Authors: Stephen Zimmer
“No!” the man shouted with desperation, his body trembling in pain at the sudden jostling. “I must know now! What has happened?”
Reluctantly, Gunther acquiesced to the man’s wishes. “The battle is over … we have only found a few who are wounded, and yet live, along this ridge. We do not know how many Saxans retreated or survived before we arrived. The Avanorans have been driven back, and their camp overrun. I am not sure that any force from the surface world won on this day.”
To Gunther’s surprise, the warrior’s eyes suddenly reddened and a few tears leaked out, as the man exhibited a countenance rife with frustration and forlorn sorrow. Gunther was transfixed by the man’s emotive expression, the mask of a dying hope.
“Aethelstan…” the man’s lips barely mumbled, just above a whisper. “Aethelstan … is he alive?”
Gunther was frozen by the name that came out from the mouth of the wounded warrior. Aethelstan, who had tolerated Gunther’s eccentric presence in the outer forests of Saxany for so many years, had evidently been involved in the terrible battle.
Gunther’s eyes immediately shifted over the long array of bodies that he had inspected. A horrible chill welled up in him at the mere thought that one of the helmeted, dead bodies could be that of a rarity in Ave; a man that Gunther could sincerely call a friend. A new fear raced through his veins, though he made an effort to keep his face steady for the benefit of the other man.
“There is no sign of Aethelstan, dead or alive,” Gunther said quickly, straining not to choke on the emotion that threatened to grip him tightly.
The other man winced, whether from pain, recoil at the uncertain news, or from a combination of both.
“I must … look … for him,” the other man said. His eyes closed, and he mercifully passed out again, leaving Gunther alone with the unsettling news.
Gunther finished binding the man’s wounds, though he felt a great tension and anxiety as he did so.
“Get him to a place of rest,” Gunther ordered the Unguhur when he was finished, standing up straight and staring down at the man beneath him, watching the Saxan’s chest lift and fall with each breath.
Curtly, Gunther turned and called to his Jaghuns, consumed with the desire to know for certain what had become of Aethelstan. Of the small pack, he sent out four to search for any living beings just beyond the outermost boundaries of the fighting area. The others he kept with him, as he resumed attending to any living souls that could be found amid the bloodshed.
It took tremendous discipline to set his eyes upon any figure that wore mail or helm. Fear rose in intensity, with each and every dead face that he looked upon, garbed in anything that might possibly be worn by a Saxan thane.
As Gunther went across the battleground, his heart shook with the notion that at any moment one of the bodies found could be that of Aethelstan. His eyes wavered constantly, and were determinedly, and grudgingly, brought to bear on each area of fallen warriors. He was tormented by the dread of seeing Aethelstan lying still, devoid of breath, a truly noble man who Gunther had always seen as flowing with light and life.
A part of him turned in silent supplication to the All-Father. He prayed that the Jaghuns would either discover a surviving group of Saxans, or find a passage of retreat that would eventually lead Gunther to the still-living Aethelstan. A storm of tremendous regret and frustration engulfed him as he realized what was ultimately happening to him.
Though he had so fervently resisted, for many long years, he could not deny that he was being drawn back into the affairs of kings and emperors. He had sworn never to do so again, but now he had no choice.
Yet he could not betray the man that he was at heart, and then expect to live with himself, not for even one day.
*
Edmund
*
Edmund, and the other two hale Saxan warriors, assisted by the heightened senses of their Himmeros steeds, kept a tight watch out of the cave opening. The atmosphere all around them was quiet and ponderous, each uncertain moment weighing upon their nerves.
The three of them had already shared their amazement that not one Avanoran warrior had yet crossed into the area in front of the cave. The end of the battle had been inevitable when they had fled with the unconscious Aethelstan. There was not a speck of doubt in any of them that the Avanorans had gained free reign throughout the forest by then.
As time crept on, hunger and thirst began to draw upon their reserves of willpower. After conferring, the three had decided that they could not risk a foray for sustenance, as long as they felt very strongly that they were in immediate danger.
