The three of them were kept in cages that hung from the decrepit ceiling which as they soon discovered was hardly as well-put together as it seemed to be at first sight. All that they had seen inside of the temple was an illusion that though not grand, certainly seemed so in comparison to the ruin they bore witness to, once Ealhstan had gone to sleep for the night. The temple room they were kept in, to the back of the temple had a moth-eaten set of tables and beds, with only Wulfrun sleeping in the same room out of suspicion of them.

“I do not trust them, ‘far as I can toss ‘em, not with the two accented ones threatening me both with eyes and words!” She howled pointing a nail-broken finger that happened to be her middle claw, as her index one Gwilherm suddenly noticed, was little more than a stump. It had been bitten or cut off long ago, much to his consternation, with the old hag glowering furiously at the knights who were disarmed and scowling themselves.

Still wondering how exactly he had been caught, the warrior kept in a cage barely larger than him, with his legs hanging from between the bars, the walls of the room missing in places he observed, and the floor to his disgust covered by rodent dung and small animal corpses. Not wishing to touch them, he attempted with some difficulty and at much pain pulled his legs back into the cage from between the bars.

“Not so smug and high now, are ye?” Ceolmund belched as he leered at them before he departed for his own bed, in another room.

At the time, too stunned to truly hear the response from his companions, Gwilherm fell asleep in his cage and was awoken by the light of the two suns rising in the heavens. Noticing him awakening and his hiss of pain when he attempted to pull in his knees into the cell, only to knock them against the aforementioned bars, Galen saluted him with a sneer. “Awake at last are you? How you could sleep in such a place, is beyond me.”

Wrinkling his nose at the stench, the warrior having noticed the stench the night prior only for him to fail to see Vladin, as the knights were in front of him and to the right of him was Wulfrun snoring on her bed of straw. “How are we to escape? And where is Vladin?”

“Here,” The Dwarf piped up from behind him, the Brittian jumped a little only to whip about, to find his short-friend in a tiny cage that made his own appear to be a palace. Forced to tuck up his legs up to his chin, so small and tightly woven together were the bars that he could barely fit a hand or leg between them. “The blasted witch and her minions, preferred to throw me in here.”

Resisting a wince of sympathy for him, with the knights scowling at the witch as they began to discuss plans at once, to escape with it being Galen who took command of the situation, “We must now see to having you hand that stick near your cell over to Roparzh.”

Pointing to a nearby staff near the cage of the Brittian, the staff barely a meter long, was some distance from his cage and necessitating him reaching out with one leg to pull it towards him. It was covered in dung and with a series of rat-corpses that made him shiver in disgust, as he stretched out one hand in an attempt to take it his fingers brushing the corpses and fly infested dung on the ground. Only for him to be overwhelmed by disgust withdraw his hand instinctively.

“What have you done Gwilherm, get back to it! What’s a little dung or rodent corpses, if it means freedom?” Vladin called out to him, in frustration with the human shooting him an annoyed look only to stretch out his leg towards the piece of wood.

This did not work either, wherefore he attempted to reach it by stretching himself even further. When this failed also, Gwilherm strained even more until he was pressed completely and rather uncomfortably against the bars, almost straddling them as his leg screamed in pain. He wished at that moment that just one of his companions had thought to perhaps, assist him in his endeavors. Instead they offered up faint encouragement and cheers, or at times jeers when they saw him pull back panting and hissing in pain. None of them, having very much patience, for his sorrows or his difficulties with the rusty iron bars of the cell so that in time the Brittian let loose a small prayer to the gods and the stick, for them to assist him in pulling it over.

He grazed the edge of it with the tip of the toe of his booted foot. Excited, he prayed once more, just as Roparzh and Galen did much the same, with the former whispering to him. “By Ziu you are doing it Gwilherm, keep going!”

“Oui, victory is almost ours Guilhèm!” Galen agreed supportively, for what was the first time.

Though he did not understand very much of the language, the brother of the Queen smiled in spite of his gritted teeth and himself. Pleased, to have at last earned old Galen’s approval and determined to retain and win some more, he pulled the stick over centimeter by centimeter. A short cheer that he instantly regretted escaping his lips, as he clasped his hands over his mouth just as the Dwarf behind him groaned, out an ‘imbecile!’ Yet to his relief Wulfrun rolled over in her slumber in place of awakening.

The young man glanced over at his Neustrian friends, who gave him curt nods after exchanging a worried glance between them, with the Brittian returning to the task of pulling over the stick side-over-side through the wreckage of rodent corpses and dung.

“At last!” He uttered excitedly as he could at long last reach it. This pleased his traveling companions, who gave quiet cheers as he pulled the stick over to him wrinkling his nose as he lifted it gingerly in one hand. Holding it out to Roparzh, he was treated to the sight of the knight straining now to reach betwixt the bars, to grasp the stick now himself.

“Just- just a little more Gwilherm!” He called out to him, encouragingly his dark bearded face reddening with the strain, as his beard and hair glistened with sweat.

For some time, they strained between their bars- one to give over the stick the other to seize it. It was their only hope of reaching the keys that sat upon the half-rotted table by Wulfrun’s sodden straw bed. A hope that proved every bit as delicate as most hopes and dreams are.

A single snort from the door made Gwilherm near drop the stick and pulled a vicious curse from Roparzh, just as the door swung open, and Ceolmund’s voice reverberated throughout the room. “Oye what are ye lot doin’ there, stick in hand?”

The displeasure in his voice made all four of the prisoners jump, and Gwilherm drop the stick instinctively not that this stalled the fury of the brute. Picking up a nearby stick he gave a mighty swing at one of the warrior’s legs, one that made him shriek in pain though the limb did not break. Satisfied with this blow Ceolmund gave a nod of approval at this gesture, before he glanced disapprovingly towards Roparzh who stiffened, withdrawing his hand in preparation to receive a blow also.

