WILDERMORE / DAY SEVEN / DAWN
Régnwald's eyes wandered soundlessly whilst the horse pawed at the ground impatiently; eager to be free of the scent of ash among other less pleasing scents, breathing deep, the Horselord's gaze landed upon the gathered group. A small host of armed men and behind them followed two carriages with thirty people of ceorl: villagers and horse-breeders and herders, women and children and men past their primes. The ceorl looked weary, but they halted to hear the words of their leader. It seemed to lend strength to his resolve. "I'm glad, as I can be, to see all of you here, I trust there was no issue leaving the camp, Cynebur?"
''No issues, Régnwald. Now there is not more than a few leagues to Forlaw.''
Lips pursed behind the thick, straw coloured beard. "Well, the situation as it stands is this..." A voice, laced with the fatigue of recent days, worked to draw the band close even as he moved in. "We are still unsure of our standing in these lands, Cynebur's landsmen and an éored patrol these parts. We will camp on our way until we reach Forlaw."
He now looked from face to face, a small smile flickering brief as a falling star before it was gone. "We might need to try and contact locals to see what standing our name offers us here before we make for Forlaw."
But before the decision was made, sound of heavy horse hooves heralded the change of things.
Régnwald whirled to face the oncoming riders. Sword was half drawn, her blade greeting the fading night with a shimmer.
''Hold there!'' shouted the horseman who kept watch over the land. He then looked over the host, and over Régnwald, trying to mask his awe.
Finding sense, Régnwald rammed the weapon home once more. ''As you wish.''
The watchman woud lift from his hip a horn. ''So unless, you're ripe for a shower of arrows, you'll tell who you are. Two blows of this and fifty men will be on these cliffs before you've strapped your ring-shirts.''
Hondscioh scoffed ''Fifty birds maybe.''
Sensing the threat, ''Is that then your word?'' the watchman shouted.
The young earl spoke thus "We mean no harm, friend. Riders of Stangard we are, and ceorl, the survivors..." The voice was lower, a little gruffer in its pitch. "We are here to find shelter for our kin and gather our strength before we head southward, for we cannot ride back to Eorlsmead. Now the place reeks of death." Half hidden by the bulk of Ethelad's horse, the horseman quickly removed the plumed-helm over his head, "I'm Régnwald --"
The sorrel jaunted forward, his rider barely lurching. The two abreast followed, then set their pace uneven, so the first drew the apex. All had spears, bows, axes and shields, in various array on their arms and saddles. Leather plates bound their small but heavy-looking steeds, thick and flexible as ash shafts. The first kept his eyes on Niehstu. His eyes behind watched their scout and the others. "I have heard of no Régnwald, but have of Stanric. A most unfortunate man."
The young earl's mouth twisted as the statement was made. "Only the unfortunate remained in Stangard, and now they're with Béma. -- We come as friends to Gárwig, the mighty thane.''
''We welcome friends... Bring what you need. I'll have men look to your carriages.''
So the watcher blew once on his horn... the powerful and eerie sound echoing off the cliffs.
''One blow is good news?'' asked Hondscioh.
''One blow is good.'' the watchman replied.
Hondscioh winked good-naturedly and the horseman glanced at Régnwald who shrugged.
''HEAD ON! WE ARE GOING TO FORLAW!''
