Authors: Stephen Zimmer
The surge carried strongly over the steady, hellish chorus of drums, horns, and other battle din that had formed into an incessant, droning background that Wulfstan had grown partially numbed to. The anomalous outburst of noise from the battlefield caused Wulfstan to shudder, as he knew very well how fragile the course of a battle could be. He had been caught up in the shifting currents himself, and the sounds pouring into his ears might well be heralding the onset of a great doom upon the Saxans.
“Ours or theirs? And what does it mean? I wish I knew,” Wulfstan remarked dourly, struggling to keep the worst of his worries at bay.
Conscious efforts were largely useless, as his subconscious was a maelstrom born from the essence of obsession. A sharp pang of anxiety lanced through him as he worked in vain to stifle the ongoing fears, of the kind that he and so many other Saxans carried with them during the extended battle.
Any number of things could be occurring, as shifts of fortune and newly engaged tactics governed the ebbs and flows of the fighting. Wulfstan’s greatest worry narrowed down on one particular situation, a crisis which would spell defeat for the Saxans; the full breaching, or breaking, of the shield wall.
Wulfstan knew that the Avanorans were deployed in the center of the battlefield, and also that they carried the greatest war reputation onto the Plains of Athelney, amongst all the combatants involved. He looked off in the distance nervously, wondering if their heavily armored knights had finally broken through the Saxan resistance. He tensed, as he listened for the thunder of hooves that would accompany such a disaster.
“This is no good,” Sebright commented, outwardly dismayed at the new waves of sounds. “If this army is destroyed here, then our whole realm is as good as conquered.”
“You speak truly, but what other choice is there for us?” Wulfstan asked Sebright. “This is where the battle must be fought. There is nothing more to call up in our lands, levy or otherwise. I did not even think there could be this many people in the entire world, when our contingents arrived in this very camp. The enemy must be fought here, before they could reach any of our provinces and villages.”
“No more levies here? Then maybe elsewhere … we should send a summons to the Midragardans, you or I. We should tell them that they would be ill-advised to tarry, as this threat is a threat to them as well,” Sebright responded, in a tone of voice that, strangely enough, was not entirely in jest.
He chuckled bitterly after he had said the words. A grim expression gripped his countenance, as he looked into Wulfstan’s haggard face.
“Truly, if there was some way to get out a cry for help, to send a message … then that is where I would go. The tales say that the warriors of Midragard are masters of the oceans, and it is said that they have no love for the Unifier either. But there is no way to reach out to Midragard, or to anyone that would help us,” Sebright muttered in a low voice.
“And what of our ealdormen and counts, even if there was such a way? I am sure they would take no time to counsel with a mere ceorl, especially with all of the things on their minds right now,” Wulfstan stated, with the fullness of sincerity girding his voice.
Sebright looked at him with an odd expression, as if trying to fathom what was behind the sudden change of tone within Wulfstan’s voice.
“If there was such a way, to cry out for help, it should be taken with, or without, counsel. There is no more time for talking. The hour is desperate. It is a time for action by any that could possibly change these events,” Sebright replied, in a slow, deliberate tone. His eyes then looked off, with a faraway gaze. “Yet I fear there is no ceorl that knows of anything that the ealdormen and counts have not thought or spoken of … but if there was one…”
Sebright drew into an extended silence, letting the thought trail off without a firm conclusion.
An idea had been building rapidly in Wulfstan’s mind. It was a notion strengthened by his strange dreams, by the tales that he had heard throughout his whole life, and most of all by the physical, undeniably real sight that he had beheld, on the return from Godric’s fortress, in the skies above Saxany.
He looked skyward again, his gaze drifting across the heavens. A tension formed in his gut, as expectation wrestled with skepticism. After a few moments, the former prevailed in the contest.
His eyes rested once again upon what looked to be a pure white patch, far above the first layers of clouds. He knew without reservation that it was the very same patch that he had seen during the recent journey back. There was no mistaking the vision that matched that of his dreams with perfection.
“Do you see that?” Wulfstan asked Sebright slowly, pointing upwards. “There, above the main clouds.”
