exuberant to be released from their dim confines within the stuffy byre. They flew swiftly and steadily, with league after league of open ocean waters passing far below. From the high vantage, the sea looked like rolling fields of deep blue, a beautiful and daunting vision.
After some time, Einar guided the group into a more modest pace, and gradually the quartet fanned out a little, such that they flew in a staggered line. Mershad turned his attention to his immediate companions, shivering a little from the touch of the chilly, high-altitude winds.
Mershad was barely in a position to observe it, but he was nonetheless shaken by what he beheld on Derek’s face. As Mershad looked on, glistening moisture in Derek’s eyes broke open with a single tear that escaped, only to be blown off a moment later by the beating winds.
Likewise, Mershad fathomed that the Midragardan warriors that had known Einar would probably have been troubled at his expression. At the lead of the group, Sigurd’s brother stared forward with a hollow look. Einar’s face was almost completely hidden, deeply obscuring a few tears that ran down from his own eyes, to be cleared away by the cold, rushing air. Pulling close to even with Einar’s steed, for a few moments, Mershad caught an unobstructed glimpse of the man’s sorrowful visage. He tactfully looked away, before Einar realized that Mershad had observed the Midragardan’s grief.
Mershad could sense the immense sorrow shaking both of the stalwart men to the core. Their postures remained stiff, and they kept their faces forward.
Glancing over towards Kent, Mershad quickly looked away, as he saw the sheer misery spread upon the young man’s face. Both Kent and Derek had just been separated from their friend Janus, a relationship that Mershad knew was much closer than was his own with Erika.
It was abundantly clear that the hearts and minds of Mershad, Derek, Kent, and their Midragardan guide had been left behind, with the unknown fates of those that they cared for. There was not even a sliver of a feeling of joy present at having escaped the island attack.
Mershad shifted in his saddle, adjusting into a more comfortable position. It was very early in the journey, but he could already feel the first signs of soreness, as well as a little stiffness beginning to form in his lower back. He did not even want to begin to think about how his body would feel at the end of their lengthy journey.
He tightened his grip upon the leather reins of the sky steed, though the action was more for his own reassurance. The creature was dutifully keeping pace with Einar’s steed, staying close abreast, or allowing the other a slight lead.
Mershad slowly allowed himself to grow numb in thought, caught in the melancholic grasp of his current disposition. Without focusing on anything in particular, he stared ahead, to the far horizons, the winds whistling in his ears.
Midragard lay somewhere beyond the edge of sight. It offered a pledge of refuge to the three rattled exiles. Midragard would be an entirely new land for Mershad, Derek, and Kent, filled with a host of new sights and people. Based upon the impressions that Mershad held of the Midragardans that he had already encountered, he felt very good about their prospects within the new land.
With everything that had already happened to them, Mershad recognized that it was best to at least have a little shard of encouragement to hold onto, as they headed into a highly uncertain future.
*