But the brute was saved from his mistake by the enchantress, as Wulfrun awoke then with a great cry of displeasure, “Ceolmund miserable stain on Brigantia’s great arse what are you doin’?!”

“Nuthin’ just makin’ certain the prisoners dunna escape!” The fat thug objected pointing accusingly at Roparzh, in a manner akin to a child caught with their hand on their mother’s pie.

“It did not appear that way to me, Ceolmund,” Ealhstan commented as he stepped hither from the shadows of the corner opposite of the straw-bed of the enchantress.

“Yea well what do ye know, enchanter?!” The larger man snarled at him, not that this bothered the enchanter who simply shrugged in response.

“Might we not get them ready for transport, to the Lundiniam market across the Rhiaulwyd?” The robed man replied, tugging at his forked beard as he raised a single silver brow at the dark-haired man who growled back at him.

Whilst the other two fussed and complained loudly, and proceeded to work the unwilling prisoners into the caged-caravan that was to be pulled by the knights’ own horses, Ealhstan came to stand by the side of the cage with a placid smile on his wizened old face. Wherefore he whispered to Gwilherm as he was chained and thrown into the cage after his friends with the cage door sealed shut behind them. “Patience, all things come to those who wait lad, though hmmm you do seem different, I daresay there is more than meets the eye to thee.”

So ill was he of the shabby treatment he had received thus far that Gwilherm shot back, with all the dignity and outrage that he could muster not caring to whisper as he growled back at the old man. “I am Gwilherm, son of Aidros and brother of Eadwin of Réalwaldr brother of Queen Elena, and first Harpist of the royal court. Such treatment shall be repaid, in kind by my good-brother King Æthelwulf!”

Amusement and surprise climbed up onto Ealhstan’s face, as a glint entered now into his eyes, as he studied the younger man with newfound interest.

This interest was to demonstrate itself in a variety of ways in the days to come, as it was he who proceeded to approach the young man to converse with him once they were on the road. Thanks to him the prisoners learnt that this hideous trio were in fact slavers and slave-traders, who sold men and women into bondage yes, but not just to Brittians, but to Neustrian and Norse traders.

*****

As the locals had ceased aiding them, having once enjoyed helping them in their endeavours as the prisoners soon discovered when they reached the only wooden bridge across the river Rhiaulwyd where a toll-guard stood.

An officer in the service of a local baron, one slightly farther north of the river who was familiar with the guard at the other end of the wooden-bridge calling them to a halt with a sneer, “Stop the lot of ye, ye must pay the toll if ye so wishes to cross this ‘ere bridge.”

“Oh come off it Ealdor, you know us!” Wulfrun complained viciously, “You must let us across; we paid twice the toll last time-”

“That was to cross with two caravans, as ye had more slaves to carry to the market therefore it was only natural ye pay for both of the caravans. Besides that was almost a year ago, stinking hag.” Ealdor snorted irreverently as he sneered at them. A tall dark-haired and long-bearded man, dressed in leather armour and in a simple dark hose with dark boots, he had stopped them just shy of the bridge by standing before it with a scowl on his long face.

In all he was the sort that Gwilherm would have preferred to not cross and felt certain that he might well have lost more than one limb, attempting to hack at the man. He could see from the corner of his eyes, Galen and Roparzh sizing him up and whispering between them about what to do. A conversation that seemed to rapidly become an argument as they apparently could not agree about how to proceed, whilst Vladin remained slumped in the back-left corner of the iron caravan. As crushed as ever by how they had been captured, his spirit as broken it seemed to Gwilherm as Elena’s had been at his departure on this ridiculous quest.

Local tolls on bridges were natural things; however they were supposed to be done in the King’s name and not that of local barons. So that the baron of castle Norwyd-keep just north-east of the river (and to the north-west of Lundiniam) was misappropriating funds that belonged by right to the King, his liege-lord. This was also a rather large infraction of the law, one that Gwilherm knew to be the sort of thing that was very likely to send Æthelwulf into a frenzy of rage. One that could last for days, before the apoplectic monarch sends for his banners and marches upon the offending vassal, to not only siege but destroy the castle, bridge and all life in the local area.

“Help us! We are agents of the King, sent north to investigate the lands north of the Waldr-river, and have been captured by these knaves, and thus require your noble assistance!” Gwilherm cried out gripping the bars and pressing his face to them, as he stared at the guard, interrupting the man’s squabbling with Wulfrun and Ceolmund.

Both of them turned to stare at him, mouths agape for a second as fury gripped them and filled the two brigands with malice towards the good-brother of Æthelwulf, such that they ever after bore a special hatred for him. The hag for her part shrieked at him, “Back from the bars filthy liar!”

“‘Fore I beat you,” Ceolmund added hefting his club a little with a small little grin, evidently pleased at the notion that he might dispense, some of the fury he felt towards Ealdor.

The only one who appeared at all bemused, rather than indignant at his calling out to the guard, was Ealhstan who for his own part merely shrugged in response to the rather pitiable sight of the prisoner begging for assistance. The expression of the knights was one of the utmost fury. Notably from Galen, but this was not what startled Elena’s younger brother as Roparzh was glaring foul murder at him. Ordinarily a friendly, he was an easily bemused sort of man who had a natural ability to make friends with about every individual he came across, Gwilherm had never in all the years he had met the man seen him demonstrate anger even once. Not even in the heat of battle, when a Cymran had come close to cutting the man’s nose clean from his face had he ever demonstrated such anger.

Anxious now, Gwilherm hesitated now distracted by the unexpected scowl on his face, he did not foresee Ceolmund slamming his club lightly upon the bars with a grimace of his own. Pain shot up from the noble’s fingers as he winced, let out a whine and shook his hands with a curse. “Back ye!”

“No less than you deserve,” Galen grunted at him meanly, drawing a nod from Roparzh, “Have some dignity now that you are a knight, Gwilherm.”