A little hard bread, which was in one of the leather saddle-pouches carried by one of the Himmerosen, and some equally stout, rather dry cheese was divided up amongst them. They were able to wash it down with a little water from a skin. The meager fare was far from satisfying, and did very little to blunt the edges of their gaping appetites.
In short shifts, the Saxans afforded each other precious moments of rest. Aethelstan remained unconscious, drained and wounded from the arduous battle.
Edmund looked over towards one of the other Saxans, a man named Webba, who was now standing with him by the opening of the cave. Both men had taken their bows and quivers off of their sky steeds. Quivers hanging at their waists, and bows in hand, they would at least have some means of deterring an intruding, enemy presence from a distance.
“We cannot take to the skies, Webba,” Edmund mused, in a low voice, looking out into the hushed woods. “There is little doubt that we would soon be overwhelmed. We cannot go along the ground recklessly, for we would be destroyed if a full force of the enemy swarms over us. We both know the outcome of the battle. Even so, I would risk something, were it not for Aethelstan … but I fear that we are now trapped.”
Webba nodded grimly. A very pious man, and father of three well-mannered sons, he often served in Aethelstan’s garrison in Bergton. Unsurprising to Edmund, his advice was religious in nature. “Pray, Edmund. That is something that you may do.”
“You speak truly, and maybe the All-Father will deliver us yet,” Edmund replied softly, smiling gently, and taking a deep breath to offset the pressures that he felt rising from their deteriorating prospects. With so much tugging at his mind, it took several moments to relax the tensions riddling his body.
Webba suddenly held up one hand, an abrupt gesture that at once quieted Edmund. With a finger, Webba pointed firmly just off to the right. Through the trees, a horrific sight brought a sudden, freezing chill to Edmund’s heart.
Edmund felt a tingle of adrenaline race through him as he witnessed multiple large forms moving among the trees, heading right in the direction of their hideout. Turning, he took a silent step back into the shadows of the cave, and carefully roused the last sky rider from his nap.
Edmund signaled to the man to stay silent, and to arm himself, before he rejoined Webba by the cave’s opening. Slowly, Edmund drew an arrow and notched it. He raised the bow up, drawing the string back until it held a modest tension. To his right, Webba elevated his own bow and selected a target.
The two arrows were honed upon the point where the first massive form finally broke through the underbrush. The feline-like creature that broke through the trees, and gazed directly towards the cave, was paralyzing to behold. Edmund knew that it could be nothing other than a Licanther.
Three others emerged just behind the first. Their huge heads held an arsenal of formidable teeth within powerful jaws, including the two curving, sword-length monstrosities that protruded down from their upper lips. The immense, stabbing pair of teeth had given the creatures a legendary reputation that had worked its way into many fireside tales.
The creatures seemed to move almost effortlessly, their rippling musculature flowing in undulating precision, as they crossed the floor of the forest on their broad paws.
There was no sign of any Atagar with the robust cats, as Edmund would have expected, from what he had learned of the Avanoran forces arrayed against Saxany. This was clearly a pack that had somehow been set loose, whether for some unknown purpose, or due to the death of their rat-like masters.
The first Licanther kept a steely, cautious stare trained in their direction, as a couple of the others sniffed at the air and ground with obvious excitement.
Edmund recognized the particular path that they were following. It was the very approach to the cave that they had taken in escaping with Aethelstan.
There was no sense of outright recognition in the creatures at the moment. Nonetheless, they were heading in a direct approach towards the cave. Discovery would only be a matter of time. Recognized yet or not, the conflict between the two groups was imminent, and inevitable.
Edmund looked all around the incoming creatures, but there appeared to be only four of the Licanthers. Even so, their numbers were considerable enough, as combined with their speed and power the creatures posed a monstrous threat to the three Saxans sequestered within the cave.
Even if their first arrows found their mark, Edmund knew that he and the other men would be vulnerable to the storm that would follow. Licanthers were reputed to be one of the most aggressive of the creatures that the enemy used for warfare. They were trained and used by the Atagar because of their fearlessness, and ferocity, facts that the well-read Aethelstan had briefed Edmund about.
