Northern Winter

A Story by D. Cherry

The Therans and Granetes are tired of the northern harassment. They push north..

The morning sun climbed slowly into the sky, red from the blood spilled the night before. The red color of the low-lying sun shined across the millions of tiny crystals in the snow covered hills. The dark skeletons of the leafless trees were draped in cascading curtains of ice. The cool wind cut through the air, sharp as a knife to the skin. Upon the largest hill was a darker color of red, not caused by the shining of the rising sun.

Rhotir pull his spear up, withdrawing it from the fallen body of a northerner. He turned around and walked over to his men, who were withdrawing their own spears from the defeated. He left a trail of bloody footprints as his fur-wrapped feet crushed the snow beneath them. Upon reaching his men, he wiped some snot from his running nose and spat out some blood before speaking. His men looked towards him, pulling their furs tighter around their weary bodies and let out a few coughs themselves.

"Come, my companions. Byron and Tryphon are leading the Granetes on the other side of the woods. Leave markers so that we can burn our fallen when we return. Thamar, take Avry and Norvir with the rest of your party and follow the frozen river around. I will lead the rest of us through the wood to reinforce the Granetes. We shall rush the northerners from both sides," instructed Rhotir as he picked up two more spears from the ground. Thamar, an older hunter and former advisor to Rhotir's father, nodded in understanding and ran down the hill to where the two brothers and the rest of his party were. The group ran off towards the frozen river and hugged the banks as they made their way through the wooded area to where the Granetes were busy fighting off more northerners. Rhotir and the rest of his companions ran down the hill and straight through the woods, heading directly towards Byron and Tryphon as they led an attack on a Crimerian hunting party.

The twenty-odd men sprinted through the woods, slipping between the wide tree trunks and leaping over fallen logs. The crunching of the snow echoed through the chilled air, audible at far distances. As Rhotir and his men neared the fighting Granetes and Crimerians, the yells of adrenaline-fueled men and the clash of spears grew louder and louder. The Theran reinforcements busted through the tree line and laid eyes upon a cluster of Granetes, surrounded by a circle of many more Crimerians. Over towards the river, a wave of more Therans scaled the hilly bank and made their way into the Crimerian hunters. Rhotir mimicked the charge and led his own line of spearmen into the rear of the northerners.

Some Crimerians, who had been hiding over the crest of a nearby hill, came running down towards the left flank of Rhotir's charge. These northern hunters did not carry any spears though. Instead, they were twirling a thong of leather off to their side. Rhotir noticed these hunters but continued his charge forward, closing in on the Crimerian backside. Some of the northern spearmen turned to face the threat, the circle of Crimerians trying to fight the Granetes and withstand the charges of Thamar and Rhotir. As the distance between the rival spearman grew shorter, the northern hunters twirling the leather thongs ceased their twirling and a faint whistle could be heard, growing louder and louder until a series of small stones slammed into the ribs of the charging Therans. A few of them fell over in pain but one of the spearman was hit in the eye, busting it open, sending fresh blood onto the snowy ground as he fell over, out of the fight. Rhotir released his spear and it flew through the air, slamming into the back of a northerner who was fighting the Granete cluster. Rhotir put another spear into his hand and lodged it into the left eye of another northerner. He readied his last spear for the approaching collision. The fallen Therans who retained their eye-sight scrambled back up and joined the charge just as the two factions collided. Some of Rhotir's men were skewered instantly, but most of his followers pushed the Crimerian spears to the sides and slammed their own into the abdomen's, chests, and throats of their foes. The Crimerian circle broke apart as both Thamar and Rhotir pushed their charges forward. Three by three the northerners fell, and the Granetes took notice. They used the opportunity to push a charge of their own, further pressing the Crimerians apart. The stone-throwers upon the western hill continued to throw their small, jagged projectiles but, most of them were hitting their own men.