“Eh, I dunna much care where ye were found fool, so long as the toll is paid,” Ealdor said with a shrug of his own entirely indifferent towards the fate of the warriors. This stunned and horrified the three with all of them gaping at him. It was his duty to liberate them and he intended to simply look the other way? It was an outrage, Gwilherm thundered deep within his soul! “Now pay up, it will be twenty silver wyverns.”

“Twenty?! But it was ten, the last time!” Ealhstan squawked at him, with even the captives bewildered by the cost of the tariff-price inflicted upon the slavers.

“Well if you shan’t pay it, mayhap it is time to turn back now-” Roparzh began sardonically to the irritation of Ceolmund who threw him a warning look.

For several minutes Wulfrun mulled the situation over before she at last sighed, reached down to grab a small pouch from her leather belt that clinked loudly in the early morning air. Opening it, whilst muttering to herself as she counted the individual coins before nodding several times to herself and tossing the pouch at him.

He nodded to himself before he stepped aside in order for them to at last cross the bridge. Once they were across Ceolmund turned to the hag seated next to him, to his right, “Why did you not enchant him again?”

“Because, as I said the prior time, such magicks necessitate energy and even should I do such a thing, his lord would know and we could not cross the next time!” She hissed back.

When the two of them were finished arguing they resumed their grumpy silence, leaving Ealhstan’s whistling as the only source of noise in the immediate area. Glowering at him the knights kept to themselves.

Off in the distance the hill-top fort loomed over them, a wooden fort that dated back to the reign of Eadmund Land-Grabber, who was of famous memory for his political subjugation of Hwicce. He had also formally made Estria a vassal and taken all of the lands south of the Waldr and north of the Rhiaulwyd from the eastern kingdom. The lord of this particular fort at the time of the conquest was the lord Ealdwyn who had sworn to ever uphold the line of Eadmund. A faithful and ferocious warrior, there were rumours that he had fallen ill as of late and was bed-ridden so that his son ruled over his lands. His castle which was a key river-crossing fort was twenty meters high and more than double that size in length and wideness on a man-made hill as was the custom of all forts built during and after the reign of Æðelric.

The melancholy Gwilherm felt then was beyond words as he descended into moroseness and weary sorrow, for his lost freedom. Certainly, he had crossed the Rhiaulwyd without being made to pay the toll as previously feared, however he had been robbed of all that he had and was now little more than a slave. The only comfort he had was that at times he had the passing thought that the wolf-howls that seemed to follow after the group of slavers, was really Remus trailing them. This thought was always mixed with a certain amount of worry for the dog notably about what Wulfrun and Ceolmund might do to him, were they to catch the canine.

This thought in particular made him restless, and long for his lost liberties as he looked to the heavens beyond the bars of his cell, wondering at all that Æthelwulf had stolen from him and why he had allowed this to happen. Yes, he had fled from Morcar’s grasp however he could have returned, to quarrel with the man for his lands back, regardless of the looming threat of Balthrorth and yet he had remained at court.

“I shan’t sink any lower than this,” He said to himself early on the morn of the third day since his capture, by the three slave-traders. They were currently camped by the Rhiaulwyd river, having preferred to head north of the crossing, thence they turned back south-east to circumnavigate the castle of Ealdwyn. They were headed for Lundrun where the slavers hoped to sell them, without anyone being the wiser that it was them, as Northmen were now permitted to visit the trade-city. On condition of course that they restrain themselves and not report anything that they saw to their relatives in Fialinn in Ériu.

The city had yet to appear upon the horizon, as it was night they had encamped as stated by the river, with Wulfrun and Ceolmund bundled up in furs and sleeping off to one side of the cell, by a fire that was dying. As to Ealhstan he was asleep with his back against the caravan, near Gwilherm’s foot, having pressed his back against the side of the vehicle some time ago. The horses had been better fed than the inmates were, with the knights off to one side and Vladin still at the back of the cage. Eyeing them all as he ran a hand through his tawny beard, eyes half-closed as he kept his back to the front of the cage eyes still upon the stars. It was an old game of his and Eadwin, to count them and try to tell stories about each one of them individually, the memory of those old tales and games with his eldest sibling sent a wave of pain through him.

“I highly doubt that, Gwilherm,” Ealhstan corrected speaking so suddenly that he made the warrior jump a little from within the cell.

“How long- but when did you awaken Ealhstan?” Gwilherm yelped as he near leapt to his feet to stare down upon the old man with eyes that could barely pierce the darkness between them.

“For some time, nobleman of Estria, for some time,” The enchanter informed him with a gusty sigh and a small snort of laughter, “You snored for a time and only now roused lad and this caught my attention.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Because, I like to study the stars and ponder the mysteries of the universe and history itself… well there is that, and those damnable howls, keep trailing us giving me a fright late at night.” he admitted as he let out another breath this one of a visible longing.

Gwilherm had little empathy for the man who had tricked him, yet he wondered if mayhap this could be used to help in his escape. As to the ‘wolf-howls’ they filled him with hope and despair for Remus, all at once. So distracted was he by his plot for freedom that he very near did not hear the next words that slipped, forth from the chapped lips of the enchanter. “At the moment, what I question is how long drakes such as Balthrorth and his ilk could last as they are.”

“How do you mean, Ealhstan?” He queried confused by the change in topic, as he had no understanding of the point that was being made to him. “Are there forces mightier than the dragons that stalk this land, preying upon the good people of Brittia?”

“Aye there are lad, there be gods for one thing but more than that there are other dragons… good ones, who take ill others besmirching the honour of their people therefore they shan’t last past this age methinks.” Ealhstan murmured softly head bowed in thought.

His worries seemed those of another age, with Gwilherm knowing nothing of dragons. So rare were they in North-Agenor and in Bretwealda that few knew anything, save for their appearances and names. Much had been written it was said though, in the distant south in South-Agenor, amongst the people of the dragon-marches and amongst the people of Theodosianople.

Not understanding why these certain concerns might trouble the old man’s rest, he asked of him, “Why worry over the other dragons if they are never to trouble us?”

