Authors: Stephen Zimmer
The last ranks of refugees were entirely comprised of people. The few horses that had been salvaged from the villages were located in the middle to front of the trudging mass, and Deganawida had been relieved to see that most were holding up fairly well.
In a small glimmer of light, the fact that the Five Realms used horses primarily for bearing weighty burdens, and not commonly for riding, had the animals prepared more fully for the hardships that were now being asked of them. They were being made to carry baskets, bark casks, hide packs, and all manner of pouches filled with foodstuffs and other materials.
While the horses were being tested to the limits of their capacity and strength, they were very sturdy animals that did not easily wear down. Even so, Deganawida and the other sachems had insisted that caution be maintained with the animals. With so few horses available, the weary people could not succumb to the inviting temptation to overload the beleaguered creatures.
Even with the demand for conscious wariness, a few of the animals’ burdens still threatened to become unwieldy. Clan matrons and others moved quickly to reprove some of the villagers, and implore them to either carry the excess materials, or to leave the packs and containers behind, if they could not capably bear them.
More troubling, a few of the horses had already been unburdened of their material loads, and the reason had nothing to do with any weaknesses of their own. They were diverted from their tasks to carry the frailest members of the tribes, who could not hope to keep up with the others.
Though there was no hesitation in helping the struggling, aged tribal members, a dangerous quandary faced the tribes, increasing with each horse that was shifted to help a human. The average villager did not have the endurance of a packhorse, nor did they have the strength. Precious supplies were slowly being left behind in the wake of the refugees, food and other items that could well prove vital to the survival of many in the days to come.
The realities facing the tribal people, as Deganawida proceeded along the side of the retreating throngs, were growing worse and worse. Even those that were young and hale were being pushed to the limits of exhaustion. Often, the healthy and hale sacrificed their own strength to help elders or small children unable to move forward on their own power. Their very kindness and sacrifice became the source of mounting threat to them. Such was the extreme ugliness of a time of war.
The uneven ground sometimes added further to the difficulties, becoming tortuous for the people when they moved up inclines. Conversely, downward slopes allowed for a little rejuvenation.
The only significant reprieve allowed to the tribal people was the fact that they were moving through a more ancient part of the forest. The older, long-established trees within that region had woven a dense canopy overhead, preventing sprawling undergrowth from creating even more obstacles to their passage. While the gloom around them did little to raise their downtrodden spirits, it was a small price to pay for not having to navigate through thick brush. The natural cover also enabled their movements to be better screened from the skies above, though few held any illusions that so many people on the march could mask their travel effectively.
All of the tribal people knew that the greatest threat was coming from behind them now. Deganawida had noticed the extreme edginess spread across the faces of those in the rear of the great retreat. Many of them cast regular, anxious glances over their shoulders, as if expecting the enemy to pour out of the trees behind at any given moment.
Seeing Deganawida, Ayenwatha, and the long column of robust Midragardan warriors heading in the other direction brought visible relief to many faces, especially those that appeared to be struggling the most. Deganawida noticed many eyes widen in curiosity and surprise at the sight of the well-armed Midragardans. Gunnar was the first of many hundreds of hardened, sturdy countenances that the tribal refugees set their eyes upon. Shields on their backs, spears and long-hafted axes clutched in strong hands, and strung bows over many a broad shoulder, the Midragardan warriors exuded strength and determination.
Deganawida was glad that the tribal people were being afforded the plenteous sight of Midragard’s rugged warriors. It was one reason why he had them march along a path that took them right by the refugees, in addition to the fact that Gunnar’s warriors would be placed in a good position for responding to any unexpected threat to the tribal people.
Whatever fears Deganawida, Ayenwatha, or any of the other tribal warriors with them harbored, they also kept up strong postures, displaying resolute outward appearances in front of the retreating exiles. Deganawida angled close enough to the tribal people to speak words of encouragement to many. He brought the Midragardan column to a halt towards the rear end of the exodus, to lend some assistance to the last section of refugees laboring to cross over a wide stream.