However, Rhotir took a small stone in the forehead, hitting harder than he would ever had imagined. He fell backwards between the fighting Granetes and Therans and a quick Crimerian used the small gap Rhotir had left to charge the fallen chieftain with his spear. Rhotir wasn't able to act quickly enough and the northerner's spear pierced into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The chieftain yelled out in agony but managed to bring his right foot up and trip the Crimerian who was standing over him. The north-man fell over and hit his head on a small rock that was protruding from the snow. The blood splattered across the crushed snow and Thamar, who had caught up to Rhotir, pulled the spear from his chieftain's shoulder and aided him in rising once more to the fight. Rhotir no wielded his spear with his other arm, but still managed to drive it through the throat of an incoming Crimerian as the disorganized circle became a strong line of defenders, slowly backing up the hill towards the stone-throwers.

The stones continued to rain down upon the fighting men, their combat slowly scaling the hill. The Theran and Granete line ducked and dodged the thrusting spears and flying stones, bringing their own pole-arms into the guts of the Crimerians on higher ground. A trail of bodies and blood led up the snowy hill as the crunch of ice-covered snow, the yells of fighting men, and the clash of dozens of spears echoed across the battlefield. The stone-throwers ran out of rocks and joined the fight using the spears of their fallen comrades, though all the effort of the Crimerians did nothing to slow down the advance of the makeshift army of Granetes and Therans. Rhotir ducked below a northerner's spear thrust and lodged his own spear into the underarm of his attacker. He withdrew his weapon and the Crimerian fell forward, Rhotir stepping over his body as it slid down the icy hill. Before the man's hole could be filled, Rhotir was able to slam his spear into the lower thigh of a northerner to his left, who was defending against the series of thrusts Thamar was dishing out. The stab in the thigh caused the man to let up his guard and gave Thamar a chance to shove his spear into his foe's abdomen. When the spear was pulled back from his stomach, he grabbed for the wound and fell over, rolling down the hill and passed Thamar as he continued his push forward.

During that time, Rhotir was charged by a Crimerian coming to the front of the line. The northerner thrust his spear forward, aiming for Rhotir's stomach. The Theran chieftain held his spear horizontal with both his hands and brought it up from under the thrust spear, forcing the thrust up and over Rhotir's head. Rhotir kicked the groin of the northerner, causing him to fall back on the slope of the hill. The Theran's spear followed the man down to the ground, slamming into his open mouth. The spear was withdrawn and Rhotir threw it towards his left, over the heads of the Crimerians and into the skull of a stone thrower who was trying to out-flank a Granete on the southern side of the fight. The young north-man was slammed into the ground by the force of the thrown spear and Rhotir turned to pick up another spear, bringing his new weapon into the kneecap of an enemy to his right, aiding Tryphon was he unleashed his won fury upon the retreating northerners.

The fight had made it to the crest of the hill, the flanks of the defenders caving in, allowing the Theran and Granete spearmen to encircle the devastated Crimerians. The fight slowed, soon ceasing altogether as Rhotir and Thamar emerged from the encircling men to meet the cluster of northerners. Rhotir stabbed his spear into the ground and walked toward the Crimerians who had lowered their spears slightly. Rhotir stopped a few feet from the defensive group and grabbed his wounded shoulder, trying to keep pressure on the open wound. He looked between the seven northerners and roared his words.

"North-men! You have lost many in the past few days. Behold! I am Rhotir, chieftain of the Therans. These men, are killers. The game they hunt is you. If you lay down your spears now, you will be allowed to burn your fallen. Your wounded will be cared for, just as well as we will care for our own. You will receive a hot meal and my men will escort you south, back to my lands. You will be put to work, laboring to support my people. If you refuse, there will be seven more bodies upon this hill. When we march on your village, we will have your women, slaughter your brothers, and enslave your young ones. If you come peacefully, your families may be spared." With that, the seven Crimerians looked between each other before turning back to Rhotir. They snapped their spears in two and threw the broken shafts down into the snow. Rhotir motioned a few Granetes to come forward. They led the Crimerians down the hill to watch them as they begun to bury their dead. Byron and Tryphon led the burning of the Theran and Granete losses. Avry and Norvir took a few men back to the other hill where they had left markers to burn the dead over there. Rhotir commanded the rest of the men to construct a camp and tend to all the wounded, even the northerners.