“Oh, I never said anything of them not troubling us child, but spoke of them coming to punish Balthrorth and Razenth.” The old man clarified with his brows pressing together in consternation as he at last turned to glance up at the younger man. “We of the Lordly-Isle may well, soon face a war that we have no means of resisting or of hiding from, if something is not done soon we may well end up like the Burnt Isle.”

“What is the ‘Burnt-Isle’?” Gwilherm queried having never heard this tale before, it sounded terrible and yet as there was no one else to speak to him, he could not help but cling to Ealhstan. He desired conversation and company, no matter how humiliating this need was and how much others might regard this as him abasing himself once more.

“‘What is the Burnt-Isle’ he asks, ptcha youths of today know nothing!” Ealhstan complained bitterly only to laugh a little, his derisive manner angered his captive.

“Mayhap you do not know half so much as you pretend to,” Gwilherm taunted him seized by anger and the same impetuous folly that had served him so badly up to this moment.

“What? Of course, I know all about the Burnt-Isle of Qellævia, it is an old tale as all who know of it, know.” Ealhstan growled back with equal fury before he cleared his throat and launched himself into the dreadful tale of the isle in question. “Once the isle prospered just to the north of Namavo, the isle of the Amazons which lies itself west of the kingdom of Korax- do you know where that is or must I draw a map for you?”

The scorn in his voice might well have caused more complaining on the part of the noble, but he was too curious to deny his lack of familiarity with the very basics of geography. He had heard of both lands of course, who had not? Korax was the ancestral lands of the Ogres, dominated since well after the Second of the Ilian Wars and the great ‘March West’ of the green-people. As to Namavo, the Amazons had infamous reputations as mercenaries and cruel brigands and slave-traders, little better than the Northmen who stalked all towns and areas connected directly to the sea. Save where Vikings favoured the sea, the Amazons despised it and preferred land and once they had their feet settled somewhere were unlikely to take to any boats. They were rather akin to the Ogres, they so despised in that regard.

Another howl pierced the air, resounding throughout the land, this time all the closer than before. Grabbing his traveling staff, Ealhstan pressed the point into the nearby sand in order to start to trace together rough circles meant to represent the two continents and their neighbouring isles. With special attention given to Qellævia and the Namavian archipelago, the former being some distance to the north of the latter’s collection of isles.

“Now you see? You see?” Said the old man in an eager voice, enjoying despite his irritation at being questioned by the youth currently cage in front of him.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Seeing the ‘map’ of circles and now that he had an idea of where this ‘Burnt-Isle’ was located Gwilherm better understood, “Now that I know where to find it, what of this isle’s history?”

“Ah yes, yes well the dragon Morgranth the Long or Morgranth the Devil as many called him was infamous throughout all the lands of both Agenors and the distant land to the east called Beveriand. He was so evil that he ravaged for a time entire kingdoms, destroying large tracts of land possessed by the Romalians, devastating their empire from the kingdom of Doria and Ilion in the south-east to Korax in the west, until he at last settled upon Qellævia-”

“But where did he come from?”

“Do not interrupt me lad, and I am not sure, he came from the east that is all that is known of him. But where was I? Oh yes, he journeyed through the whole of South Agenor wherefore he moved north to the Gernavian Isles ravaging them, before he moved to destroy all that was north of them in the lands now called Volkholant. He then returned south ravaging the south of Parmenia along the way, with the aid of his relatives Mydan and Razenth and their cousin Balthrorth going off into the Twelve Kingdoms. In time the last of these four wyrms left for north of the Glacial Sea, whilst Balthrorth headed west towards Qellævia.”

“And it was he who burnt the island to ashes?” Gwilherm inquired not understanding where the tale was headed, as thus far this tale had little to nothing to do with any possible war between dragons.

“Nay, not exactly lad but his depredations of almost three continents angered three good dragons, to the east of the Koraxian Mountains; Zserdthoras the Cerulean, Arndryck the Elder and the she-dragon Fondyrress the Onyx. All of whom met near Mt-Zelgaran in middle-Korax to consult amongst themselves and to decide to slay Morgranth, and his relatives Mydan and Razenth.” Ealhstan explained in a voice that chilled the very bones of his captive who shivered to imagine the dragons taking flight and battling amongst themselves. He was not familiar with all the details of the battle of the six dragons, the enchanter explained at some length how they had come to clash over the island of Qellævia. “Though the king of Qellævia, attempted to negotiate with the dragons and the three good ones had the best of intentions. The battle that ensued was so bloody, involved so much magic and dragon-fire, dragon-thunder and the ice-breath of Zserdthoras the Large. The battle ended with Arndryck the Elder and Fondyrress’s deaths and that of everyone who lived on Qellævia.”

“Did they slay Morgranth?”

“I daresay they did, though the cost was mayhap too great for all given the only survivors were Mydan and Razenth who both fled, and Zserdthoras whom they believed to have perished.” Ealhstan finished in a reproachful tone sensing perhaps that the youth had begun to in some way justify the great tragedies, of the Burnt-Isle. “It has since become known as the ‘Burnt-Isle’. To think! An isle the size of our own burnt to ashes, leaving no life upon its surface for near five centuries now!”

“Bah, they likely deserved it,” Ceolmund grunted suddenly awakening long enough to growl at the two of them, “Now ye two outter get some rest less ye want me to smash yer ‘eads in!”

“Oh I can imagine one person here, meriting a dragon’s fury,” Ealhstan grumbled drawing a small snort from the man in the caravan, one that drew a glower from the brute near the fire. “Or who might deserve to be fed to whatever wolf is still trailing us!”

The rest of the night passed swiftly enough, with the enchanter encouraging him to sleep and passing along a fur-cloak for him to pull up to his shoulders to aid in keeping warm. A gesture that warmed the heart of the noble far more than any simple fur-cloak did.