Sebright looked up, squinting a little, as he stared. He was quiet in his intensity, as he scrutinized the sky. At last, he spoke, “You mean that big, whitened cloud? The one that looks to be way above the others?”
Wulfstan smiled as resolution filled him, from the innermost core of his being to the outer hairs on his skin. In that singular moment, the idea that had tugged at the edges of his mind crested into an impetus to act.
It was a most dangerous thought, a seemingly whimsical notion that might very well result in his personal death. Furthermore, he could not deny that his conception was perhaps something that was rooted in insanity. It was an amalgamation of hope, recklessness, courage, inspiration, and many other elements that were hard to grasp with absolute surety.
Yet if the bizarre idea succeeded, a new chance could be given life. A fresh hope, to bring outside help to the beleaguered Saxans, would be born.
Most importantly, if it did fail, it would only cost the Saxan cause the life of one lone ceorl. A single ceorl could not change the battle as it now stood, as Wulfstan had come to understand. That was one lesson of his inclusion in the party sent to scout Godric’s fortress, as each of those who had been sent out had been men who could be risked on such an uncertain venture. Yet if the slim chance that Wulfstan saw before him led to something more, then one ceorl could possibly change the parameters of the battle, and perhaps affect the very balance itself.
Wulfstan knew that nobody would take his initiative seriously, not even Sebright. But he was ready to move forward, and set his feet down upon a new, dangerous, and strangely inviting path. His heart felt harmonious with the impulse.
“I need to gain the use of one of the Himmerosen,” Wulfstan stated, matter-of-factly.
“What are you thinking?” Sebright replied, with an incredulous mien.
“If I told you, or anyone, all would surely think that I have been struck with madness. It may not be my status to make such a choice, but I have made it anyway,” Wulfstan answered resolutely.
“Is there a ceorl that knows of something that the ealdormen and counts have not tried?” Sebright then asked, in a very deliberate voice, looking hard into Wulfstan’s eyes.
“There may be, though I cannot prove it,” Wulfstan replied, as a slight grin bloomed on his lips. “So, do you have any thoughts on Himmerosen?”
Sebright looked off to the right. “There was some big attack by our forces early this morning. I do not know what happened, but I have noticed some steeds straggling in throughout the passing of the day.”
He gestured in the direction that he was staring. “They were taken off, somewhere that way. From what rumors I heard, the attack set off a big fear among the enemy, but it also caused a lot of damage to our sky riders.”
“They say they are like horses, in some ways,” Wulfstan replied, voicing the words similar to a question.
“That is what they say, but I would not know myself. I have little experience with horses, and none with the sky steeds,” Sebright replied. He then shrugged. “What villager gets to ride horses often, much less the noble sky steeds?”
Wulfstan grinned at Sebright again, feeling a firm sense of purpose, as he patted his new friend gently on the shoulder. He rose to his feet, and looked off in the direction where Sebright had indicated that the Himmerosen were being quartered.
He turned his head, and looked back down to Sebright. “Stay strong, and get yourself through all of these storms, Sebright. May we share some Northern Ale together, and maybe some of the southern wine from our resting friend’s lands, in a time of peace.”
“Good luck, Wulfstan. May the All-Father watch over you, and keep you in His care,” Sebright replied, as Wulfstan turned to walk away. He then added, from behind Wulfstan, in a low voice that the Saxan warrior could not hear, “You are a ceorl with as much nobility in you as any count or ealdorman of Saxany … that ever was, is, or will be, my friend.”
Wulfstan started off at a brisk stride, working his way through the masses of tents, carts, stores of materials, and other camp elements. He passed through a quarter where a small number of carpenters, leather workers, blacksmiths, and other artisans kept up a diligent labor in repairing weapons, horse harness, and other ongoing needs of the army. In the tense atmosphere, attending to their tasks during the ongoing battle, nobody paid Wulfstan much attention as he trekked by their temporary workshops.
Sebright proved to have been observant, as Wulfstan soon came upon the sight of a number of the winged beasts that he was searching out. All of them were tethered. A few were eating food, others were drinking water out of buckets, and still others were lying in repose on the ground.