Edmund and the two warriors with him leveled their aims, using eye contact with each other, and gestures of their heads, to make sure that they did not all target the same creature. They knew that they would have to take out at least three Licanthers with the first round of arrows, to have any chance to survive. The arrows would have to fly extraordinarily true for that scenario to happen, and Edmund did not want to consider how slim that chance was. He narrowed his own sights upon the huge Licanther in the lead of the oncoming quartet.
At any moment, he expected to hear sounds of agitation coming from the sky steeds behind him, as they caught the scents of the huge, predatory cats. The Himmerosen would fight back fiercely, and maybe, between the Saxans and their steeds, the Licanthers could be stopped from reaching the prone Aethelstan. Edmund was resolved to die if it prevented the sabre-toothed beasts from setting their claws and fangs on his friend.
A deafening, howling chorus abruptly rang out in the forest. The outburst of noise shattered the taut stillness, and caused the Licanthers to whirl about haphazardly, in confusion. Edmund and the others held their arrows, as the edges of the forest came alive with an eruption of motion.
Swift and raging, a number of sleek, massive forms poured from the depths of the forest. Edmund could not believe what his eyes were vividly revealing.
The creatures exploding out from the undergrowth were Jaghuns. Without a doubt, they were the very creatures raised by the woodland recluse that Aethelstan had long ago befriended, and often spoken of to Edmund.
There was a quality about them that was very reminiscent of canine forms, but they were far larger, and undoubtedly stronger, than any dog that ever lived in Saxany. The Jaghuns were bearing down upon the surprised Licanthers, carrying the fight right to the feline creatures.
The Licanthers, stubborn and fearless themselves, were not ones for retreat. Their supple forms whipped about, and lunged forward to engage their rushing attackers.
Flurries of claws, and snapping jaws filled with sharp teeth, abounded, as the Jaghuns and Licanthers clashed. It was an even match, in terms of sheer numbers, as four Jaghuns had emerged from the forest to counter the Licanthers.
Eerie outcries from the animals, some sharp, and echoing great pain, filled the forest air. To Edmund’s ears, it was a blood-curdling dissonance of primal rage and death.
The strengths of the Jaghuns, with their larger bodies and more powerful jaws, were set against those of the quicker Licanthers. The latter possessed an edge in the skilled use of their sharp claws, and in their slashing sabre-teeth.
One Licanther had been taken down quickly in the fighting, its throat seized and torn out by the crushing jaws of the largest Jaghun. As such, the Jaghuns immediately gained an advantage in numbers, which swiftly proved to be a critical factor in the short, furious struggle.
When the blistering melee came to an end, the foliage all around the scene of combat was sprayed with blood, as the last of the Licanthers twitched reflexively where it lay. A moment later, its body shuddered, as it fell into a breathless stillness.
All of the Licanthers had been slain, along with one of the Jaghuns. One of the other Jaghuns had suffered serious injuries, having been raked deeply along its left flank by a swiping claw. When the surviving Jaghuns lifted their heads up, they all displayed blood-stained muzzles, giving the already intimidating creatures an even more rabid appearance.
The remaining three Jaghuns, sniffing at the air, rapidly honed in upon the cave opening. After becoming very still, their eyes seemingly piercing the darkness of the cave mouth, the two that had been largely unscathed in the fighting turned about, and trotted back into the brush. The injured one of their number followed behind a moment later, exhibiting a noticeable limp as it favored its injured side. Loud barks could be heard shortly thereafter, followed by another series of howls.
“They know we are here,” Webba stated, his eyes wide with fear. “But they do not attack.”
“Let us hope that the Woodsman is near,” Edmund replied, in a low voice.
Edmund knew what it felt like to be utterly helpless. He did not know what to make of the strange behavior of the Jaghuns. They had been the Saxan warriors’ saviors, but he had seen no sign of the reclusive Woodsman that he was sure the beasts belonged to. He also did not know whether the creatures regarded the Saxans differently than they had regarded the Licanthers.
With the Licanthers having been overcome so rapidly, he did not like the Saxans’ chances at all, if they happened to be suddenly beset by the remaining Jaghuns.