In their own view, the Trogens were fighting as much for themselves in these ongoing wars as they were fighting for the Unifier. The best chance of realizing their own aims lay with the success of the Unifier, and the Trogens were willing to do everything that they could to bring an end to the unrelenting nightmare suffered by so many of their kind.
Goras’ great jaws tightened, and Dragol knew that his comrade had realized his momentary foolishness. His eyes darted about, and he looked relieved to find that no one was close enough to have heard his reckless venting. “I cannot argue with you, Dragol.”
“We must still seek to take action, but we must be careful,” Dragol said more gently. “Remember, a great army will be sweeping through those woods soon enough. If there is a woodsman, we will find his homestead. We will also have time to hunt in these woods for the beasts. My blade and arrows will have a great thirst when we find them
… I will make sure that thirst is slaked.”
“As I will with mine,” Goras concurred grimly.
Dragol looked off in the direction of some tents to the right, where there was a collection of packs and barrels stacked.
He gestured off towards the tents. “Goras, join me now, if you do not have to soon leave on patrol. For now, I think you are right. It is best to fill my belly, and get a few moments’ rest.”
“And to fill mine as well, for I have not eaten yet. Know that we will eat better tonight, or I will spill some blood. I shall get us some cheese, and see about some true meat,” Goras said with conviction.
The two large Trogens headed off for the tents. It was no use courting disappointment, and Dragol resolved himself to the simple fare that they would be getting.
The ensuing meal passed with little conversation, the food devoured quickly, though its substance hardly caused the Trogens to salivate. While there was no good meat to be had, Goras did succeed in obtaining a small quantity of cheese, and some bitter ale to help wash the food down, both of which Dragol was eminently grateful for.
They had barely finished eating when a Trogen messenger came up to them, and delivered some new orders directly from Tragan. The messenger, a young Trogen warrior of the Sea Wolf clan, gave a slight bow and took his leave.
Dragol and Goras would have to put aside their individual interests for a time. Tragan was ordering a heavier presence to accompany the initial surge of the ground force as it drove eastward. The two patrol leaders were to be summoned to Tragan’s tent soon, to learn the rest of the details.
As the two pondered the messenger’s tidings, a commotion rang out suddenly within the camp. Trogen and Andamooran alike were hustling about, and word was quickly spread around that the expected force of warriors for the northeastern thrust had arrived near the camp.
It was a force from Avanor itself, very well-equipped, and highly disciplined.
Dragol was highly curious about the renowned human fighters, especially with his great disappointments in the other humans that he had interacted with. He had learned many things about the Avanorans in recent weeks. He hoped that the tales were true and that he would find them to be worthy allies. Of all the human factions, the Avanorans appealed to him the most.
Their ilk, as part of sovereign realms, as mercenaries, and as ambitious adventurers, had gained a legendary reputation in both the development and overthrow of many realms within Ave. It was almost fitting that the origin of all Avanorans was the same place where the Unifier had risen to power, given the great renown of the warriors of Avanor.
In terms of landmass, Avanor was not an exceptionally large territory, yet it had sent forth a torrent of power that had shaken Ave. Their storied history could not be denied. As a whole, Avanorans possessed an undeniable genius for war.
The Trogens knew that if the force from Avanor succeeded in its aims to curl around to the back of the main army of Saxany, which was deploying out on the eastern plains, the war could quickly be brought to an end. The invasion was also the means by which the location of the archer, and the savage beasts, could be explored. There would be plenty of opportunities during the chaos and upheaval within an invasion campaign.
Goras and Dragol looked to each other, and though Goras’ expression remained austere, Dragol knew that they were both gladdened that the war was finally going to escalate sharply.
Their goals, from those of their clans to personal ones, were being brought steadily closer to achievement.
JANUS
Night portended to be a much more peaceful event when experienced within the considerably safer confines of an occupied tribal longhouse. Even so, the environs still demanded a number of adjustments by Janus in order for him to attain a semblance of comfort. It was not an entirely easy task, lying atop cornhusk mats and animal skins spread upon the hard, rough surface of the wooden sleeping platform underneath him.
The air itself was thick to breathe, hindered as it was by very low circulation and ventilation within the domestic chamber. The smoke hole, set directly above the hearth used by both sides of the chamber, was far from effective in filtering out the dense airs of the compartment.
Janus could only imagine how much more ponderous breathing was in the depths of a cold winter, when larger fires had to be lit within the chamber for warmth. He had no doubts that the chamber confines that he was now quartered within could become very congested, if not stifling, rather quickly.
At the moment, no fires were lit within the longhouse compartment. A full stack of firewood lay idle in the storage space set to one side of the sleeping platform. Another such pile rose from the ground in the corresponding space across the chamber, by the other sleeping platform. It was much too warm inside the compartment to even consider putting the wood to use.
Adding to the general discomfort, Janus was beginning to feel the effects from the sheer accumulation of bug bites, though he had not yet given in to applying the grease to his skin that the tribal people used so generously upon their own bodies. At the moment, he was still willing to tough out the irritations brought about by the numerous insects that shared the interior of the longhouse.
Weariness having overridden discomfort, Janus had already slept for several hours, and he did not currently feel like going back to sleep. He lay still within the shadowy darkness, staring upwards at the narrow elm-bark boards comprising the underside of the upper platform. Spanning the full length of the compartment, the higher level was used as a type of garret for storing a number of various items; including the additional pelts which Janus now considered procuring to pad his sleeping space even further.
After a few more moments of consideration and calculation, he thought better of the idea, surmising that the additional effort would not result in very much of an alteration to his current state. Fumbling about in the darkness, he would also risk injury, as well as likely aggravating his slumbering and deeply exhausted companions.
He let out a quiet sigh, while taking in the strong scents of smoke and other odors prominent within the longhouse interior. His thoughts slowly drifted towards the two tribal families that were living in one of the chambers immediately adjacent to the compartment that he and his companions were in.
He had learned that one of the families was a newly wed couple, the woman from the Place of Far Seeing and the man from another Onan village. They had just recently arrived to live in the longhouse of the bride’s mother.
Though the new groom was amiable enough, Janus could sense from his brief interactions with him that the man was feeling more than a little awkward. It was very understandable, as the young man was living away from his own family and village for the first time in his entire life.