Wulfstan had never approached a number of Himmerosen so closely before. He was struck by how much they resembled a pack of huge war dogs, in many ways. The contours of their bodies were more elongated than blocky, but the creatures still had a rugged appearance that began with their large heads, and broad, powerful jaws. A few of the creatures eyed him warily as he approached the cleared space that they were being kept in, and he could sense the innate intelligence within their alert gazes.
A small number of Saxan guards were watching over the Himmerosen, from the edges of the space. A few other men were amongst the creatures, seeing to the various needs of the beasts, whether brushing their coats, ferrying more water or food in, or resetting saddles and harnesses. Though the steeds were resting, it was clear that they were being kept in a state of readiness.
A diminutive man was coming up right behind Wulfstan, as he idly watched the scene before him, drawing his attention as he heard the man’s footsteps shuffling along the grass. The man bore a saddle along with him, and had the impassive look of a worker conducting routine chores.
“Can I ask you a question?” Wulfstan asked, as the man neared.
The man blinked at the unexpected interruption, and eyed him for a second, slowing down and drawing to a stop. “I suppose so … but be quick, as I have much to do here.”
Fidgety, and brimming with impatience, the man looked expectantly at Wulfstan through his small, deep-set eyes.
“Are there any really strong, rested steeds here?” Wulfstan finally asked, glancing towards the Himmerosen.
“A few reserve mounts. But most of the others have little energy, after the fighting this morning,” the man replied tersely. He then started to turn to go.
“Wait, just one thing more,” Wulfstan urged.
“Yes?” the man replied acerbically. “Be quick about it.”
“Do they really ride like horses?” Wulfstan asked. “I have always wanted to know that.”
“A strange time to be curious. As to your question, I just tend to them, I don’t ride them. Might ask that fellow there, he is about to go on patrol soon, “ the man said, indicating a lean man, of medium height, who was talking to a couple of the spear-bearing sentries nearby. The attendant then added, with an air of great impatience. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
Without another word, or waiting for Wulfstan’s reply, he scurried off, lugging his saddle along with him towards the gathering of Himmerosen.
Wulfstan’s attention was already focused on the other man, talking with the sentries. He eyed the sky rider for a few moments. The man was probably a little older than he was, perhaps by around five years. He was dressed in a dark tunic and light brown trousers, his legs wrapped snugly in bandelettes.
A segmented iron helm rested upon his head. The iron frame band crossing over the top of the helm featured a raised iron decoration, fashioned into the figure of a boar with bright tusks of copper.
The adornment had a thick line of true boar’s bristle mounted down the length of its back, accentuating its prominence atop the helm. The nasal guard in the front was inlaid with a Sacred Spear of pure silver, the point of it oriented upwards.
The crest ornament alone identified the man as a northerner like Wulfstan. The boar was one of the symbols long cherished by the old kingdom of the north, and even hailed from the times before the western faith had taken its first steps into their land.
The sky rider had a relaxed posture, with a narrow face, a small mouth bordered with full lips, and a short, rounded nose. He had a light brown moustache, and was otherwise devoid of facial hair, except for a stubble of growth that created a faded shadow across the surface of his face. His brown eyes were calmly oriented upon Wulfstan, as he approached him.
“Are you getting ready to go on patrol?” Wulfstan queried.
“Yes,” the sky rider replied. “Within this very hour. Is there something you need?”
Wulfstan nodded. “Yes, something very important. Can I speak with you for a moment.”
The two guards, both probably ceorls themselves, as they were clad in mail, helm, and had quality shields and weaponry, glanced between Wulfstan and the sky rider.
“I’ll be back in a moment, and I’ll finish my tale,” the sky rider remarked to them. They nodded back, as he walked a few paces away with Wulfstan, where they could speak with more privacy. Looking to Wulfstan, he asked, “And I must ask you first, by what name are you called?”
“I am Wulfstan, of Sussachia, a ceorl of the lands of Ealdorman Byrtnoth,” Wulfstan said, introducing himself.
“And I am Ulfcytel, from Wessachia, a thane of Ealdorman Morcar’s lands, not far at all from yours,” he replied in an amicable manner. Wulfstan found himself taking an instant liking to Ulfcytel.