While the fires were being built and furs laid out for sleeping rolls, Rhotir sought medical attention himself. A young Granete named Arvar was called forth. Rhotir removed the furs that were wrapped around his chest and asked the man to tend to his wound. He padded some ground herbs onto the shoulder wound, causing Rhotir to wince at the slight burn and sting. A circular leaf, called targyn by the Granetes, was pressed against the wound, further smearing the smashed herbs. Rhotir winced again as the young healer applied a second leaf to the exit wound. The leather thongs that the stone-throwers used were being converted into bandages and Arvar used one to tie the leaves to Rhotir's shoulder, keeping the healing herbs applied firmly to the wound. Rhotir thanked the young Granete and asked him to aid the others in attending to the wounded. The chieftain picked up his furs and wrapped them around him again, walking to where the top of the hill begins to slope downward. He looked down the bloody slope and watched over his men as they cared to the more than fifty wounded northerners, Therans, and Granetes.

The rest of the day was used for resting, the burning of the fallen, and the treatment of the wounded. Soon, the day began to wind down to an end. The Crimerian captives were on their way south, to the Theran lands, and the invaders of the north camped around the hill that was the scene of the last fight in the battle. Rhotir and Thamar sat around a small fire, accompanied by sleeping warriors. The orange flames lit up the crevices and scars that covered Thamar's elder face. His long grey hair was spotted with blood, and a trickle of snot ran down his nose and onto his thick beard. Rhotir himself had furs wrapped around his face, for he was lacking a beard to keep his cheeks warm. His grey eyes stared into the fire embracing the orange color. Each breath brought upon an eruption of frosty wisps of air from their mouths. The quiet snoring of the sleeping clansmen battled the crackling of the fire for supremacy over the ears of Thamar and Rhotir. After a series of harsh coughs, Thamar spoke up.

"So, my chieftain, where are we to go now? The hunting party has been dealt with and the captives are currently making their way towards the lands of the Granetes." Rhotir looked up from the flames and met the brown, weathered eyes of his elder. After coughing into his hand and swallowing some spit, Rhotir gave his answer, looking back into the fire every once in a while.

"Well, these northerners have a village, somewhere they call home. They have left a trail of beaten snow, though last night's flurries will make it more difficult to track. It must lead back to their families. Once the men are rested and have had their morning meals, we will follow the trails," explained Rhotir as he stared back into the dancing flames. Thamar nodded in understanding and coughed into the crease of his elbow.

"I am going to retire myself. My bones are beckoning me towards the bedding. Sleep well, my chieftain," spoke Thamar as he stood up from his seat around the fire and laid down on a nearby padding of thick furs. Rhotir listened to the crunching of snow as his elder made his way to the bedding. The old man was soon filling the frozen air with his own orchestra of snores and grunts. Rhotir looked up from the fire and eyed the moon, which was now clearly visible in all its silver glory.

Sleep did not overtake Rhotir that night. He was haunted by memories of his burning village. He carried the pain of the loss of his wife like it had happened yesterday. The wound remained fresh, a constant reminder of how he failed. Every night he saw her swollen face, void of life, resting against his broken heart. He missed her like a drowning man misses air. The abyss that replaced her love was filled with anger and sorrow, unimaginable by any other man. But with every ounce of blood spilled, the depth of the abyss became less and less, filled with the ecstasy of slaying his foes. Violence was his relief, and it pushed him further north, towards the enemies of his friends the Granetes.

They were called Crimerians, wolves of the snowy hills. They made the wintery hills along the northernmost ridge of the Thanetes their home, and due to the fierce snows, there was not a lot of game in the cold seasons. This pushed the northern hunters south, where the winters weren't as fierce. This brought about the clash between the Granetes and Crimerians over the hunting grounds that separated the realms of both peoples. After the Therans beat them back two years before, the Crimerians started setting up permanent hunting camps across the northern woodlands of the Granetes' lands. The Therans and Granetes fought constantly with the northern hunters until Rhotir lead a push north, taking the camps for Urksel and himself. As the southerners moved north, combat became more frequent, until Rhotir took one hundred Granetes and Therans passed the Calkamar River, into the lands of the Crimerians. Rhotir and his men had fought their way to the heart of the Crimerian realm, nearing the main village that was home to the chieftain of the northern tribe.

