The scout in the middle of the three, the veteran Trogen that Dragol had recognized from afar as Dynagan of the Mountain Bear Clan, spoke for the group.
“The Saxans know of the approach of the army below. They have taken good positions on a ridgeline inside the borders of the forest,” the scout reported. “It is the only place the Avanorans can possibly use their cavalry.”
“What is their strength?” Goras inquired.
“Maybe a couple thousand strong. They have mounts, but I do not know if they are used as cavalry or not. They have some sky warriors too, for we were chased by almost ten of them out on patrol,” the scout reported, his face tensing, as he grudgingly admitted to having evaded battle.
Dragol could not fault the scout for evading combat, or hold him in derision. The scouting parties’ orders had been strict; the acquisition of information was of the utmost importance and priority.
Yet once again, Avanoran practicality had overcome Trogen tradition, as three Trogens against ten were not insurmountable odds in any Trogen warrior’s eyes.
A spark was ignited in the eyes of both Goras and Dragol at the pronouncement.
“The skies must be taken,” Dragol stated. He turned to Goras, and a slight grin turned up the corners of his mouth. On a Trogen, the look had a feral edge. “I believe that you will see fighting soon enough.”
“Dragol, we must go now, to report to Tragan,” the brooding scout interjected, impatient to complete his mission.
Dragol understood the scout’s frustration, but was still irritated with Dynagan’s abrasive manner.
“Then go,” Dragol replied gruffly.
Dragol and Goras nodded as the scouts hastily departed from their presence.
“Fortunes have changed, as of a sudden, Dragol,” Goras said, a wave of excited, relieved energy coursing through his deep voice.
Dragol could see that his comrade’s mouth was already salivating at the succulent prospects of combat. It was as if great binding chains had been suddenly cut from him, through the words of Dynagan.
“Storm winds may reveal a clear sky,” Dragol remarked, repeating a saying of his kind that illustrated the unpredictability of life.
The saying recalled the sudden shifts of weather in his homeland, including the times when what looked to be certain storms were suddenly averted, and replaced by cool and passive skies. Things in life could shift abruptly, in either direction. Yet when they changed suddenly for the better, it was truly something to savor, and be grateful for. The thunderclouds in his mind eased as he took in Goras’ relief, though another part of him wished that he could fly into battle against the Saxans with him.
*
AETHELSTAN
*
“They will deliver the tidings of what they have seen to their army, you can be sure of that!” lamented Aethelstan, gazing upward into the now-empty sky. Frustration clenched him tightly, as more worries were added to the teeming cluster already present within his mind.
He ran his hand through his shoulder-length, dark brown hair, standing near the top of a ridge a few paces in front of Edmund. Behind Edmund were the other members of the small group of sky warriors that had recently arrived.
They were among the few that had been spared from the Saxan forces massing out on the Plains of Athelney. Edmund and the other sky riders intended to help Aethelstan ward their movements, by driving off or distracting enemy sky patrols and scouts.
It had been about one day since Aethelstan had returned from his own short scouting foray on horseback. He knew that the battle that they were inevitably to fight was creeping ever closer. The feeling of its imminence swelled in the air with each passing hour.
They had found good positions to tether and quarter the horses. As of now, Aethelstan, the highest-ranking thanes, and the warriors from their respective household retinues were spending the greater part of their time working with, and arraying, the levied contingents from Wessachia and the immediately surrounding areas.
A consensus had been reached regarding the Saxan defense. They had decided upon the most advantageous place to offer battle, and doubted that the Avanorans would refuse it.
The Saxan warriors were to be deployed along the crest of a long ridgeline, set squarely in the path of the oncoming force from Avanor. Its long and gentler slope was one of the only places that offered any possible use of cavalry, without which Aethelstan knew that the Avanoran enemy would not wish to fight a battle.
The narrow channels and passes through the surrounding hills would be highly uninviting to the Avanoran leaders. Even a small force of skilled warriors familiar with the landscape could hold such narrow passages for quite some time.
There was little doubt in Aethelstan’s mind that the Avanorans would seek to engage the Saxans on the broader ground of the ridge and slope, the only place where the Avanorans could bring the full weight of their forces to bear.
Most of the gathered Saxans were sleeping just behind the elongated ridge in hastily assembled tents, some just a few feet away from the positions that they would soon defend. Some older men, women, and a number of religious figures, including priests, sisters, and monks, had been arriving in small numbers to help attend to the various needs of the series of makeshift encampments.
Awaiting the coming of the enemy could easily have turned into an agony of nerves for the anxious men called forth in the General Fyrd. They were primarily farmers, with a fair number of craftsmen among their number, not given regularly to the practice of combat. Fortunately, most were using their time wisely enough, honing their fighting skills, sparring with each other, throwing spears at tree targets, trying out their slings, or practicing their archery.
Aethelstan had seen to it that many experienced warriors were dispatched among the levy men to give them additional tutelage, and instruct them further in the ways of a Saxan shield wall.
At the very least, the levy men were given a physical outlet to vent their tensions and fears. Aethelstan had no doubts that their thoughts often drifted to their families back in the villages and homesteads of Wessachia. In truth, his own thoughts returned often to his wife, daughter, and sons, and he could not condemn the levy men for dwelling upon such worries.
He was just relieved that they appeared to understand the imminent, lethal threat that was facing them all. Aethelstan urged his thanes and household guards to impress upon all of the men the vital importance of a common defense.
Aethelstan knew that many of the levy men would become very fearful when the battle finally arrived. That was nothing to deride either, as even well-experienced warriors were not immune to the icy touch of fear. Without much training, and no real experience, an enormous task was being asked of the levy men to stand firm in battle. Yet Aethelstan still had hopes that they could steel themselves enough to follow directives. The overwhelming bulk of the archers available to Aethelstan’s force came from the General Fyrd, and he would need every last one of them in the battle to come.
It had been late in the afternoon when Edmund had finally arrived from his latest scouting foray, and still later when the reports of the last Trogen scouting party, and the failure to stop it, had come.
The Saxan sky patrol had come up short with the pursuit of a trio of Trogen scouts who had managed to achieve a thorough survey of the Saxan positions. The swifter Harraks were able to outrun the Himmerosen, as the Harraks’ riders declined battle, outnumbered ten to three.
Aethelstan knew that the Trogens’ fallback was no display of cowardice. They had gained what they had set out to acquire. Now, any elements of surprise that would have belonged to the Saxans had been eliminated.
That was a horrible enough plight for Aethelstan, who knew that the forces of Saxany would need every possible advantage that they could get in the coming struggle.