*****

It was the next day that truly saw a growing warmth between the old man and the youth as to the surprise of all concerned, the ordinarily lazy Ealhstan preferred to walk alongside the caravan. Staff in hand, he exchanged stories, told old poems and sang old songs to the warrior caged next to him, who ignored by his companions chose to ignore them now in turn.

Encouraged by the nascent friendship, he told a tale his brother had once told him in his youth, namely that of the slaying of the terrible Cyclops Gelgaran the Gluttonous. The last Cyclops on the shores of the Lordly-Isle, having survived towards the end of the age of Roma he had taken to tormenting the people of Estria north of the Waldr-river. “My ancestor, Ronec the first lord of Réalwaldr is said to have defied the terrible giant who was stalking the whole of the lands of Estria, devouring the local people-”

“Do mention the name by which Ronec was said to have gone by Gwilherm,” Vladin hooted bemused by the story as he was rather familiar with it, and with the rest of Estria’s history.

Irritated, Gwilherm might well have snapped at him was it not for patient Ealhstan interfering at that moment with a bemused flick of his own eyes in the same direction that the younger human looked to. “I am familiar with the tale, though have never heard the song or that of Ronec’s renowned son Ærgad the Tall.”

Pleased and flattered by this mention of the most famous of his ancestors, and the discreet praise to his abilities as a singer, though he had no harp the heir of Ronec and Ærgad began the song of the former first.

“There once was a clumsy oaf,

One who ne’er could resist a loaf,

And who chose to both

Lose his cattle and though loathe

To admit it, he laid to waste the hope

Of his people, the mighty keep’s fourth

Tower and lo with a tumble and a leap, the oaf

Didst unsettle more than one loaf,

For shame, for shame yell’d and shriek’d

The whole of Brittia, for shame they didst

Howl and yell and lo how they shriek’d!

So that away, away gallop’d

Noble Ronec, face array’d

With resolve and little yield,

Away he rode, far away to the east,

Those lands where Cyclops do still feast,

Ere they were made to desist,

By noble Ronec, who always didst resist,

Rogue and beast,

Sally-ho, tally-ho away he went,

Ne’er he didst bent,

Nor was he rent,

But the Cyclops’ he didst rend,

Gone was the whimsical

Oaf, fare thee well clumsy

One, and with an oops, and how typical,

Of the oaf, oh how comfy

The Cyclops was not, with a lance

Through the heart, small and little

As it was! Lo! He didst whittle

At him thereafter princess on arm, he didst prance

And how they didst dance!”

Both of the willing listeners rejoiced in the song, Vladin doing so slightly more reluctantly as he was still feeling morose. The proceeding one was said to have been from the age whereupon the Valhols came into Bretwealda to conquer it, desiring the Arglvel or ‘Lordly-Gem’ for themselves. The gemstone had been hand-crafted by the Dwarf-smith Dalin who made it for an ancient Romalian princess. In time it was lost in the wars to the Faramondian dynasty of Breizh, who sent it with one of their princesses as a dowry to Cauldria, to wed the king there. The gem later was seized by the king’s enemies along with one of his daughters and was made to marry the aforementioned enemy, with the stone becoming a royal jewel of the ruling dynasty of the kingdom he built. Unfortunately rumours of its beauty aroused the greed of the Valhols in the east, who journeyed west facilitated in their journey by the easily cowed Faramondians, who gave them arms and boats to seize the Lordly-Isle. This they did, establishing the kingdoms of Gewisse, Hwicce and many others, with Estria one of the few that resisted for a time.

It was during these wars that Ærgad the Tall shone as a hero, combating to defend his people against the Valhol conquerors in what was said to have been one hundred battles for his king Valnac. Another hundred was fought after the fall of Valnac the Bold passed in the battle of Sudwaldr, to the forces of Vartigern the Despoiler. It is said; the conquering king’s subordinate Hengist so impressed by the courage and might of Ærgad the Tall that he gave to him the hand of his daughter, Renwein who had come with the conquerors. This daughter was originally intended to be the bride of Valnac however upon his death she was wed to his vassal who became smitten with her at once. It is said that for this reason, when Ærgad’s sworn-brother Eldrin stole her away to the magical fortress of Vhlindlad, the lord of Réalwaldr and his good-father fought together to storm the fort and reclaim Renwein.

In the days after this, she bore her husband thirteen children with her children the cousins of the kings of Morwyn in the south, which had been established by her father Hengist. He it was who was succeeded as king by his grandson Hengist II through his daughter, Morwen. In these years there was great friendship between the lords of Estria and Morwyn, as they had fought together against the newly crowned kings of Hwicce and those of Bernicia in the north.

The song that follows is a shortened variant of a much longer epic, one that detailed the whole of the journey and adventures of Ærgad and Hengist in their quest. Gwilherm preferred the shortened song at that moment, as the love between Renwein and Ærgad was one that made him uncomfortable, as he had never experienced such passion he could not understand it. Little did he know, before his story was at an end, he would experience such a love himself.

“Long was the war of the Valhol-sons,

They reached by sea the lordly-dunes,

With many a heave-ho they reached Estria’s abode,

Lo! Hengist cried a-loud, ‘There be a war-god!’

So sayeth the horse-breaker as he charged Ærgad,

Ages ago long wert their war – short their peace,

Together came the Estrian and Vertigern’s niece,

In his hall arriv’d Valhol’s fairest flower,

Dressed in silken finery face dour,

With a ‘heave’ and a ‘ho’ came they of Valhol’s shore,

Lo! Came Estria’s great bore,

So fierce was he methinks he was a boar,

Heart red with hate for the Valhol horde,

Ærgad tall as a yew,

Stood agape eyes round and blue,

Blue as sea-waves wert they,

Not a once not for a day,

Wert his gaze to stray away,

Enchant’d as Ealdor Stargazer by the moon,

Eros’s thistle prick’d as sharp as a harpoon,

And thrice as deeply did love squeeze his throat akin to a rope!

