CHAPTER FIVE
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
They assembled in the feasting tent as soon as the sun cleared the line of mountains to the east. The usual morning bustle was subdued, those who were up and about did not speak, nor even make eye contact with the warriors who would take up the quest for the Dragon’s Eye. At the sight of Myrhlyn and Angwys, all moved away; the previous night’s encounter with the dark sorceress had awakened those primeval fears felt by anyone who had lived amongst the forests and mountains of the Isle. Morganyth epitomized the tales told by parents and grandparents, her appearance had shown that there was a very fine line between everyday reality and the preternatural world---and it had been crossed.
Artorius and Kay entered the tent shortly after the wizard and his apprentice. All stood, but were motioned to take their seats. Artorius was visibly agitated, his appearance disheveled, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He paced the tent, hands clasped at the small of his spine, for a short time before finally sitting.
“I cannot express just how important this quest is to the future of Briton, you have been entrusted with our fate. I still do not understand my half-sister’s motivation, it must be more than mere spite. You are from diverse lands, all brought here by the former greatness of Rome, and are now a part of our brotherhood---Britons in spirit. I know in my heart that you will succeed and return the Dragon’s Eye, and that your deeds will be remembered for all time.”
There was so response from the assembled warriors, all were taken with inner thoughts---and some doubts. Artorius spoke with great confidence, but the road ahead was shrouded with darkness. Myrhlyn sensed the reticence in the faces of the four newcomers, and to a lesser extent in Lancelot and Palomides as well. He could see that Angwys was frightened at the prospect of venturing into the wild lands ahead.
The wizard cleared his throat, then addressed those assembled in the feasting tent. “I don’t know what awaits you on this journey beyond the usual brigands and other desperate sorts---but they will certainly not be of much concern to warriors of such prowess. As for Morganyth, I don’t believe that she would simply steal the Dragon’s Eye and then just back away. Her agents will come in many guises---some openly hostile, others subtle. You will be seven against many, but there is greatness in you far beyond your numbers…”
Reingardis turned to Sarduri and whispered, “I’d say we’re more like six and a half.”
The Sarmatian remained stoic as he poked the German hard in the ribs with an elbow. Myrhlyn caught the remark, then turned his attention to Angwys, who was noticeably uneasy in the company around him.
“Do not underestimate my young apprentice, he has a role to serve---purpose cannot always be measured in size and experience in combat. He alone knows the ways of that world you will face in your journey, he alone will be able to see through the wiles of Morganyth, for a great deal of her power is that of illusion and deceit. Angwys has learned much in his years under my tutelage, his knowledge of that unseen by most is profound for one so young.”
Again, there was no response from the warriors, except for a knowing nod from the Persian. Artorius stood, then turned to his foster brother. “So, the quest begins. Kay!”
The knight left the tent, then soon returned with several men-at-arms who carried bundles of armor and weapons, then laid their loads on nearby tables. There were finely crafted shirts of chain mail, along with chest armor, helmets and greaves, all of Roman design and the best quality. Six full sized shields, and one half the size, were brought in as well; and though Roman in make, the familiar symbol of the now declining empire was replaced by a red dragon, rearing and defiant, representing Briton.
Artorius picked up one of the shields and ran a hand over the surface. “Take these shields and armor, it will all serve you well in battle, and strike fear in the hearts of your foes, for they will know what you represent. You all bear weapons of choice, and possess great skill with each, but I ask that you also take with you one of these spears. Lancelot and Palomides already know their worth.”
The great leader picked up one and held it out for all to see. “The shafts are made of ancient oak, tempered and hardened. The heads are formed from the same metal as that of Excalibur, and will cut through any protection your foes may possess. Each bears a small red stone in the base of the haft---the Claws of the Dragon.”
Argus came to the table and picked up one of the spears. It seemed incredibly light for such a hefty missile, the balance was perfect, and could be held horizontally with just two fingers. Artorius clasped the highlander by one shoulder, then motioned to a wooden chest on the far side of the tent.
“Try it, my friend.”
Argus eyed his target, then turned the spear in one hand before throwing it toward the mark. The razor sharp point pierced the chest and went through it as if the wood was mere paper. The entire length of the spear drove through the wooden obstacle and the tent wall. The highlander’s three comrades all shared his great surprise, while Lancelot and Palomides concealed knowing smirks.
Sarduri, Antonius and Reingardis all took a turn and repeated Argus’ feat. The spears were retrieved and presented to the four warriors. Artorius smiled, remembering the first time he had wielded a Dragon’s Claw, along with the numerous kills he had made with it.
