As he observed them, Janus’ eyes were gradually drawn towards a most surprising sight, one that was silhouetted against the relatively clear skies.
His eyes straining to make out further details, he could see a flurry of movement occurring along the top of the beasts’ long backs, as well as what looked to be some type of artificial structures astride the creatures. He surmised quickly that those concerted movements were the source of the torrent of destruction descending from the flying monsters.
With a sickening sense of absolute helplessness, he could see the shadowy shapes of numerous rocks plummeting down from the creatures towards the hapless village on the hill. As his eyes took in the deadly storm, his ears were filled with the sobs and cries of the adults and children huddled in small groups all around him.
He was only a guest, with little more in his possession than the clothes on his back. The villagers, on the other hand, were watching their homes, families, and friends being destroyed right before their eyes.
As the initial shock of it began to wear off, the terrible scene transpiring was overwhelming. Against the backdrop of the aggrieved litany, his eyes watered up with tears fueled by sorrow and pure, righteous anger.
He sank down to his knees, as his gaze scanned the debilitating sights of the shattered families gathered near to him. He witnessed expressions of tremendous sadness that he knew would stay ingrained forever in his memory.
He stared off as if to gaze beyond the tragic visions, seeking the numbness of emptiness. Yet he could not escape the sights, for there were far too many.
Janus felt a hollow sensation opening deep within him, as a strongly-built tribal warrior stumbled towards them out of the trees. He was straining with an elderly woman carried across his back and an unconscious child in his arms.
The elderly woman was alert, and had her thin arms and legs wrapped around the warrior as he bore her weight.
Janus then noticed the awkward angle of the child’s lower right leg, bent at a place where no natural joint existed. That the child was not awake was a great mercy. The warrior’s face held both exhaustion and a grim resolve, yet another vivid memory that would remain etched in Janus’ mind.
The renewed shock of the moment gradually wore off, though a feeling of grief subsequently magnified within him. The sight of the elderly woman reminded Janus of the old people in the village who could not have run out as he and his friends had.
He buried his face in his hands, his chest heaving with sobs, as he felt a wave of shame and guilt at having abandoned the village so hastily. He had acted without thinking, rushing out when he should have stayed and tried to help as the warrior had.
“But what could I have done?” he stammered in a low voice, aloud to himself, as an abyss of sadness tore at him. “I should have stayed and helped. I should have stayed…”
He then felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “You saved me.”
Looking up through the haze of his tear-fogged eyes, he saw Logan standing next to him, with a somber expression on his face. The sight of Logan made him think back to the sleeping platform, and where he had seen Logan get off of it at Janus’ frantic urging. He remembered the jagged mass of rock that had smashed the platform to shards moments later, exploding down through the bark-paneled roof. His return back into the longhouse had roused Logan just in time. If Janus had arrived even seconds later, Logan would have been killed.
“You came back in, when you could have run out, and you saved me, you saved the others, and you raised an alarm,” Logan said firmly. “There are many out here that may well have died if you had not run back.”
“But still, I should have stayed,” Janus replied, feeling horribly about the elderly villagers who had likely been trapped by nothing more than the weaknesses of their physical bodies.
“Who could possibly think up there?” Logan asked him, looking off towards the fire-encompassed hilltop. “The whole place was coming down. Smashed to bits, set on fire, people running everywhere. There was nothing that we really could do, but react.”
Logan sighed and shook his head. “I wish I was not so helpless, and could do something more. I wish I could, but we do not have magic abilities, Janus. We’re just human… and until I find a way to something more, I can’t expect to have more power than what we have in these limited bodies…”
Logan deliberately turned his eyes skyward, but not before Janus caught a darker mood spreading across the other’s countenance. Janus quietly stared at Logan, wondering what kinds of thoughts were running through his mind.
Even from the side, Janus could see Logan’s eyes visibly narrowing, in sudden reflex to something he saw. Janus was drawn to follow Logan’s line of sight on up into the sky. Near to the huge flying beasts in the sky, a number of smaller forms could be seen darting amid the behemoth airborne masses.
It was in that moment that Janus suddenly came to realize where Ayenwatha had been headed to, when he had run off into the center of the maelstrom with the other warriors.
AYENWATHA
There was nothing else that the flying hulks could be other than Darroks. Gallean traders had spoken of tremendous monstrosities of the air, flying in the skies around Avalos to the west, which were being trained to serve some purpose of the Unifier’s. They had spoken with awe of the sheer vastness of the creatures. Some found them to be a simulacrum of dragons.
The incredible size being unquestionable, most were not altogether certain about the latter claim, as dragons had not been seen in the western lands for so many years. Yet Ayenwatha could not disagree that the beasts before him certainly evoked references to the winged legends.
Ayenwatha guided Arax upward resolutely, in the lead of the nearly thirty defenders that were streaking up from the village towards the bulky forms of the Darroks.
The warriors raced directly at the front of the Darroks, the beasts’ forms growing ever larger, with each passing second. Their hearts raced as they sped unhesitatingly towards a desperate battle.
There was no real hope of bringing the creatures down outright, which the warriors with Ayenwatha quickly discovered on their first approach. The thick, leathery hides of the Darroks could easily turn simple arrows aside, and their vulnerable spots, such as the eyes, were provided with armored protection.
The creatures were also not alone, nor were they following their own mind. A great carriage of timber planks and poles, forming a platform surface and railed sides, was lashed to each of the creatures, extending from the base of their necks down to the middle of their backs.
Crews of about twenty figures moved about on the surface of the carriages. Most were tending to the ongoing assault, while a couple of them were occupied in guiding the winged juggernauts via a special harnessing utilizing exceptionally long reins.
The enemy figures labored relentlessly upon the beasts’ backs, jettisoning a cascade of larger rocks off of the sides of the beasts, sending them hurling down towards the village far below. As the defenders neared the gigantic forms, Ayenwatha was caught by a sudden surprise.
He recognized that the many enemy fighters serving as the attendant crews were not human. Only a few of the village warriors would have recognized them as Trogens, and even then only from tales and stories. Ayenwatha was one of the few that had heard of the dog-men from the east, huge brutes that were implacable, ferocious warriors.
Muscled and dexterous, the Trogens cried out boldly to each other. Many shouted defiantly at the approaching defenders, as an alarm was raised amongst them. A kind of respite was gained for the village, as the Trogens turned their attentions towards preparing to meet the onrushing defenders.