*
Ayenwatha, accompanied by an entourage of Onan warriors, strode briskly down towards the bank of the Shimmering River. Resting farther up on the shore, and streaming in towards it, were an abundant number of sleek Midragardan longships.
Atotarho was already standing close to the water’s edge with another welcoming party, which, to Ayenwatha’s delight, also included Deganawida. Upon looking up, and seeing Ayenwatha, Deganawida gave him a warm smile as he approached.
Both Atotarho and Deganawida were wearing the traditional hide caps upon their heads, graced with two eagle feathers, one pointed up, and one down. Deer antlers were affixed to each side of the caps, to display their status as Onan sachems.
The armada of warships was an exquisitely welcome sight for Ayenwatha to behold, almost bringing tears of joy to his eyes. The prows of many of the graceful ships were carved into the forms of fierce beasts, including an array of dragons, wolves, serpents, and other formidable creatures revered by Midragardans.
The designs of the prows were often echoed in the stern, whether the coiled end of a serpent, or the tail of a dragon or wolf. The effect that the war-girded ships had on the Onan warriors and sachems, standing along the shoreline, was immense relief, rather than the alarm that they would have brought to enemies.
It was truly the sign of a different age, as in truth the sight of Midragardan longships was far from a welcome sight to the tribal peoples living in Ayenwatha’s lands in earlier ages.
The arrival also heralded something beyond just the presence of physical assistance itself. The numerous warships sent a clear, resolute message, that other men, who were not themselves blood members of any of the five main tribes, would stand side to side with the people of the Five Realms. They would share the risks and dangers that the tribesmen faced. The Five Realms was no longer isolated in its fight with the Galleans and their allied invaders, and this alone would bring the tribesmen an enormous boost in morale.
Ayenwatha basked in the reassurance that the ships represented, even as his vision flowed over the features of the incredible vessels. Swiveling gently, and looking almost like axe heads, whether perched at the top of the main masts of some vessels, or affixed at the forward prow of still other ships, were shining, gilt-bronze weathervanes, inscribed with intricate designs.
The great square sails of the longships had been furled already, but the sides of the boats were lined with round shields, resting in the wooden battens running along the sides. Whether their facings were leather-covered or bare wood, the shields were colorfully painted in a variety of patterns and forms, their circular iron bosses glinting in the center.
There was a defined color scheme to some of the ships, reflected in the colors of their prows, their sails, and even the displayed shields, demarcating which ships belonged to which Midragardan chieftains. From the color schemes, Ayenwatha could tell that the fleet represented a variety of leaders and chieftains among the Midgragardans. Some of the leaders commanded just a few ships, and many had just one, but all of them were united in purpose.
Warriors in a state of full readiness for combat occupied the ships. Most of the men on the boats offshore were still helping to row and steer the longships to berths along the shoreline, but all would have been prepared if the group welcoming them on the bank were enemy fighters, and not tribesmen from the Five Realms.
A majority of the warriors were wearing conical iron helms upon their heads, a good number with stout nasal guards projecting downward. Most wore some sort of protection on their upper bodies, as only a small number of warriors were equipped with just helm and shield. Several had donned a distinct type of leather jerkin, crafted from the hide of a unique kind of deer from their own lands. Others wore padded leather jerkins, which displayed a raised, checkered pattern. A small number of warriors possessed coats of chain mail. Their stern visages, visible underneath their shining helms, revealed their hardened readiness to fight from the moment that they landed upon the riverbank.
The ones that had landed their craft on the beach had already removed their shields from the racks along the outer strakes, and had armed themselves with an assortment of wide-bladed spears, broad axes, swords, and bows.
“A time to stand together, as brothers, against an enemy we all share,” called out a huge Midragardan warrior, in Quoian, the language of the Five Realms.
The sound of the booming voice further brightened Ayenwatha’s spirits. Familiar and well-trusted, the voice belonged to one of the few men that could speak rather fluently in the tongue of the Five Realms. The Midragardan warrior who had spoken was standing next to a sizeable, beached longship. Ayenwatha did not fail to notice that the longship was perhaps the greatest in size among the vessels in the wide river’s curving bend.
Behind the huge Midragardan was another particularly large warrior, who had disembarked from the same exceptional warship. The second man bore a standard upright, steadying it with his massive right hand.
Ayenwatha recognized the standard instantly. It was the standard of Gunnar, a great black banner pierced by a long, forked streak of white lightning. Almost the reverse of the standard of the great Jarl Bjorn Magnusson back in Midragard, it showed the deep respect held by the seafaring Midragardans for the great power of the weather itself.
The black and white color pattern was repeated on the serpent head of his warship, the shields still set within the side rails, and other small elements of the warship. The color pattern was likewise reflected in four other Midragardan longships beached nearby, all of which were under the authority of Gunnar.
“Truly spoken, Gunnar!” Ayenwatha exclaimed, walking over towards the powerful Midragardan. “You are a welcome sight to these eyes.”
