Stephen Zimmer - Dream of Legends

*

*

Aethelstan lowered himself into a sitting position, easing close to the edge of the elevated tier of stone. He looked out over the drop to the sloping ground far below, leading to the shoreline of the cavern-lake. His eyes traveled out across the waters, which were tinted with the pale blue of the glowing patches of light that were so abundant in the Unguhur Realm.

A few rafts could be seen out on the lake surface. The Unguhur on them worked patiently, with long spearing implements in hand, to draw food from the murky depths.

Here and there, drifting along the surface, Aethelstan could see the forms of the huge, reptilian creatures that shared the Unguhur’s world. None of his men ventured close to the water because of the creatures, and all had expressed gladness that the habitat of the waterborne beasts did not extend to Saxan rivers. He could not disagree, as even with the far distance he felt a tingling of his nerves at the sight of the massive predators. Yet the Unguhur seemed to be entirely unconcerned with the creatures, living side by side with them.

He stared off towards the mouth of an underground waterway, where it left the enormous cavern by means of a wide, high tunnel. It was the largest offshoot from the underground lake that he could see. He watched as one of the Unguhur rafts disappeared into its midst, wondering about the task occupying the creature piloting it.

There was so much for him to learn regarding his generous, and very strange, hosts. He had only the scraps and shards of stories, legends, and a few accounts to work with when he was brought down into their subterranean world. He was absorbing as much as he could about their ways, but the realm of creatures who did not see the sun during the day, or gaze towards the moon at night, was very different in essence from the things of his own life experience.

A number of thoughts were spinning throughout his troubled mind, as he gazed out across the dark waters, pondering the Saxans’ current predicament. Of those who had taken refuge among the Unguhur, there were just over two hundred Saxan survivors who were entirely self-sufficient in their health. Nearly seventy or so others were like Aethelstan, in need of some minor assistance, not yet free from the dangers of battle wounds, but healing rather well. There were about twenty-five that would need significant aid for some time to come. Many of the latter group were not likely to survive the coming days, as a few of them were already in the clutches of feverish torments, with their wounds putrefying and spreading their malignancy rapidly.

The overall realization of the Saxan contingent’s condition was like a cold sword cleaving deep into his soul. Less than three hundred men remained out of an initial force of a few thousand.

As the force had been assembled from the immediate region, including much of Wassachia and the Wesvald, it was certain that every survivor with Aethelstan had suffered a great personal loss in the battle; whether a friend, a brother, a father, or some other manner of kin. There would not be one soul in the midst of the terrible ordeal that did not mourn the loss of someone close to heart. In such a cold, harsh light, Aethelstan knew that every single man in the underground haven was deeply wounded, whether in spirit, physically, or both.

Even worse, with the urgency of the situation, there had been no time for burials. Every Saxan was well-aware that their comrades had been left to decay, and the bellies of scavengers out on the surface. It was one matter that Aethelstan wished he could broach with the Unguhur, but he did not yet know what their own practices were, involving their dead.

He had seen nothing in the way of tombs during his short tenure in Oranim, or any sign that the Unguhur committed the bodies of the dead to fire. He had not been able to query the Woodsman regarding the Unguhur’s ways, as he was the only human that might know the answer. Compounding the issue was the fact that Aethelstan was not yet comfortable interacting directly with the Unguhur, and did not want to inadvertently cause offense to his hosts, so soon after arriving in their realm.

Abandoning the bodies of the brave Saxans wrenched Aethelstan’s gut, at a very intimate level. He did not want to open the gates to his own personal losses. So many that he considered trusted friends and comrades had fallen, and many of the slain were related to him in blood. He had to stifle the flood of emotions that threatened to break out inside him. A time for mourning and remembrance would come later. He had to keep his composure and focus for the sake of the men that yet survived.

One thought superseded all others. He had to get as many of the remaining Saxans as possible back to the embraces of their loved ones. It was the same goal that he held from the first moments that the horns had called out the signal to begin the long march out from the gates of Bergton, the last morning that he had set his eyes upon his own wife and children.

The way would be far from easy, even if the Unguhur had destroyed the enemy encampment, and broken the force that had been sent against the shield wall. The thrust of the enemy had been blunted for the time being, but there was little denying that the enemy’s living spearhead would soon be re-forged. The Saxans that were left in the region, led by Aethelstan, could not hope to stop another large enemy force.

The Unguhur were admittedly very formidable beings, and had managed to turn the tide of a disastrous fate, but the Avanorans would adjust to their presence in due time. Aethelstan did not want to be around when the enemy enacted a solution to the problem of dislodging the Unguhur. He and the remaining Saxans would be like dry grass before a brush fire when the enemy’s designs were unfurled.

His raw instincts told him that the Avanoran solution would be simultaneously brutal, overwhelming, and immensely effective. Such was the well-attested nature of Avanor and the Unifier, when it came to the ways of war.

“Aethelstan?” queried a familiar voice, from a few paces behind him.

“Yes, Edmund?” Aethelstan responded, without turning his head. He heard the scuffling of Edmund’s shoes against the stone as his friend walked up to his side.

“I came to see if everything is well with you,” Edmund replied. The sky warrior had steadfastly been at Aethelstan’s beck and call, ever since the great thane had been rescued from the battle.

“Physically yes… mentally, and spiritually, no,” Aethelstan responded heavily.

“What have you decided to do?” Edmund asked. “I know that you do not want to tarry here overlong.”

“I do not know yet,” Aethelstan confessed. “There are many who cannot yet leave this place, due to their wounds. We cannot leave them behind with the Unguhur, because this is going to be a dangerous place to be, very soon. You know that, and I know that. That was decided when the Unguhur Realm intervened in the Unifier’s affairs.”

“Yes, I do know that, and I think most of the men do as well,” Edmund replied evenly.

“What do you think?” Aethelstan said, turning his head to eye Edmund. His friend had a pensive look on his face. “What course of action should we be considering?”

“I have no easy answers,” Edmund said. “It is a dark day for everyone, everywhere, I am afraid. Down here in the lower world, under the skies in Saxany, or wherever someone in Ave is trying to be free.”

“I fear you are right,” Aethelstan said, shaking his head regretfully. “We can only seek to make the best decision that is available to us, Edmund.”

“And there are precious few choices left to us now,” Edmund responded.

Aethelstan dropped his gaze, and clasped his hands firmly together. Though he was looking in the direction of the glimmering lake surface, he focused his gaze on nothing, as his mind was enveloped with concerns. He wondered whether the main force of the Unifier was still being held at bay, back out on the Plains of Athelney, or whether they had broken through to begin an orgy of destruction throughout the Saxan lands.