The silhouettes of some type of carriage could be seen affixed from the middle of their backs to the base of their necks.
The sun was falling below the skyline, and the distant horizon was cast with a rosy hue. It created a majestic ambience that served as a lustrous backdrop for Dragol’s first sights of the mysterious, unusual creatures.
“Those two are heading towards the main invasion force,” Goras commented in a low voice.
Indeed, the two giant Darroks were heading away from the borders of Saxany, flying resolutely towards the southwest. The Plains of Athelney were directly in their skyward path.
A number of other Trogens and Andamoorans had emerged in the interim, many standing around Dragol and Goras with open looks of sheer wonder and astonishment, as they marveled at the passage of the two mammoth, flying beasts.
Over in the Avanoran camp, a similar, awed standstill had come over its inhabitants, from the greatest knight to the lowest of the paid foot soldiers. An extraordinary, hushed silence had fallen over both camps. All tensions and rivalries had evaporated for the moment, as the collective attention and thoughts of both encampments were consumed with the shared, awe-inspiring experience.
Though flying at an altitude rarely reached by a Harrak, the forms of the Darroks remained large to the eye. The ultimate size of the creatures was almost impossible for Dragol to even comprehend. He could not believe that something so vast could take flight.
“But only two?” questioned Goras, his eyes remaining upon the Darrok forms gradually diminishing on the horizon.
Dragol shook his head slowly. “I do not think that those two are all the Darroks that were sent by the Unifier.”
They continued watching silently, until the Darroks were just distant specks on the farthest edge of their vision, at the juncture where earth met sky. The bloated, reddish orb of the descending sun’s top crest was still visible, outlining the dark, winged shapes.
As Dragol turned, he caught Goras’ eyes, and saw the wonderment and fear mixed in the other’s look. “Even two, Goras. Think of two of those, serving the Trogen army against the Northern Elves,” he mused aloud.
“A great hope, but for another time,” Goras said with a more firm voice, turning to go back to their tent.
Dragol stared off a few more moments in the wake of the Darroks, finally turning away as the sun disappeared completely. Somewhat reluctantly, he oriented his thoughts towards the tasks at hand.
There was still much to be done. Night patrols and sentry posts had to be set, equipment prepared and evaluated for the next day, and orders to be reviewed. He was determined to occupy his mind with immediate labors. He knew that he could not think of the struggle against the Northern Elves, at least until the battles in Saxany were won.
His only relief came from the knowledge that the fight for Saxany had almost arrived, and that the long-awaited, great fight for his own kind lay just beyond that horizon.
AETHELSTAN
Aethelstan and the companions with him had traveled on for several leagues underneath the obscuring coverage of the thick woodlands around them. The going had been much slower than they would have liked, but at least they had been somewhat protected from open exposure to the Harrak patrols that occasionally passed through the skies overhead.
They had made considerable use of the few trails that crossed through the western hills bordering Count Einhard’s land, Annenheim. As they were so rarely used, it took some skill to follow the pathways where the forest growth had begun to reclaim them.
There was an overriding tension gripping the contingent, with the constant danger of enemy patrols both in the air and upon the ground. On more than one occasion, Aethelstan had feared that they had been discovered.
The farther and deeper that they pushed onward, the more all of them felt an increasingly sinking feeling within their guts. The stillness in the trees, air, and on the ground gave off a foreboding sense that all was not well within the western woodlands lying between the Saxan provinces of Wessachia and Annenheim. There was nary a sound from animal, bird, or insect, as if the denizens of the forest had chosen to vacate the woodlands or go into deep hiding.
The nervousness within the Saxans welled up to the point that several of them flinched at the slightest rustling of wind-blown leaves, or snap of a twig. Even the sound of their own horses clopping on the trail unnerved them. The sense of edginess among the Saxans was such that even Aethelstan began to feel its hindering weight.
The horses themselves seemed to feel the brooding atmosphere around them. They kept silent as they traveled in the thin column being led by Aethelstan.
Aethelstan turned towards Cenferth, one of his most loyal and dedicated household warriors, who was riding close behind the great thane. Aethelstan addressed the warrior in a whisper. “What do you make of this oppressive silence, Cenferth? It is too heavy for my liking.”
The other shook his head, a wary look in his eye. “I do not know, Aethelstan. It could be the quieting of the wilderness lands… as they feel the manifesting of the Unifier’s power… or it may be the presence of the army that you suspect.”
“I think that it is the army of our enemies, Cenferth. The patrols have not crossed overhead so many times without reason,” Aethelstan stated.
The layout of the landscape, and the signs of any large Saxan force, would have been well-scouted by then. The sky patrols, Aethelstan feared, were keeping an eye over their own forces more than foraging about for Saxan patrols.
“Though I wish that it were otherwise, I believe that you are correct,” Cenferth replied.
“I only wish we were able to field our own scouts in the sky,” Aethelstan stated regretfully.
“We will have to be the scouts, even here on the ground,” Cenferth replied gravely. “There are no others, as you have said.”
“And find what we may. If we can find definite signs of the enemy army,” Aethelstan said.
The deep unease continued for about another hour, during the span of which not one word was uttered amongst the Saxans. As if on a collective conscience, they maneuvered their steeds ever deeper into the vulnerable region, riding towards the edge of the forest itself.
If the Unifier’s army were truly near, there would be the signs of scouts or encampments soon enough.
It was not much longer beyond that point when Aethelstan’s instincts screamed out to him, and implored him urgently to stop. Snapping up his right hand, the abrupt gesture was repeated quickly among the group as Aethelstan brought his force to a halt among the shadows of the looming trees.
He believed his inner sense. Dismounting carefully, he guided his steed over to a maple tree and tethered it. The others likewise dismounted with care, each stroking their steeds’ muzzles and speaking soothingly to the edgy horses. They silently awaited Aethelstan’s next instructions.
The stallions shuffled about nervously, ears twitching and nostrils flaring. Aethelstan noticed the breeze coming upon them from the west. His riders were downwind of whatever was agitating the steeds.
The horses continued to whinny and snort, and Aethelstan knew that they could not risk going any farther. Horses were not foolish, and their horses were clearly apprehensive about something troubling that they sensed in the vicinity. A large party could not risk proceeding far beyond their position either. From that point onward, stealth and a limiting of risks was of the greatest priority.
As even the best of the others in the column could only equal Aethelstan and Cenferth in their woodland skills, he deemed it both sensible and honorable that he and his most dedicated warrior should be the ones to explore for nearby signs of the enemy.