Right behind them, another longship coasted up onto the beach. Several Onan warriors hurried forward to assist some Midragardans in pulling the ship snugly onto the solid ground of the riverbank. The shallow draught of the boat, with its narrow oak keel, enabled its amazing efficiency in landing. Ayenwatha could never cease being impressed at how the wondrous vessels were so capable in navigating both river and open sea.
Gunnar, with a wide grin, took several long strides up to Ayenwatha. He took the revered Onan war sachem into a tight embrace that would likely have squeezed all the air out of a lesser man. As it was, it still squeezed most of the breath out of Ayenwatha.
The Midragardan chieftain was a full head taller than Ayenwatha, and significantly broader of shoulder. His thick, blond hair blew chaotically about his lion-like face, save for a single, tightly wound plait that hung down each side of his head.
The short crossguard of his sword rested against the bronze chape of a leather-covered scabbard, hanging at his waist from a baldric looped over his opposite shoulder. The lobed pommel and crossguard were ornately decorated, covered in golden foil, and inlaid with spiraling, intertwining designs. Between them was a grip fashioned from the purest ivory. It was a sword crafted splendidly in artistry and functionality, and did not wear its name of Golden Fury lightly.
The sharp point of Gunnar’s large nose, and a set of piercing blue eyes, stood out prominently above his thick, blonde beard. The latter was braided into one lock that fell from the bottom of his chin to the middle of his chest. He was clad in a short-sleeved chain mail shirt, worn over a green tunic with silver brocade along the hem. Beneath were brown trousers, the lower part bound to his legs by long straps of fabric wound up between ankle and knee.
The snug-fitting mail shirt revealed the contours of his broad shoulders, and very sizeable upper body. The bulges of his powerful build made it seem as if the man’s flesh underneath was carved out of stone. A lone, spear-shaped silver pendant was resting upon his chest, from the end of a leather thong.
“You look as strong as ever, Gunnar. If not bigger than I ever remembered you before,” Deganawida stated, having come over to join them. “It has been some time, my friend.”
“Have to keep the louts in line, and the edge on my better men. No small task, I assure you,” the other replied, with a hearty laugh, as he took up the older sachem in a somewhat less boisterous embrace than the Midragardan had applied to Ayenwatha. “You look well yourself, Deganawida. I must apologize that we have the carved prows affixed to our ships, but we could not be sure that we would not land in the midst of a battle, or be welcomed by a hostile bunch of Galleans.”
Ayenwatha glanced back towards the beaching Midragrdan longships, recalling the fact that they normally removed the fearsome visages from the bows of their ships when landing in friendly harbors. The carvings were symbols reserved for the uncertainties of war, and he did not blame the Midragardans for keeping the carvings displayed so deep in Five Realms territory.
“No harm has been done, Gunnar. Our lands are no longer filled by those with an intent of friendship,” Ayenwatha replied, with a trace of melancholy in his voice. “I am here greeting you with the colors of war on my own body.”
“How many have come with you?” Deganawida inquired, glancing past Gunnar, to where several other boats had found slots on the muddy bank and were now being unloaded.
The air was filled with the sounds of spirited shouts, talking, water splashing, and metallic clinks, as well as a host of other noises as the embankment began to fill up with ships and warriors. A number of timber gangplanks had been set over the sides of the ships, and men were already offloading chests, the elements of tent frames, haversacks, wooden kegs, and many other containers and implements.
Ayenwatha could not help but marvel at the striking collection of colors evident on the men. Unlike his own people, whose war attire blended in well with their surroundings, the Midragardans seemed to desire the most conspicuous attire, as if seeking to proclaim their presence with boldness.
“Over thirty ships, with more than twelve hundreds… of good men,” Gunnar stated, with some visible pride as he announced the number that he had been able to muster on such short notice.
“Twelve hundreds?” Ayenwatha repeated, in elated surprise.
“Yes, and you are lucky that ships were gathering for trade this summer in the islands near Gael, Gael itself, and our quarters in the Kiruvan towns,” Gunnar replied. “It doesn’t take much to turn us from traders to fighters, unlike those western merchants. Just be grateful that your eastern shores are located close to the ship routes.”
“Believe me, I am,” Ayenwatha responded.
“I also hope that word has reached you that a full war band of sky warriors upon Fenraren has arrived in your lands. Over four hundred strong. King Hakon’s been keeping more of them to the north… maybe he foresaw the storms approaching. Our brethren on the Fenraren will rid your skies of those who would seek to harass and assault you from the air.
Gunnar’s tone then lowered, taking on a tenor of compassion.
“I am sorry to hear of your terrible losses and suffering. It would be my wish that you had hundreds of Bregas, and as many riders for them. They are good, hardy steeds, and as Skiantha they are family to the Fenraren.”
He glanced past Ayenwatha, to where the two Bregas that Ayenwatha had come with were standing. Ayenwatha followed his gaze.
“They are indeed hardy steeds,” Ayenwatha commented, in admiration, though he felt a pang of lament at the remembrance of the costly air battle. There had been only a small number of the winged creatures that were fully trained amongst the five tribes, and a large portion of those had been quartered where the Sacred Fire was tended and guarded. Now, even fewer capable steeds remained, and the breeding herd would be very vulnerable during all of the upheaval.