The fierce-looking Midragardan warriors showed themselves to be extremely gentle with a number of makeshift litters and cradle-boards. They kept the vulnerable, the old, the sick, and the newborn, out of the waist-high waters, as they enthusiastically contributed their strength to the endeavor.
The Onan sachem watched closely as two of the wolf-skins carried the ends of a litter above their heads. They brought an elderly Onan woman, who Deganawida recognized as being from his own village, over to her daughter on the other side.
Another wolf-skin waded through the modest currents as he bore a tightly-wrapped infant affixed to a cradle-board across to an overly relieved mother. Her diminutive stature would have made fording the river with the baby a most difficult task, with so few available to help in the rear of the exodus.
Deganawida did not know much about the wolf-skins, but he did know that they, along with the bear-shirts, were regarded as the fiercest of the Midragardans by far. It had not escaped his notice that the other Midragardan warriors regarded them with an almost mythical reverence. There was something very dangerous about the wolf-skins, though, the hint of a tremendous ferocity lurking just under their brooding visages.
Yet to see them so very gentle in their handlling of the weakest of the tribal people, a people who were not their own, revealed something else about the wolf-skins that contrasted sharply with the fearsome reputation that they carried.
The younger tribal people were awash with gratitude towards the unexpected assistance, being at the bitter end of their physical limits.
Deganawida could not stifle a smile as the young mother emotionally expressed her gratitude to the wolf-skin conveying her baby to her, tears of happiness running down her cheeks. Though the wolf-skin could not understand her words, he was enveloped in her meaning, and the harsh-looking warrior had an awkward, uncomfortable expression upon his face. While the wolf-skins could display a very benevolent aspect in their actions, Deganawida saw that they were not very adept at expressing it.
Deganawida still recognized that it was far from unhelpful that the wolf-skins, and the other Midragardans, exhibited such a toughened exterior. He knew that the sight of the confident demeanors of the Midragardans and tribal warriors would go forward with the refugees. The images of calm, strong faces on the men in the warriors’ column would serve as a kind of reinforcement, and even rejuvenation, for what little strength and resolve that the hungry, sore, and exhausted refugees were drawing upon.
As the last of the refugees crossed the stream, Deganawida and the warrior column resumed their onward march. The forest swiftly grew silent around them. The tapestry of shadows echoed Deganawida’s melancholy thoughts, as he returned to pondering their circumstances.
Day and night would no longer be merely divisions of time, to mark periods of labor and wakefulness, and periods of repose and rest. Instead, the dominions of sun and moons would melt into a desperate, increasingly burdensome continuum.
The previous night had been the first such instance of the tribal people’s new, and daunting, reality, as the refugees had been cajoled onward despite a tremendous need for sleep and recovery. A couple of all-too-brief pauses had proved to be very difficult, as many had collapsed almost instantly into unconsciousness, wherever they had halted to take their short respite.
When the exodus had resumed, those that were asleep were unceremoniously roused from their slumber. If the refugees had any chance to gain some ground on the pursuing enemy, night remained their best advantage. The darkness of night strengthened the tribes’ own attacks and efforts to frustrate the enemy’s advances.
At the least, the skies above had largely been cleared of menace. The word that Midragardan sky warriors had driven off the Darroks and the Trogens had been an extremely welcome surprise to Deganawida. If the Darroks had been allowed to fly over the forested lands with impunity, the threats to the fleeing masses of tribal peoples would have been exceedingly dire, and the results absolutely devastating.
Unlike small bands of warriors who could easily seek cover in woodlands, a few thousand people could not blend into shadows and foliage. Using their new, dreadful method of warfare, the deadly rain from the Darroks would have inflicted staggering casualties upon the defenseless refugees.