With a cleave and a ‘oh!’ stumbled he of Estria’s shore,

Lo! Came Valhol’s noble with a roar,

So fair his flower that Ærgad did kiss the floor,

Wick’d as a devil and twice as envious was the mage,

Sweet as berries with no rage,

Twenty flowers Renwein threw- only one caught,

With a sally-ho and a tumble Ærgad wore it and so won her heart!

White as snow wert she, hair black as night,

Renwein Raven-hair looked him, eyes bright!

Sally-ho rumbled the Estrian boor,

So enamoured that he didst forget war,

Lo! Ne’er didst she laugh thereat him, in his fort!

Roses’ bloom’d as surely as hearts soar’d!

Lo! The warrior’s cheeks wert pink whence all thought him

Wild as a boar!

With a sally-ho they wander’d hand in hand,

From vale to vale and from field to field didst they dance,

‘Till misery and much sorrow swept thither encloak’d,

Velgnor be he the foul mage who did much to them unprovok’d,

Tally-ho! Renwein a-shriek’d for she be stolen from her boar,

So unite must Hengist and he for war!

To the tower they must go to tear away his door,

Lo! Once Ærgad was a bore,

Sally-ho! He is now more boar than boor!”

“Bravo, bravo!” Ealhstan applauded evidently pleased by the lyrical, mirthful yet at the same time sorrowful and epic songs that had burst forth from the lips and heart of his newfound friend. “I really shan’t imagine I could have done better than you lad!”

“You praise me overmuch, Ealhstan,” Gwilherm said struck by a sudden sense of embarrassment as he ducked his head in response to the enthusiasm of the old merchant for the poems he had recited for him.

“Oh quiet with that noise the lot of ye, we have no more need of songs,” Wulfrun cried out at them, a scowl of displeasure on her ugly face.

As with before, Ealhstan took up a wounded expression whenever she treated him in such a harsh manner his affection for her not to be doubted. Neither was her scorn for the world around her, as he sought to reason with her, “Oh do calm down my dear, I am sure that another song might lighten the mood, until lunch that is-”

“You have had quite enough lunches, I daresay Ealhstan,” She snapped at once, drawing a small giggle from the even plumper Ceolmund, who sneered at the older slaver, evidently pleased to see him abased.

“Why do you stay by her side, so faithfully if she is so horrid?” Gwilherm later asked nearer to noon, just as the twin suns reached their apex and mouldy, flea-filled bread was dispersed amongst the prisoners who for the most parts pushed away the food in disgust. They preferred to stare longingly at the small collection of mutton, stew, cheese and wine devoured by their captors.

Ealhstan who always ate apart from the other two gave him a hard look, one that seemed to come from a place of bitterness and irritation.

“You speak as though, you are better treated than I by those you have selected as friends,” Ealhstan hissed back at him, grey eyes narrowed up at him with such fury that he could well have passed for the noble’s good-brother.

The notion that they were not entirely dissimilar struck the youth, and was one that was to endure for some time in his spirit. He pondered the meaning of it, looking deep into the unknown of his own character and finding weakness therein that he wished with all his soul to strangle.

For her part, Wulfrun said naught more preferring to brood about the distance between them and Lundrun and how she had been robbed of twenty wyverns. It was later as she pulled the two men aside, near a small hamlet of farms to see about adding, to the ‘collection’ of slaves she wished to gather before entering into the city that Galen, addressed the Brittian.

“Gwilherm, you have spent some time with that old man in the past day or so, and seem to share a number of songs and jests with him,” He said suddenly to Gwilherm who gave a slight nod in response confused as to where the Neustrian wished to direct the conversation. “I merely thought to ask of you, whether you might consider seeking Ealhstan’s assistance in abetting our escape from this thrice-cursed cell?”

Bewildered by the question, especially after the two had not spoken to one another in days, not since their capture at the hands of the slavers, Gwilherm hesitated. He suspected that he likely might have done better to expect such a request, however it nonetheless took him by surprise, as he had not expected it, or for Galen to be the one to ask such a thing of him.

He could not ask such a thing at once, of Ealhstan not with the other two slavers present, and so he had to wait for Wulfrun to depart to go negotiate with local slavers and for Ceolmund to look away. Whereupon he learnt close to the edge of the cage, to speak to the enchanter who refused at once shaking his head as one possessed before he had finished speaking.

“I shan’t help you! I shan’t!”

“But we will be sold, you know we are of noble birth Ealhstan and are- we have a sacred trust placed in us to slay Balthrorth, on behalf of his highness the King.” Gwilherm pleaded as he met the old man’s gaze steadily, doing his utmost to capture and maintain the other man’s stare.

He strove then to uphold all the honour and courage instilled in him in his younger years by his father and brother, whilst hiding the weakness and uncertainty that were only natural with such a quest.

Mouth agape, it was some time before he spoke again turning his gaze to the rest of the travelers, with Vladin opening his own mouth to speak up until he was given a ferocious blow to the side, courtesy of Roparzh’s elbow. Ealhstan for his own part, at last settled his gaze back upon that of the heir of Réalwaldr and gave a slight nod.

“I shall assist you, later in the night when the other two have fallen asleep and I have slipped off with the key.” He promised at last, with a shake of his head only to add with a warning glance to all of them, “You must not harm Wulfrun! Swear to me that you will not harm her, I must hear you swear this oath.”

Mystified by his love for her, the whole of their band preferred to keep silent for several minutes before they all swore the oath, one that none wished to swear yet none could discern any reason not to, not if they wished to regain their freedom. They in this manner bound themselves in fate and in word, to that of Wulfrun to the satisfaction of the enchanter who pleased by this acquiescence on their parts agreed at last to assist them.

The reluctance of the elder to assist them stayed with many of them for some time, just as the time he took to secure the key to the chain and lock wrapped around the entrance to the cage. This so distressed them that they hardly felt too much gratitude as they ought to have, when he appeared upon night-fall to liberate them.