“But I did not come here to speak of sorrowful things,” Gunnar remarked, with a lilt to his voice.
Ayenwatha turned his head back, and saw that a mischievous grin had spread across Gunnar’s face. “The ships, the warriors, and the Fenraren are not all that I bring to you, my woodland friends. We have also brought some of the wolf-skins, and a bear-shirt, along with us. Ulfhednar, and Berzerk, in our tongue. Each of those fellows is worth fifty good warriors.”
With a glance, he gestured towards another longship now advancing towards the embankment, having almost reached the shoreline. Many of its occupants were much different in appearance than those on the surrounding ships.
Standing on the unsecured, pine planks of the longship’s decking were five huge, very barbaric-looking men. Unlike most of the other Midragardans, they were clad very simply. Their appearance was devoid of any silver or gold, save for a singular, hammer-shaped amulet, made of silver, hanging upside down from a cord about their necks.
The unusual-looking warriors wore no armor, covered in nothing more than coarse woolen tunics over their burly upper bodies. Over the tunics were cloaks made of a thick, silvery fur that faced outward, clasped with large silver pins. Ayenwatha’s perceptive eyes swiftly recognized the fur as being from wolves.
Their long hair flowed freely about their shoulders, unbound by headband, woolen cap, or iron helm. Their expressions conveyed that these were men who were much different in nature from their comrades. They had a severe, very hardened mien, the kind of look that was forged through years of discipline and trial. A fiery, maniacal gaze flickered within the depths of their unsettling eyes. There was something decidedly feral about them, a quality that a veteran hunter like Ayenwatha could quickly perceive.
It was then that his eyes traveled a little farther down the boat, to where a hulk of a man stood on the small portion of raised deck at the stern. In many ways he was like the other five, with the exception that a brown fur-skin, that of a great bear, was draped over his massive body. Ayenwatha did not think that he had ever seen such an immense human.
“Can I believe my own eyes?” Ayenwatha murmured in wonder, as he knew many tales of the roughly-clad warriors. “Never have I seen the wolf-skins or bear-shirts of your people.”
“And it is good that you have never seen them in opposition to you,” Gunnar replied, matter-of-factly. “Those five men would take on five hundred, and the one at the end an additional hundred, by himself. Those that have invaded your land will soon learn what they are capable of, and it will be a very frightening, very painful lesson for them indeed.”
Ayenwatha watched as the strange men disembarked from their ship. He was astonished that they showed an easy rapport with the other warriors around them, for their fierce countenances, and intimidating appearances, would seem to have inferred otherwise.
He came to an understanding in those moments, while observing their relatively casual manner with the other men of their land, that they were warriors who loved Midragard and its people with a deep, abiding passion. It gave Ayenwatha some comfort, as he hoped there would be no difficulties involving their interactions with the tribal warriors. It looked pretty clear that their legendary, fanatical fury would only be directed at the enemies of Midragard and its allies.
All of the sights spread about them, and the good tidings from Gunnar, invigorated Ayenwatha, snatching him up from sinking deeper into the morass of dimming confidence and hope.
“You have brought our people something to hold fast to. We may never be able to thank you in the way that you deserve,” Deganawida then stated, echoing Ayenwatha’s feelings.
“We do not do this for any reward,” replied Gunnar, his expression growing serious again. “We stand with you as we would for any friend of ours. No man is a friend who does not go to aid another in dire need. As we live our lives to the fullest in our lands, as you do in yours, we are here to respect and honor such a right with our blood, if need be.”
Deganawida’s countenance then turned a shade more somber. “As we would stand with you. As to the war at hand, there is little time, for the forests are already being flooded with the minions of the Unifier. Ayenwatha has just returned from the front areas of the fighting, and may be able to tell you more.”
Ayenwatha nodded, and added, “We have slowed them, but they are very many, too many to hold back for long. Galleans, rat-men from Yanith, and even some enormous, beast-like beings, which the enemy calls Gigans.”
A rueful smile spread on Gunnar’s face, though sparks came to his eyes. “Atagar and Gigans too? What type of feast have we been invited too? You are giving us Midragardans a real opportunity to test our skills against rarely encountered creatures. We will be more than happy to see if these rat-men and big brutes measure up to the iron of Midragard.”
The large Midragardan then shook his head, and when he resumed, his voice lost its boastful edge.
“This is no minor incursion by the Unifier’s miscreants. You are right, Deganawida, we should not wait further. We are ready to march with you now. A small number of warriors will be left behind to guard the longships here, but the rest can come now. Lead us to the site of battle. We can talk more along the way.”
Taking leave of the sachems, Gunnar then took a few moments to summon the other chieftains and ship captains together. After explaining the situation in the Five Realms to the other leaders, the orders were disseminated to march without delay. There was not a word of protest from the Midragardans, as they hurried to take up foodstuffs and weapons.
Ayenwatha and Deganawida fell in with Gunnar shortly afterwards, as the three headed away from the line of longships, striding towards the forest’s edge. Over a thousand warriors followed in their wake, as the call of friends in grave danger was answered.
*