The Summer Raid (By Wrede)
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-Prologue-
Wrede had been curiously absent lately. Not that he was much of a
courtier generally, but lately he was only seen on his way in or
out of the settlement and the most common life sign when he was
home was the faint light from his study which indicated that he was
working longer into the evening than usual.
Not that any other than his closest companions really noticed, the
whole settlement was an ant hill of activity. The sound of
blacksmiths' hammers striking metal rung all through the days,
accompanied by carpenters' saws, animals squealing as they were
slaughtered for meat and hides and the nauseating smell from the
tanners made parts of the settlement unbearable for those not of the
trade. All of Asheim, from the lowest thrall to the king felt
invigorated by the energy radiating from the midnight sun and the
feeling of purpose; Asheim was preparing for a raid!
Part I
The Asheimers moved quickly over the Asgardian tundra on their way
south. Stores had been set up along the way to provide the men and
beasts with food and clean water, two things often in scarce supply
for an army on the march. The warriors were in high spirits, the
veterans telling the young warriors of previous raids they had been
on and the young warriors bragging of victories to come.
Wrede rode in the vanguard, his long blonde mane flowing in the wind
as he wore no helmet on this day. Eager to keep the speed up, he had
insisted that they would all ride. This also meant that they could not bring as many warriors as usual. This was the first raid with Wrede's command since he became commander over Asheim's forces and a cautious commander would choose an easy target to cement his position with the men and in society. But Wrede was not a man to play it safe. Instead of choosing a soft, easy target, he chose to march against his old enemies, the Hyperborean witch cult, the White Hand.
Though their numbers were few, around a hundred strong, Wrede had
made careful plans and with him rode some of Asheim's finest;
Braakens, Conwulf 'the Bull', Ulwfir and Tallec.
Part II
The twisted body of the Ghurnaki guard slumped silently to the ground with the edge of an axe buried in it's head. Pulling the axe free, Braakens steps out of the shadows and signals to the men behind him to follow silently. The White hand keep remained unaware of their presence as they infiltrated the gate house, quickly killing the guards before they could raise the alarm.
Having secured the gate, the main force moves in to take position for the next step. A horn sounds through the night and a mammoth trumpets in reply as it charges forward with it's head lowered towards the heavy door of the keep. The impact is tremendous as wood splinters and the Ghurnaki inside are tossed aside or impaled on the mammoth's spiked tusks as it shakes is large head. Leaping out of the saddle of his mammoth, Wrede calls out for his men to charge. An unnecessary order, as they are pouring into the hall, Tallec and Ulwfir leading the group, cutting, stabbing and bludgeoning the Ghurnaki to death.
Jerked awake as by a thunderbolt, Asfrid opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom. Eskil was still in his cradle and Isylde was sleeping soundly beside her in bed. Sitting up and pulling her warm, woolen socks on, she roused Isylde and mumbled "There is still time" to herself as she lit a candle and hurried downstairs in just her socks and linen nightgown.
Suddenly a door flies open and hundreds of small projectiles made out of ice perforate the few Aesir standing near the door, only Tallec manages to survive as the ice breaks against his thick shield, but not without injury. As Aesir blood pour onto the floor, three Ghurnaki witch men walk into the room, casting death and ice around them. For a second it seems that panic is about to start among the superstitious Aesir as many freeze in terror.
Asfrid stood alone in the dark room with the candle in her hand, looking at the weave in her loom, a cold look upon her face. Calling out to Isylde to bring more light, she seated herself at her loom and began to work. "I won't let it happen" she said to herself, shuttle flying back and forth among the threads.
Part III
A chill breeze sweeps across the room as terror clings to the back of their minds, it's cold fingers far reaching and telling them to flee. Frozen in place, they are doomed. Then suddenly, with a roar, one of the heavy doors flies across the room and crushes one of the witch men with a sickening crunch and a surprised scream. All eyes turn to see Conwulf recover from the throw. Roused from their frozen state of terror and fuelled by anger and deep hate for such foul and cowardly magic, the Aesir quickly leap at the witch men, who obviously shaken by their brother's death try to retreat deeper into the keep.