So here they were, the remaining forty of Rhotir's army. Home was two weeks' travel south, and as they pushed further north, they encountered more and more Crimerians, always ending in a southern victory. The next day, Rhotir's men would follow the tracks of the defeated hunting party further north, braving the harsh weather they were so foreign to and facing a possible ambush over every hill and through every wooded area. And Rhotir relished in it. He dreaded the loss of his men. But he craved for the chance to deprive the enemy of theirs. He spent the whole night writhing at the memories of his losses, from his honorable father, his loving wife, to his loyal companions. The pain became anger. The anger became ferocity.

As the southern warriors travelled further north, the trees changed. From swerving branches void of color, to tall spires, adorned in green hairs. The Therans and Granetes awed at the sight, never before having seen green trees with snow upon the ground. But as the men marched on, other discoveries showed themselves- ones more deadly. Among the green spires of the evergreens, white furs could be seen running parallel to the footprints the men were following. Eyes of gold and orange were ever watchful of the southerners.

"Rhotir, to what beasts do those strange eyes belong to?" asked Odhran, a member of Rhotir's fifteen companions. The line of men continued walking as both Rhotir and Odhran turned their heads to meet the on-looking eyes.

"I do not know. But remember our rule, my friend. To hunt, one needs to look to the forward. If they are prey, their eyes look to their sides. These eyes stare straight towards us," advised Rhotir as he made his way through the shin-deep snow. The flurries had been on-and-off, making it harder for the warriors to track the Crimerian trail. Rhotir spoke up once more. In an effort to calm his men, he said, "We outnumber them. Look strong and make an attack seem more costly than nutritious. They are simply waiting for us to fall over, or divide. We will do neither." This assured the men somewhat, easing their minds. However, quite a few of the men kept their own watchful eyes on the lurking hunters for the rest of that morning.

The food rations of the Therans and Granetes were starting to wear thin, meaning they would have to send men out to hunt, forcing them to face the golden-eyed predators that had been following them for the past two days. Rhotir commanded his followers to make camp on a nearby hill. He had them use sharpened stones to cut down the thin, tall evergreens of the wooded area below and drag them up the hill. About twenty trees were cut down and brought up to the crest of the hill. Depending on the height of the tree, they were cut into either halves of thirds after the branches were removed. The ends of each cut log were sharpened into points, one end being drove into the icy ground. To fill the spaces in between, the thickest branches were sharpened in a similar manner and planted in between each sharpened log, creating a wooden palisade around the crest of the hill of sharpened stakes. After the wall was finished, the men got to work on building fires and laying out the rolls of fur.

"The wall will aid in both the comfort of our men, and the actual safety they will have. These hunters with golden eyes are not very tall- smaller than a deer even. Keep a few men posted around the wall, have them alternate so everyone is able to get a chance to sleep. I will take Norvir, Avry, Odhran and those five Granetes over by the wall with me on a hunting trip. We should be back just after nightfall. If not, I name you my successor, wise Thamar," instructed Rhotir as he pushed on the stakes nearest him, testing their give. "Aye, this will aid us against the predators. And any north-men that may wander upon us." Thamar nodded in understanding and gave his chieftain a brotherly embrace goodbye.

The nine hunters had acquired a good amount of rabbit and owl by the time the sun was gone. The last rays of light slipped through the tiny needles of the evergreens as the southerners made their way back to the fortified hill, carrying with them strings of game along yokes of wood. Without the sun's warmth, the temperature quickly dropped. Rhotir and the men he led were longing for the fires of their camp and pushed forward, despite the freezing temperatures. The cold air was filled only with the sounds of crunching snow and shivering men. But then, a new sound had arose. An eerie howl echoed through the trees. Rhotir turned to his left and, between the trees, was a pair of orange eyes. These eyes were accompanied with a strong jaw wielding sharp teeth, lots of them. The strong legs were arched in a threatening manner, in preparation for a pounce. The creature gave a loud bark and more of them emerged from behind the trees, encircling the tired and frozen hunters. There were twelve of the fierce beasts surrounding the men and their game.