Only Gwilherm felt overwhelmed by the force of his emotions, a noble youth in nature at that moment he could not cease the flow of grateful ‘thanks’ he uttered to the enchanter. Nodding to himself with a small smile upon his lips went to open the cage just before his hands shaking lost his grip upon the key so that it fell upon the ground. A terrible curse escaped his lips then just as Vladin and Roparzh hissed at him. Only Galen maintained one eye upon the other captors, hardly paying the entrance of their cage any true attention.

“One moment,” Ealhstan begged as he bent down to pick up the key.

“Hurry fool!” Growled the Dwarf, ripping an ‘o’ of fright from the enchanter who raised his head too fast, hitting the back of his head upon the bars which resonated whilst he rubbed the summit of his skull with a cry and whimper of pain.

“Fool!” Roparzh and Gwilherm cursed at once, both of them forgetting themselves.

“Away with you hand us the key and we shall free ourselves, hurry!” Galen urged in the meantime, for he could see that Wulfrun and Ceolmund were in the midst of awakening and this frightened him. He knew better than the rest of his travel-companions that their only friend, amongst the slavers could not possibly fare well in combat against them, regardless how hardy and tough his personality.

Older than they, he had observed how little personal charm and charisma could matter in combat at times. His consternation only awoke the irritation of Ealhstan who was a stubborn sort of man, one whom took little pleasure in hearing such doubt of his ability to help another. Proud and strong, he rejected this proposal by Galen, “I said I would help ye, and so shall. Therefore cease thine urgings, as you have another great task before you; namely that of assuring us all that Ceolmund and Wulfrun stay asleep!”

“It hardly matters now!” Gwilherm cried in despair, as their hopes were dashed by the raising of her head, and the cry that was torn from the cracked lips of the old hag.

“Traitor!” She shrieked, more ugly and terrible in that instant than anyone else they had ever seen, in all their lives and all the captives knew fear as no other, they had ever endured in all their lives.

Afraid Ealhstan froze where he stood, as she awoke the brute asleep next to her with another cry, so that Ceolmund glancing about took notice of the absence of the key on his belt, and the presence of the enchanter by the cage. “Traitor!”

“Free us!” Gwilherm shouted with such care and fear that it only worsened the anxiety that had seized poor Ealhstan, who likely stood as one in a terrible dream.

The frantic attempt to free them continued. The eyes of the prisoners were no longer on the hands of the enchanter but staring in desperation, on the oncoming Ceolmund. Hardly a weak or gentle man, he took a mighty swing at the enchanter who had the good sense to duck just to say in time, when he sensed the blow whistling through the air. The club struck the bars and chain of the carriage-cage, with the force of it radiating up through the club, and into the very arms and bones of the brute who for his part, let slip a hiss of pain and irritation as he pulled a muscle or four.

Angered by this, he might well have taken another attempt to strike Ealhstan dead with his terrible club, were it not for the sudden action of his intended victim.

Later, he would declaim any serious talent in magic, being still a mere ‘Staff-Mage’ the lowest of all ranks in the Order of Sorcery (or he had been before he had left the Order). For this reason he could not turn Ceolmund into a toad as some might well have wished him to.

Far faster than any enchantment he knew how to utilise with his staff-magic, Ealhstan did not have to wait long for it to take effect as Ceolmund coughed a little in surprise. Then he sneezed, only to glower back at the old man, “What did you just spray in me face?!”

“What did you just do, old Ealhstan?” Repeated Gwilherm and Roparzh, both equally curious about the powder which caused as they observed Ceolmund to begin swinging wildly about the air in circles some distance from the enchanter, with his ferocious club, screaming out as he did so in such a wild manner as to bewilder each of them.

It was soon evident though that he was in fact blinded, or that some similar effect had been cast upon him, with Ealhstan answering to that very effect as he shoved the key into the lock. “Blinded and distracted him, he now thinks there’s about four or five of me surrounding him.”

It was nary a moment later that he turned the key in the lock, with the enchantress thinking faster than any of the men currently imprisoned, “Wait Ealhstan! Will you betray and abandon me now also?!”

The words might have failed to have any effect upon any other man, and yet it made the bearded old man dressed in the faded blue robes pause. Something that inspired panic in the captives, as Roparzh reached across the bars to turn the key one last time and click it into place. “Do not stop! We are almost free!”

Just to say a short distance past Eahlstan, Ceolmund who had swallowed what Eahlstan later called ‘Blinding-Dust’, taken from a forest far to the east of Amadan, on the isle of Ériu. The isle to the west of Bretwealda, which was known to a great many as the ‘Emerald Isle’ or in those days, the ‘Accursed Isle’ due in no small part to the reign of madness of the Warlock-King of Amadan, who ruled over most of it, and whom was the most evil force in the whole of the lands of North-Agenor (or near it). The dust was gathered with the aid of pixies with whom Eahlstan was friendly, though it would not work for very long as proven when Ceolmund shook his head, which had begun to clear itself of the effects.

“Grubby enchanter!” He growled furiously, about ready to pounce upon the enchanter once more, save this time he was determined to pound him to death with his club.

What he did not see, was Remus who had trailed after the group of slavers, after having lost track of them on that first day they set out. Only to have caught their scent, trailing them across the river (which he forded), he had at last caught up wherefore he preferred to lie in wait for them to be distracted or asleep before he attempted an actual attack, as wolves and dogs are wont to do with their prey. The goal of the dog always having been to catch up to Gwilherm, and to attack those who had seized a-hold of his person, with this being the moment where he threw himself forward in the name of his duty. As dark as night itself, eyes glimmering in the shadows with an almost terrifying light, Remus sank his fangs deep into the flesh of Ceolmund’s left leg. Tearing he shook his head as he bit, chewed and bit some more, all with murderous intent towards he who had struck his greatest friend near to a week prior.