“So, will you accept these humble gifts?”
With his usual aplomb, Reingardis replied, “Sure, I just might use it when I can’t reach a foe with my axe.”
Sarduri rolled his eyes, wanting to slap his German friend on his fat head, then addressed Artorius. “This is a truly wondrous weapon, I have never seen such craftsmanship. I am honored, Lord Artorius.”
Argus’ only response was a slight bow of the head, which was returned in kind, for no words were needed. Antonius held his spear, awed by it. “Thank you,” was all he could say.
Myrhlyn then added a precautionary note. “These are weapons of war, my friends, and will serve you well. However, the Dragon’s Claws are not for hunting game, nor any other common purpose---it would be like using Excalibur to slice bread. To do so would be a great transgression, the spears would become useless. Please keep that in mind.”
Everyone nodded in compliance.
----------
The seven warriors---or six and a half, according to Reingardis---gathered outside the feasting tent a short time later, all clad in their armor and bearing the Dragon’s Claws. The four heroes from Isca were all looking at their new raiment, running hands along the fine chest armor and adjusting helmets until the fit was just right. Their horses were brought out, saddles bags filled with rations and water skins filled. Argus was the first to notice a hoop shaped attachment which trailed down from the saddle.
“Wha’ is tha?”
Myrhlyn strode forward, looking very pleased with himself. “Ah, that’s a little invention of mine. I call it a stirrup, it holds your feet in place and allows for great maneuverability.”
Sarduri took one look at the stirrups, then leapt onto his mount and rode off at a full gallop. After a short distance, he pulled hard on the reins and planted his feet firmly into wooden hoops, then felt the horse respond as he restrained the reins and came to a sudden stop. The Sarmatian let out a battle cry, then withdrew his bow and prepared an arrow. With a lusty “Hah!” he kicked the stirrups into the horse’s flanks and charged forward. He planted his feet, then stood up in the saddle and eyed a slender tree ahead. Sarduri adjusted to the gait of his mount, then focused and loosed his arrow, which sailed true and found the mark.
“I like it!” exclaimed the Sarmatian, who then looked to Palomides and received a nod of approval.
His three comrades were stunned by Sarduri’s horsemanship; Lancelot and Palomides looked to the wizard with perplexed expressions which said ’Why didn’t you give this to us before?’ Angwys just shrugged his shoulders, as if to say ‘No big deal.’ Myrhlyn took in all of the mixed expressions, then bowed his head and chuckled.
“The idea came to me last night---I couldn’t sleep. While contemplating the Machine, it just appeared. Frankly, I’m quite upset that I didn’t think of it sooner, I mean it’s so obvious. Actually, I believe that some wise people far to the East invented this long ago, but it was more of a toe ring---which of course is most impractical unless one is bare-footed. Anyway, Sarduri has well demonstrated the application, and it should work equally well with any sort of weapon. What do you all think?”
Assorted nods and muttered responses were good enough for Myrhlyn, who then looked to Angwys and winked. “Well then, I think you are ready to depart ---yes? Lancelot, you will lead the way and take personal charge of my young apprentice. The road lies before you, your quest awaits.”
----------
The warriors set out before midday, led by Lancelot in a single file. Young Angwys was close behind him, followed by Argus, Reingardis and Antonius. Sarduri and Palomides lagged slightly behind, their attention focused upon whatever threats might approach them from the rear.
They passed into Ergyng, where unseen bands of brigands noted their approach, but wisely chose to avoid a confrontation with such hardened warriors who bore the insignia of Artorius. The land was pleasant, dotted with towns and hamlets which welcomed them with food and respite. Their passage was uneventful, although Sarduri did have to keep a close eye on his German friend on one occasion when they passed a night in a tavern where they had previously experienced a rather unpleasant incident that involved two crushed skulls and a few barmaids who were the crux of the initial disagreement.
From there they entered Powys, a land of sweeping hills and valleys, moorlands and forests, where all sorts of wildlife wandered freely. Again, the warriors’ progress was watched by desperate men who would prey upon the weak, but had no desire to confront the well armed men who crossed through their land, even when they had the advantage of numbers. Palomides was aware of those who watched them, by smell if not by sight. All due precautions were taken at night, at least three of the warriors were awake at all times, their attention focused for any sound or sudden appearance. Despite their peaceful progress, all maintained a sense of anticipation. The land was more sparsely populated, settlements were few and far between, so the warriors fended for themselves, all remembering Myrhlyn’s warning about the Dragon’s Claws, but it was of no matter as Sarduri and Palomides had no trouble with bringing down all the deer they could eat with their bows.