Rhotir and his men dropped their yokes of game and brought their spears up as the dozen beasts charged forward. One of the Granetes drove his spear into the stomach of a pouncing wolf, but while he wasn't paying attention, another one came from his side and bit into his right forearm. Norvir, who was near the Granete, watched as the canine did its best to wrestle the arm from its owner. He threw his spear towards the animal and pierced it's skull with it. Without his spear, Norvir was defenseless. Rhotir had just withdrew his spear from the belly of a wolf when he tossed it towards Norvir as another wolf ran towards his Theran brother. Norvir lunged forward and the spear slid down the open mouth of the leaping wolf, skewering the internals of the beast. Rhotir turned to his right, towards some growling and noticed just in time as one of the creatures lunged at him. Rhotir caught the beast by its jaws but the weight of the canine knocked him onto his back. The wolf tried desperately to get a grip on Rhotir's neck with its jaws but the young warrior was able to hold the open jaws back.

The pinned Theran grabbed ahold of the lower and upper jaws of the beast and rolled over to his left, bringing himself to his knees. He took the wolf's head and slammed it against the ground over and over again until the wolf stopped moving, blood splattering all over the snow-covered forest floor. A few feet away, Avry side-stepped, dodging a lunge from a wolf and slammed his spear downward, pinning the squirming animal to the ground. The young brother of Norvir raised his fur-wrapped foot and smashed the wolf in the face until it ceased its writhing. He pulled his spear up and ran over to the other four Granetes and aided in killing off the wolves they were fighting. Rhotir ran over to help the bitten Granete up and onto his feet. When the last two wolves ran off into the forest, the men picked up their game and continued on their way.

They reached the hill an hour into the night and managed to bring enough food for two more days. The meats were carved up, cooked, then divided amongst the men. The feathers of the owls and small furs of the rabbits really of no use and were discarded. The young Granete who had his forearm mauled was bandaged up and allowed to rest. The rest of the able-bodied men would rotate shifts throughout the night, keeping watchful eyes peeled in case the wolves returned or the northerners showed up.

The night was peaceful though. A few wolves paced around the palisade but never did make an attempt to get inside. The following morning greeted the waking warriors with a small blizzard. They put out their fires and rolled up their furs, preparing for the march ahead. Rhotir and Thamar led the line of men, trying their best to follow the fading tracks of the Crimerian hunting party. As the snow picked up, the trail became even harder to see. Rhotir persisted, staying right on top of the trail as it scaled a small hill. Upon reaching the crest of the mound, the young Theran and his elder laid eyes upon a sprawling settlement of elongated huts, made entirely from the wood of the surrounding spruce trees. The settlement covered about a mile radius, reaching from a northern wooded area to the rolling hills that the southerners had just emerged from. It was the middle of the day when the warriors scaled the final hill and laid eyes upon the village. The Crimerians were out and doing their daily tasks- cutting wood, making wickerwork, and skinning fresh game.

"What do you want to do, my chieftain? We can split our men and strike them from the east and west," suggested Thamar as he caught up to Rhotir on the crest of the hill. Rhotir turned to his right and addressed the men nearest him.

"No. We will not attack. We will walk into their village, show our might, and I will have words with their chieftain. I will offer their chieftain prosperity and survival, or defeat. Our next course of action will depend on his response. Come, get the men in a column. Follow me into the center of the village. Do not attack, but keep your defenses up," instructed Rhotir as he wrapped his furs tighter around his person. The message was passed between the men and they soon formed into a column. The river of men poured down the small hill and made their way to the Crimerian village, Rhotir leading them towards the main path that ran straight up to the most central open area, forming a basic "town square".