The Aesir are fast at their heels and quickly to catch up to the
slower of the pair, a spear piercing his chest and pinning him to a
wall. The metallic sound of men in armour echoes through the narrow
passages of the keep as they chase the last one. Wrede tosses one of
his axes at the witch man, only to see him slip away through a
massive oak door, the axe missing by a hair and burying itself in the door. Recovering his axe, Wrede looks at the massive door. It will not be easy to break down. Time for some alternative methods.
Asfrid relaxed at her loom. She had been weaving all night and she was growing weary. As the early morning light shone through a window, she looked down at the floor beside her, where Isylde was playing with Eskil and smiled at him for a moment, before she regained her more cold and conformed demeanor. "Everything is as it should be." she said without going into more detail as Kareth entered the room, carrying a tray of food for her exhausted matron.
Part IV
Wrede steps out of the burning keep, with the witch man trapped inside his room where he will burn nicely. He then muses at the fate of such a wicked creature and wipes his forehead after removing his heavy bronze helmet, when he happens to look up at the quickly brightening morning sky. Closing his eyes, he enjoys the feeling of the suns warm glow. Opening his eyes again, he spots the familiar shape of a hawk up among the clouds and smiles to himself.
Meanwhile the men are gathering at the assembly area, carrying with them their hard earned loot consisting of clothes, jewellery and most importantly thralls. The thralls mostly consist of Hyperborean commoners, as the Aesir want nothing to do with the twisted Ghurnaki, but there are others there too, other races kept in bondage by the Hyperboreans, as thralls or to be twisted into the hated Ghurnaki-servants of the White hand.
Conwulf observes the thralls as they are rounded up and relieved of any valuables when he spots the golden locks of a young Aesir girl among the thralls. Calling out to Ulwfir, the two huge men wade through the thralls, much to the displeasure of the men currently tethering the thralls to each other for the march home. Picking her up unceremoniously, Ulwfir leads the way as Conwulf slings her over his shoulder and carries her over to the makeshift camp where they tend to their wounded.
As Wrede walks over to talk to Conwulf, he finds him and Ulwfir involved in a coin toss. Asking what it concerns, Ulwfir simply nods at the girl and grins hungrily. "You are well aware that everything won this day will divided fairly once we have returned to Asheim" Wrede says with a commanding voice. He then looks at the young girl and ponders for a moment, casting a glance at both Conwulf and Ulwfir. "Tallec" he then calls out "Make sure this girl is brought unsullied to Asheim. I am sure the king would like to decide her fate personally". Both Conwulf and Ulwfir seem rather disappointed, having lost their plaything, but the prospect of their share of the loot once they return to Asheim brightens their mood.
Epilogue
Wrede had been leading a wounded and tired group of 37 Asgardian horsemen as they arrived at the walls of Asheim one evening, six days after the main group had come home. After they left the keep, Conwulf had been put in charge for the main group, with the order to get home as quickly and safely as possible. While Wrede took command of 40 horsemen and fought a rearguard action to keep the Hyperborean reinforcements away from the heavily laden and slow moving main group.
The tactic had worked and the main group made it home safely, laden with the spoils of war in the form of thralls, fancy clothes, gold and jewels. There was much cheering and everyone waited with great anticipation for the rearguard force to arrive so that the loot could be divided publicly among the king and the raiders.
Yet it took them almost a week to arrive. Tired, tattered and torn, with three men dead and tied to their saddles and some so stiff or hurt that they had to be lifted off their horses and treated by Asfrid before they could move about again. The fighting had been fierce, where Braakens had laid ambush after ambush and Wrede harassed the Hyperboreans baggage, burning their food supplies and killing their horses to slow them down until they could no longer follow the Aesir.
It had been a hellish march back, but they were finally home and the spoils of war was yet to be divided with great celebrations to follow. The summer raid was over.
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