Deganawida cast a furtive glance towards Gunnar, and felt a wave of immense gratitude towards the gritty, pale-skinned people from the far south. It was true that his people and the Midragardans had once shed each other’s blood in abundance, but those days were buried in ages long past. The tribal people and the Midragardans now enjoyed friendship and trade, and had come to deeply respect each other. Their relations had reached the point where the masters of the sea had come very swiftly, and entirely willingly, in the Five Realms’ hour of greatest need.
The Midragardans were such a mysterious people, but in many ways they were very similar to Deganawida’s own. Like the people of the Five Realms, they harbored a staunch, abiding loyalty to their own ways and traditions. Their warriors were undeniably courageous, and from what the stories told, they came from a land of harsh winters that had done much to forge a toughened, robust people.
Deganawida hoped that he might find a way someday to demonstrate his great respect for them. He wanted to do no less for a people that risked their own blood to allow the Five Realms to preserve their lands, lives, and ways.
Eventually, the long column encountered a tribal war band of modest size, heading in the same direction as the refugees. Deganawida recognized the warriors as being a kind of rear guard for the refugees, a first line of defense and warning.
At the sight of them, Ayenwatha moved away from the column and spoke with a few of their number. Deganawida kept moving onward at the forefront of the combined Midragardan and tribal column.
Ayenwatha soon caught back up with Deganawida, bringing word that there was a fair distance yet to go before they came within range of the lines of battle. Deganawida was gladdened by the tidings, as it meant that the refugees were not under any imminent threats.
The column stopped for a few brief hiatuses, near creeks or streams. Deganawida watched as the Midragardans partook of the fresh waters of his lands, and ate a little of the salted fish that so many of them carried.
Deganawida allowed himself a small portion of the roast cornmeal that he kept in a hide pouch at his waist, consuming what was a staple of a tribal warrior on the path of war. Sweetened with the nectar of the maple tree, it tasted altogether wonderful in the face of the hunger that dwelled within him, even if he continued to ignore it.
Even with the short respites, the grueling gait of the march accumulated fatigue as the day’s light began to fade. The gloom of the forest grew ever darker, and at last even the most optimistic among the warriors did not think that they could long sustain the pace that they had been enduring. Only the strange wolf-skins and the lone bear-shirt seemed to be physically unfazed, looking fresh, as if they had only just begun the march.
Gunnar and Ayenwatha finally called out for an extended rest, and the column drew to a halt, fanning out under the trees. Inwardly, Deganawida was immensely relieved, as his old muscles and joints had given all that they had to give for the day. He did not want to entertain any thought as to whether they would recover in time for the next march. It made him feel only marginally better as he saw Gunnar take in and release a long, slow breath, which gave outward evidence to the Midragardan’s own fatigue.
Deganawida and Gunnar plodded over together towards the wide trunk of a tree, where Gunnar sat down heavily, leaning his back up against the bark surface. He set his shield down at his side, within easy grasp.
Deganawida slowly sat down cross-legged at Gunnar’s side, his face tensing a little as he keenly felt the soreness in his back and knees. The wince ebbed from his face, as he gradually began to settle in.
At first, the two leaders were very quiet, content to let their minds and bodies ease further. Ayenwatha came over to join them after seeing to the organization of a few sentinels.
Gunnar looked over towards Deganawida, as Ayenwatha took a place on the elder sachem’s other side. “We are not far now from the fighting. It is time to think of what must be done. We must find a way to locate the strong points of the enemy … the places where their forces have concentrated their greatest strength. Have your scouts located where such places may be?”
“The enemy has attacked us along many points,” Ayenwatha replied grimly. “Their numbers are great, and they have been able to cross into our lands in strength at many places. Each loss we suffer is a heavy one, while the enemy can replace those who fall.”
“We will soon see to that problem,” Gunnar stated determinedly, with a look in his eye that closely resembled burning embers. “As soon as we can set Midragard’s axes to the trunks of the Gallean trees, we will see if they can grow them faster than we can cut them down.”
Deganawida did not doubt that there was no exaggeration to the sturdy Midragardan’s claim.