The men marched into the town, spears being utilized as walking sticks. Rhotir was in front of the column, his spear held in the air horizontally, keeping watchful eyes on the denizens of the northern village. The Crimerians backed away into their huts, the few hunters that hadn't been killed on Rhotir's march north brazened their spears at the passing southerners. Whispers travelled between the on-looking villagers as they faded away to safety. The news of the arrival spread quickly and by the time Rhotir and his men had reached the center, the Crimerian chief was ready to meet his southern counterpart. The man was draped in thick furs and his sea-green eyes peered down at Rhotir from six-and-a-half feet up. A long, grey beard cascaded down over the thick furs on his chest and a wolf's head adorned his brow. As Rhotir approached the man, he stabbed his spear into the ground and crossed his left arm in front of his chest. The Crimerian returned the gesture and stabbed his own spear into the ground, making an "x" with Rhotir's.

"Here I am, at your very doorstep. The trail of northern bodies that follows my men should be a testament to our strength. I am here to spare your life, and those of your people. The hills of the south belong to the Granetes and my Therans. The lands on which my men have fallen, are now also ours. If you wish for your people to benefit from the game and fruits of those lands, then you must kneel before me. Declare your loyalty and support to my prowess and strength, and your people will not starve, and your village will prosper. If you refuse to acknowledge the greatness of the Therans and Granetes, then you will witness it first hand, and the ferocity with which we express it. Kneel now, and bow our head, or else I will turn it into a trophy," threatened Rhotir as his fierce blue eyes stared powerfully into the sea-colored gaze of his foe.

"I have no more men to spare in fighting you. Without hunters or hunting grounds, my people will starve. My wife is with child, we need the food. As much as it pains me to do so..." the Crimerian knelt down and bowed his head to the young man before him. "If you can promise my people food and safety, then I admit defeat to you, young warrior."

"You will have no need for hunters. The game we catch will be divided and sent north twice each moon. Upon my return south, I will send men to your village, accompanied by their families. They will aid in your protection from whatever threats may arise. If you need anything from me or my people, send word. We have left markers from here to our northernmost hunting grounds on our side of the Calkamar. They should guide your people along the fastest route south. I am sorry for the loss of your men. They fought bravely and fiercely and surely have earned a spot in the peaks with our ancestors and gods. We made sure that all the dead were burned so they may ascend to the Thanetes. Together, everyone achieves more. The sacrifices from both of our peoples have been great, but they have brought us toward a common good. This way, no more will perish- not by spear or by starvation," spoke Rhotir as the Crimerian took his stand.

"I have no more to say to you, young chieftain. Do not let my people starve... what is left of them. Now be gone! Leave my lands. Let us have privacy to mourn the men you have slaughtered."

Rhotir nodded in understanding and turned around, leading his men back out of the village. They followed the stone markers and bloodied snows south to the Calkamar River, a narrow, winding vein of water that cut through the hills of the wooded south. Two days after crossing the river, the victors arrived at the Granete village. The Granetes within the army returned to their families and were greeted warmly and with festive celebrations. The Therans continued marching south, following the beaten path between their village and the Granetes. Those who resided in the middle village left the army within the woods as the rest of the Therans continued south. The winter was less fierce in these parts and only an inch of snow covered the ground. The march home was much easier than the push north, and the men were in higher spirits. The men returned home to loving families, offering forth warm embraces. Among their families were stranger to the south: The Crimerian hunters. These men were put to work, building huts and removing trees and thorn bushes. The Therans kept watchful eyes upon their new slaves. If they served Rhotir's people well, he would send for their families, a reward for loyalty. These slaves were not mistreated or abused- the losses they had suffered were enough torture. That night, the victorious warriors celebrated, sleeping with their wives, embracing their children, eating more than their stomachs could carry, and sleeping sounder than any rocks. Except for the lonely Rhotir.

The troubled chieftain was thankful that his men proved victorious, losing far less than the Crimerians. However, with the fighting over with and peace restored, there was no blood to be spilled. No flesh to tear to pieces. The pains returned to his heart, the ache much worse than the spear wound in his shoulder. The people had grown accustomed to his silent and sour mood that he took on when there was peace, though none of them knew why he carried on in such ways. Some labeled him has simply having a warrior's heart, while others speculated it was because he was mourning the loss of his men. In truth, he had grown addicted to the fight, the clash of spears, the spilling of blood. What started as a form of relief, a violent distraction, had manifested into a full blown dependency, something he craved. A hunger, fed only by the spearing of men and a thirst, quenched only the blood of the fallen.