While feasting on venison one night, all seated in a circle around a roaring fire, Antonius raised the question that was on the minds of his three friends as well. “Our journey has been most pleasant so far, Lancelot, where are the dangers we were warned about by Myrhlyn and Artorius?”
The knight swallowed a mouthful of meat, then wiped the grease from his mouth. “Soon we will enter into Gwynedd, our course lies between the Dyfi and Dee rivers. The land there is much wilder, heavily forested with rough terrain. There we must be vigilant, dangers of the common and uncommon sort will await us---it is Morganyth’s realm. Do not be lulled into complacency by the ease of our trek so far, we will face many challenges soon enough.”
There were no further questions from any of the warriors, although their thoughts looked ahead to the unknown which awaited them. Palomides recalled the last time he had entered Gwynedd, the battle he had fought, then chose not to speak of it to his comrades. That night the four warriors who had liberated Isca all turned their thoughts to the unknown dangers that were ahead. Angwys tried to control his fear by focusing on the Machine, visualizing the workings of every wheel, cam and belt; in his mind he watched the progression of movement and contemplated the effect of every component, how every little action was a part of the whole. When sleep finally came, the boy dreamed of the Machine, but the thingys and doohickeys were replaced by dragons, warriors and dark shadows.
----------
Upon entering Gwynedd the landscape soon changed; their progress was slowed by uneven ground and large outcroppings of rock which forced them to take a circuitous route. They had to negotiate through dense forests where sunlight was subdued and sometimes blotted out by the canopy above. The seven warriors, led by Lancelot, remained in single file, always keeping the man in front of them in sight, resorting to verbal signals to keep in touch. A feeling of oppressiveness crept into the sinews of the warriors, all concept of time was lost to everyone but Palomides, his keen senses were able to chart the progress of the sun by the refracted beams of light that bounced off the trees and wavering branches.
They came to a wide glade of deep grass, a circular island of filtered sunlight that was surrounded by dense woods. All felt a sense of relief, the eerie gloom of the forest and the chill air was replaced by warmth and openness.
“We have reached the Midwood,” said Lancelot as he led the to the middle of the glade. “We will stop here and resume our journey in the morning. There will be no game for us here, so tonight we will just have to do with our rations…”
Lancelot was interrupted by a great rustling in trees and underbrush ahead. It grew in volume until the warriors were surrounded by a stirring that was mixed with the unmistakable snarl of wild boars. They instinctively formed a circle; Lancelot pushed Angwys’ mount into the center, where he would be shielded from the coming onslaught. A score of boars, huge and black furred, emerged into the glade, all stomping at the ground and flicking their heads in defiance. The largest of the beasts trotted forward, bellowing as it reared up on hind legs, then squealed out orders. The circle of tusked swine closed in on the warriors, eyes red and filled with bloodlust.
Argus grabbed his spear, feeling the power of the Dragon’s Claw, then turned to Lancelot. “Well now, are we t’ consider these beasties t’ be mere game, or is this nae combat?”
Lancelot responded by gripping his own spear. “We will take out six of them, but after that it’s every man for himself.”
Reingardis roared his own defiance, then hurled his spear at the boar chieftain, who was charging straight toward him. The missile flew straight and true, the spearhead piercing soft flesh just below the throat and driving all the way through the beast, cutting it in twain. The German’s companions threw their spears and took down five more, then drew weapons and prepared for an assault from the fourteen remaining wild pigs. Palomides and Sarduri quickly readied their bows, while Argus and Reingardis dismounted with long sword and axe at the ready. Lancelot drew the twin daggers from their sheaths on his chest armor, his Silver Fangs, then turned to Antonius, who had drawn his gladius.
“Antonius, guard Angwys; if any should get past us, you are the boy’s only hope.”
The Persian and Sarmatian galloped off in opposite directions and drew off six of the boars, then marked their targets, both using the stirrups to guide their mounts and zero in on the pursuing beasts, hands free to fire at will. They swirled about, causing the boars to pursue in confusion, stumbling and running into one another. The arrows of Palomides and Sarduri were well timed and accurate, aimed at throats and skulls. The swine fell within a matter of moments.
