[Nogrod]

Bregoware

Sythric

Night had falled, but the moon was shining brightly. As the path was quite familiar, Sythric found no reason to slow down the pace. The earlier he would catch the party, the more hours of sleep he and Thydrë would gain for tomorrows’ ride. That was a simple equation.

After his evening “meal”, he had not passed over to those trance-like memories, he had done during the early evening hours. Most of the time, his head was just blank. But every now and then, thoughts and remembrances sprang into his mind. Especially the words of the old Hugebryth seemed to be recurring: “They sure can ride, and some of them propably can hunt or fend off foxes from their goat herds. But have they ever even seen an orc, or an easterling warrior in full armour, not to talk of confronting one, or ten?”

Sythric was not doubting the bravery of these young riders. Quite on the contrary: all the youngsters he had teached in the arts of war, had been magnificiently ready to go for every possible trouble and danger to just learn more. Now how about in times of a real need? There was no doubt in his mind about that either: Bregowarians were no cowards! He was just doubting their reactions, and their actions, if a real danger would come upon them. What your heart says, and what you actually do, are not simply the same thing. One does not know beforehand, how one reacts in a critical situation, not until the proof of reality shows it to you. You can train yourself over the years - via experience, toil and labour, and basically painful memories of the times when you have failed - to get those two things closer together. But it still is hard, at least for everyone I know, myself included, every time it’s tested.

He got halfway back to the here and now of the real world, and tried to think in a more controlled manner. One thing seemed clear enough. They would have to count on stealth, and if coming up with enemies, then on speed. We would propably be quite good in that. Oh, we will be! At least Swithulf’s children were good last night. And Hunlaf! ... Was is just last night? Not even a full day ago? Was it about this time when the horns were blowing? Maybe a bit later, maybe a bit later...

But then again. Even if that last night’s ride was truly demanding for the youngsters – it was a fast ride in the dark of the night, through paths quite unfamiliar to most of them – it still wasn’t real. It wasn’t real in the sense of, say, easterling light cavalry being after us. One mistake last night didn’t mean brutal and instant death, but just some bruises and the nuisance of being a little more late. There is a certain difference between running for your life for real, practising it, or just generally trying to ride fast, for a reason or another. Sythric grinned amiably at the thought, having his own particular memories about being nauseatingly late, for reason or another.

But had any one of these young people ever really had to scare for their lives? Not just daydreaming about it, but actually feel the energy pushing through the veins: clinging to their lives, feeling it so dear for the first time, so on the edge, so fragile, so here and now? Or how about really felt the after-the-first-shock –feeling in a battle: being kind of an outsider, like in sleep, away from oneself and still being “ me”; in real world, but still somewhere else, not trying anything, not fearing anything, not thinking anything. Just acting and reacting: just a pure instinct, an underlying desire to live, and the vague hope of making the difference. But how to act? After hours and hours of rehersal, a soldier could act instinctively about the right way. How about these youngsters?

As he was just about to fall really deep into his memories, a small correcting move of Thydrë woke him up. They had just leaped over a small ditch, and Thydrë was avoiding the small boulders spread over the grass around a big artifically carved menhir. Wise horse you are, and seemingly worried about me, falling out of this world again. “Thank you my friend”, whispered Sythric aloud, near Thydrë’s ear, patting lightly its neck. Then he rose to his normal riding posture, letting Thydrë know, it was bussiness as usual again. He was awake once more.

Before long, he came to think about his earlier thoughts. Where did I start these mind’s wonderings the last time? It was the youngsters’ ride last night. That was it. Was it?

He remembered Waermund and Waerferth, he remembered Winflaed, he remembered his brother. He remembered Hunlaf. He remembered Cwen, he even remembered Ceolflaed. Sythric had passed the Bregowarian evacuation-caravan readily before the afternoon had turned to a dusk. He had passed them from about a half miles’ distance. He just wasn’t in a mood to any more farewells, or tough enough to meet his childrens eyes one more time, just to let go again. He had indeed recognized Skara-people from the long line of the refugees marching slowly south-west. Then he had spurred Thydrë to change from easy canter to a steady trot. He would not want to see this unhappy sight any more! It was far too personal and humiliating sight to be looked at. Now his mind dwelled in these last sightings of the evacuation: a line stretching over like a snake, made of tiny little bees, crawling slowly forwards, ahead of a fire that would burn... It was already a defeat, before anything had actually happened.

But there was something else, he had been thinking of, before these personal distractions. Oh yes, we would be fast, and rely on stealth. Surely. But what if...? What if we get surprised, what if we are run over off-guard? The thought chilled every bit of him.

He hurried Thydrë to run for it. He was awake now, up to his every cell. The moon lit their way over the grassland.