*
Within one of the more heavily contested areas along the front lines, Ayenwatha, along with several Onan warriors, fell back hastily, to regroup and await another enemy surge. They took up a position on the top of a small hill. Far behind them, a few leagues away, was the first of several locations where the refugees from the various tribes and villages were gathering. Gratefully for Ayenwatha, the rendezvous site was still far away from the battle, and it would be quite some time before it was threatened.
Nevertheless, Ayenwatha knew that everything possible had to be done to inflict delays on the invaders. Enemy probes had to be cut off, and where flanking a forward advance could be executed, the defenders had to be ready to maneuver rapidly, to maul the softer ranks behind the tough, mailed enemy fighters in the forefront.
Ayenwatha carefully notched an arrow, lowering himself to one knee. He espied some movements in the trees just beyond the base of the hill. Steadying his body and hands, he focused himself, training his sight upon an Atagar skittering nimbly across the low branch of a tree. The dexterous creature jumped down to the ground as it neared the base of the hill, landing with perfect balance. Ayenwatha had to admit that the creatures were extraordinary, but they were invaders. The Atagar must have thought that it was safely behind the protection of a tree trunk, as it came to a halt, and began working to load a small bolt into its crossbow.
From his position, Ayenwatha had an unobstructed angle on the creature. His body remaining rigid, he let the arrow fly with his breath, as if the feathered shaft were an extension of himself. The arrow tore through the air, and the Atagar emitted a muffled cry as the iron tip embedded deeply into its body, driving the shaft far into its flesh. The creature slumped over, and its crossbow fell harmlessly to the ground.
As a number of combatants moved into sight below, Ayenwatha realized that the Atagar had been skirting around a small, pitched battle, presumably intending to pick off some unwary tribesmen with its crossbow. A number of Gallean soldiers were locked in a struggle with a fair number of tribesmen in the melee, one of the few points along the broad front where the numbers were fairly even.
The Five Realms warriors involved were falling back in relatively good order. Swinging war clubs, they cried out with righteous fury. The wooden clubs, their slender handles arcing outward along a shaft culminating in a dense, heavy ball of wood, were deadly in their impact upon the heads and bodies of Gallean warriors. Other tribal warriors wielded hand axes, and a few used spears, but above all the attackers were quickly coming to fear, and respect, the devastating effects of the unique war clubs wielded by the heavily painted defenders.
A pair of huge forms then crashed through the brush, bellowing as they stomped forward. Their sudden appearance brought an outcry from the Onan on the hill-top around Ayenwatha. Without a further thought, archers readied arrows and let them fly, loosing them in a dense hail at the two Gigans heading swiftly towards the swarming melee. Several arrows found their large targets, as the two hulking Gigans stumbled, and then crumpled down in lifeless, arrow-ridden heaps.
“It is fortunate that they make such big targets,” Ayenwatha remarked dourly to his brother, Hawk Eyes, who was standing to his right.
Ayenwatha retrieved another arrow from his corn-husk quiver, and soon took another careful shot into the fighting below. The arrow whizzed by the body of a Gallean fighter, almost grazing him. The warrior was oblivious to the miss, unaware of just how close to death he had just come. In what turned out to be a quite fortuitous move on his part, he had lunged forward just a split second after Ayenwatha had released the tension on the bowstring.
“A lucky one,” Hawk Eyes replied, having watched Ayenwatha’s shot, before letting an arrow of his own fly at the attackers.
Ayenwatha watched his brother’s arrow strike one of the mailed spearmen in the leg. The man howled in pain, and fell onto the ground, clutching at the arrow shaft impaling him. A tribal warrior leaped at the man with a shrill cry, his war club swooshing through the air in a great arc that ended with it smashing into the Gallean’s head.
The two siblings had not fought together in combat in many years, ever since Hawk Eyes had married, and gone off to live in another village, residing in the longhouse of the mother of his wife. The last time that they had stood together in a time of war was years ago, when the tribes of the Anishin had pushed an ill-fated conflict into the demesnes of the five tribes. The shattered Anishin tribes had since been confined to a more remote part of the forest lands to the far north, no longer a threat to the Five Realms.
It was not lost on Ayenwatha that his people would soon face those remnants once again. He was aware that the Anishin had formed friendly relations with the Galleans, even allowing monks and priests of the Western Church to come into their villages, to convert them to the western faith.
Though not yet present in the fighting, the remaining warriors of the Anishin would undoubtedly be seeking chances for vengeance in the midst of the maelstrom caused by the invading army. For them, it would be an irresistable opportunity.
“Ayenwatha!” called a voice from a short distance behind him, coming from the other side of the hill, opposite the fighting.
Ayenwatha swiveled in time to see a young warrior mounted upon a Brega, with a bow in one hand, trotting around the summit of the hill towards his position. At the warrior’s side was another Brega, without a rider. The young warrior led the second Brega on an elongated tether of hide, which had been tied to the creature’s simple harnessing.