Argus roared his Celtic war cry as the first wild boar charged toward him, head lowered and tusks bared. He deftly sidestepped the beast, then brought his sword down onto its spine, killing the beast instantly. The highlander then heard a roar and thunder from another charging swine and rolled to his left, coming into a battle stance as the wild pig turned and rushed forward. Timing his strike perfectly, Argus beheaded the boar as it passed.
Reingardis readied his axe, then leaped over the oncoming boar and split its head when the beast stumbled and turned back toward him. The German’s face was awash with hot blood, his berserker instincts were ignited, his vision turned to the raw redness of bloodlust and carnage. The charging visage of yet another boar became the faces of a hundred or more foes he had slain in battle. Reingardis planted his axe in the ground, then charged the wild beast and tackled it with his bare hands, grasping the tusks and wrenching its neck violently. With a mighty heave, he lifted the boar up onto its rear legs, then kicked hard into the chest and drove a rib bone straight into the heart. The swine collapsed, dead before it hit the ground. The berserker spirit overtook Reingardis, he pulled out his knife and cut out the heart of the fallen pig, then devoured it with a great appetite, oblivious to the frantic battle raging on all sides.
Lancelot held his ground, the Silver Fangs aimed at an oncoming boar. The beast came to a sudden stop, eyeing the man with utter contempt, forelegs digging violently into the soil, squealing with intense hatred. The knight watched as the wild animal prepared to charge, then hurled his blades into the snout of the charging animal and stepped aside as it fell helplessly to the ground. The knight then drew his sword and drove it into the boar’s braincase and retrieved the Fangs, then picked up two of the Dragon’s Claws.
Two boars were charging toward Antonius and Angwys, who had both drawn their gladius and braced shields. Lancelot ran toward them and hurled the first spear, which struck the ribs of one wild beast and went right through the body. Momentum carried the boar onto Antonius’ shield and knocked him off his feet; the swine fell on top of him, still snarling and lashing its tusks back and forth. Lancelot prepared to throw his other spear, but before he could take aim at the beast, Angwys let out the best battle cry he could manage and drove his gladius through one eye and into the brain. For good measure, the lad twisted the blade. Antonius, pinned under his shield, managed to put his blade into the boar’s neck. With a final defiant snort, it went limp.
Sarduri and Palomides had already dispatched the remaining boars; twenty carcasses littered the glade. The warriors retrieved their spears, then formed near the horses. Reingardis was covered in blood and still breathing heavily, but the bloodlust had abated. Argus looked at the German, then shook his head while concealing a slight chuckle. Antonius stood and touched his bruised ribs gingerly, wincing at the pain, then patted Angwys on the shoulder and thanked him. Lancelot exhaled a great sigh of relief and looked around at the carnage.
Sarduri eyed his German friend with some disdain. “You did again, hey?”
“What?”
“Look at you, you’re a mess. You cut out the heart again, didn’t you?”
Reingardis looked down at his armor, then wiped the blood from his face. “I guess I did. Hey, it’s not like I can control myself when the rage comes over me---you know that!”
“Yes, but…”
“Oh, stop nagging, you Sarmatian dandy.”
Sarduri shook his head, then held up one hand. “Enough, you great German oaf. You’ll never change, you’re hopeless.”
The others all watched the exchange and first snickered, then laughed out loud, happy to be alive. They spoke of the assault, re-telling how the boars had been slain. All praised Angwys and his courage; their opinions of his abilities were elevated. The conversations soothed them, it was a ritual shared by all warriors who survived battle. It was some time before Argus asked the question.
“Were these beasts sent by Morganyth?”
In response, Palomides asked, “Have you ever seen or heard of such a thing? Do boars travel in such packs?”
“Nae, they di’ na.”
Lancelot ran a hand through his dark mane, then spoke. “As I said before, Gwynedd is her realm, and now we are here to retrieve the Dragon’s Eye. There will be more challenges ahead, we must be ready for anything.”
The warriors went silent, all contemplating the dangers that would lie ahead. Reingardis looked around at the slain boars, suddenly feeling very hungry.
“Well, at least we have plenty of meat tonight.”
“No!” said Palomides vehemently, “We cannot eat the flesh of these beasts. They must be burned, and I think that we should find another place to pass the night.”
“I agree,” replied Lancelot, “Being in the open might well be an added risk. These foul beasts attacked in broad daylight, yet Morganyth is a being of darkness, her powers are at their fullest when the sun sets. We must be diligent tonight.”
And so it was that the seven warriors entered the world of the sorceress, consumed a repast of cold rations and spent a very uneasy night.
TO BE CONTINUED---------
ATTACK! This is Total War, not Total Wary!