The scream that escaped from Ceolmund’s lips was a horrid one. Filled with agony, it sounded as though his voice and soul were being torn whole from his throat as he flailed about with his club, tears in his eyes. Regaining his senses a moment later, as he overcame the terrible fear and agony that had shot itself up from his leg, with stars in accompaniment that still clouded his vision he prepared a mighty swing. One that might well have ended the poor heroic-dog’s life had it struck, with this strike never to be struck as it was then that Roparzh and Galen threw themselves forward from their cage and towards the brute who had so cruelly stolen away their freedom.

“Ealhstan do not betray me!” Wulfrun shrieked once more just as the chain dropped from around the cage door and fell, with the old woman raising her arms and staff. Her staff was large with a crimson jewel at the end, where Ealhstan’s had a emerald one, with both made of ash-wood. Hers appeared older, being black and gnarled so that it struck horror in all who observed it, where the white and grey staff of the old man was pretty to look upon. All of the former captives rushed forth, knocking Ealhstan aside in their great hurry to be free, with the knights rushing upon Ceolmund who had nary time to scream before he was thrown to the ground and slain by his own club which they tore from his grasp.

His scream of pain echoed throughout the area, with Vladin moving to secure the horses and carriage thinking that his comrades intended to capture Wulfrun. Mayhap to inflict upon her, what she had done unto them. This left Gwilherm to hesitate as he had but her to fare himself against, and was every bit as afraid of her as his companions were.

“Ealhstan please,” Wulfrun called as her eyes moved to the side to focus upon the knights, in the midst of slaying her other comrade. Evidently she was in the midst of scheming some sort of dastardly plan to harm Ealhstan, her gaze hardly took in the Brittian near the blue-robed enchanter.

She was not the only one who made the mistake, of lowering their guard as in the case of the bearded old man who looked visibly torn, between his desire to return to her and resisting her. He opted to plead with her in a voice so pitiful that it tore at the heartstrings of the noble, “Please Wulfrun, we did wrong but this need not go further-”

“It has already gone too far, do you not think? And who do you think is at fault-” It was then that Gwilherm who had been sidling to the left of her in the hopes of retrieving his and his companions swords, noticed what she was about; pulling from some hidden pocket in her robes a hidden throwing-knife one she gripped by the handle in a firm if experienced grip.

Struck by this and by his own sense of loyalty to Ealhstan who had more than earned such strong sentiments on his behalf, with his great leap towards her startling the old hag. Who letting out a great shriek attempted to raise her knife to defend herself but was far too slow, as Gwilherm skilfully twisted her wrist and plucked the dagger from her grasp. He was however surprised when she letting out a great bellow of rage leapt up at him, to try to reclaim it only for the blade to be instinctively thrust up, between her ribs and straight into her heart.

A great shriek of pain and shock ensued, as she fell back brokenly, with a great shout Ealhstan hurried to her side to catch her, holding her in his arms he lowered her gently to the ground. Her last act being to spit up at him, with a contemptuous gleam in her eyes before she closed them, the sheer amount of hatred she felt for one who loved her froze Gwilherm’s heart. Suddenly she went from a pitiful old woman he had not meant to kill, to one he took pride in tearing away from the world.

“I had not meant to but, she deserved it,” He uttered with more venom and bitterness than he had originally intended.

“She was not always black in nature and terrible in her desires, once she was a dancing forest-maid who wished for naught more than to wed and bear happy babes.” Ealhstan murmured brokenly tears in his eyes, wetting his beard and the face of the old crone in his arms. “But life was not so generous to her, and she became with each new betrayal and cruelty, more wretched than before Gwilherm… but I always thought, if I loved her as I did then, she might go back- go back to being she whom I adored and longed to make my wife.”

The sobs that wracked the body of the old man tore at the hearts of all those present, so that Vladin dried his own eyes with the tip of his long-beard and the Neustrians who had joined Gwilherm remained silent. The pity in Galen’s eyes and the compassion in Roparzh, was strange to the Brittian’s mind. He had compassion himself for Ealhstan even if he could not understand the old man’s grief.

“She was an enemy and would have slain him,” He complained miserably.

“Silence Gwilherm, regardless how evil she was, she was still loved which makes hers a sad end,” Vladin hissed at him before returning his gaze to the enchanter, “We have the horses, and Wulfrun’s rations- enough to make it a little ways past the Waldr-river. We should not tarry for too long.”

“But we will if only long enough to offer our enemies a proper burial and prayers.” Roparzh insisted his faith such that he could not fathom doing anything less than that.

Gwilherm though he muttered many a complaints found that he much enjoyed the feeling at that moment of working a shovel (taken from the camp of Wulfrun), and digging two graves and then praying for them. Once the two pieces of wood which were in the shape of swords, as was proper were stuck in the ground and had the names of the fallen engraved into them, Ealhstan broke once more into a stream of tears. This caused Remus, never very hard-hearted, and having by then calmed himself, to begin nudging and licking at Gwilherm’s hand, in a vain attempt to draw some sort of attention from him only for him to whine. Worried for the enchanter, Remus moved to nuzzle Eahlstan’s leg, before he licked the man’s hand. Evidently consternated for the old man and sensing no great danger from him, as he did more to comfort him than any of the other travelers, as he succeeded in gaining for himself a small distracted pat on the head.

“Once again I have been left alone, and she has abandoned me with no thought to my love for her!” He cried out sobbing pitifully again.

“Still it was ever her way,” Galen muttered in the midst of preparing the horses, “We must be away Gwilherm for we have tarried over long.”

“A moment,” He pleaded before he turned his gaze to the man to the right of him, putting a hand on the kneeling man’s shoulder, “Ealhstan… will you accompany us? We have great need of your wisdom, and you cannot remain here wallowing in tears and pain forevermore.”

“A-aye you have the right of it lad,” Ealhstan murmured brokenly wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, “I will, though you killed the only woman I ever loved, I shall never abandon you Gwilherm. For you and I are bound together, by destiny, this my heart tells me even as it beats itself against my chest hard enough, to shatter once more…”