“Speak, what is it?” Ayenwatha implored quickly, his eyes darting back to the battle on the other side of the hill. The tribal warriors had driven the enemy back again, and those that survived were now trekking steadily up the hillside to join their comrades, some laboring to help the wounded get up the slope.
“Atotarho seeks help in guiding the Midragardan force, to take them where they will be most needed,” the warrior stated, as he neared Ayenwatha.
A sudden surge of energy and anticipation filled Ayenwatha as the words sounded in his ears. Atotarho, an elderly Onan Sachem with a place on the Grand Council, had been sent away earlier with a small escort of warriors. Their task was to watch for the arrival of any possible reinforcements. The words of the young warrior conveyed great hope to Ayenwatha, which raced through him, instantly invigorating his belabored spirit.
“Midragard has come?” Ayenwatha asked. Having yearned for even a shred of favorable tidings, he wanted to hear everything that the young warrior had to report.
The young warrior did not disappoint Ayenwatha in the least. “Our scouts report that many sea vessels, bearing a large force of armed Midragardans, has already entered the Shimmering River. The dragon ships row up its waters even now. Many, many boats.”
A strange look came upon the young warrior’s face, and Ayenwatha recognized it as a look of fascination. The warrior looked almost giddy, and his eyes gleamed with excitement.
“What is it? What holds your tongue?” Ayenwatha urged the young man, impatiently.
The warrior paused a moment, taking a deep breath before replying. “There are also many Midragardan warriors riding Fenraren, coming through the skies. But that is not all. It is said that there are even several wolf-skins, and a bear-shirt or two, among those arriving on the longships… Wolf-skins and bear-shirts… here in our lands, answering our call!”
The look of wonder had grown further upon the young warrior’s face as he related the last words regarding the legendary wolf-skins and bear-shirts of Midragard. Ayenwatha’s own eyes grew wider as he listened to the news, as even more hope welled up within him.
“And it is true that our friends of Midragard have sent a force upon sky steeds?”
The warrior nodded again, looking pleased to see the optimism reflected in the face of the heralded war sachem. “Yes, Ayenwatha. Of this there is no doubt. A good number of riders on Fenraren cross our skies.”
Ayenwatha glanced over towards Hawk Eyes, to see his brother grinning broadly by his side. The shining smile on Hawk Eyes’ face, displayed on a hardened visage painted half black and half red, looked almost surreal.
“There may be hope yet to keep our homelands,” Ayenwatha said to his brother.
“A force of sky steeds? Another force arriving on boats with bear-shirts and wolf-skins amongst them? There is a chance,” Hawk Eyes replied confidently. “Leave here now, and hurry to guide them in, before any more time is wasted. We will give the enemy reason to slow further.”
Ayenwatha smiled back at his brother, striding over to the riderless steed by the message-bearing warrior. Bracing his hands on the back of the creature, he displayed the limberness and strength within his body as he sprung up lightly to the back of the creature.
The messenger released the tether into Ayenwatha’s control, as he adjusted himself in his own saddle. Ayenwatha tugged on the reins of his Brega, and the two maneuvered their steeds to a place where they could launch themselves off the hill. Finding a short stretch of open ground, they spurred their steeds, which sprang into motion and bounded forward.
Once in the air, looking back, Ayenwatha could see that there were a number of enemy sky steeds far to the west. Many were flying low in altitude, but they were too far away to interfere with Ayenwatha’s travel.
With an icy stab of trepidation, Ayenwatha saw that off to the south were the enormous flying beasts that had served to level so many tribal villages. He could see the streams of heavy rocks falling from them; a black, deadly rain that he could only hope was falling upon emptied villages. From what he could tell, the winged titans looked to be heading north.
Even more troubling, the beasts had delved much deeper into the woodland realm, flying far away from the front lines of the invading forces on the ground. That recognition brought one baleful thought to the fore of Ayenwatha’s mind, and his heart sank as he fathomed their purpose; the Darroks were being used to target masses of people, and not villages. The staging areas for the tribal refugees would be disernable from the air, and highly vulnerable.
Dismay wiped away the enthusiastic burst that had gripped him only moments before. Not a thing could be done to slow or stop the Darroks, as there were not enough sky warriors of their own left to present any obstacle to the beasts. Ayenwatha hoped desperately that the report of approaching Midragardans upon sky steeds was indeed true, as that represented the only real chance to halt the deadly hail falling from the behemoth terrors.
Angered in helpless frustration, he guided his steed on a lower course, as the warrior behind him followed suit, steadying his path at a height a short distance above the tops of the trees. There, the forms of the two Onan were not set so starkly against the sky. At the very least, it would be a little harder to be discovered by enemy sky warriors. The pair of riders accelerated their pace as they continued forward, speeding on their way towards the Shimmering River.
*