The Bronze Man

Dawn

That breaking dawn revealed unto the watchers a vast multitude spilling forth from the bright bowed ships.  Chelosian sea-raiders bearing shields of burnished bronze, wild Vačec with their furs and axes, bright chariots and rearing horses, full forty score in number.  They came not for simple raid, nor plunder, but to conquer.

The slope was dim in the predawn light, while a chill lingered in the early spring air.  Tall trees, their bark smooth and grey, grew upon the slope, ghostly in a light mist that hung amongst them.  A last few stars flickered in the sky above that was devoid of clouds.

Two men scrambled up the slope, weaving amongst the trees as they climbed.  Despite clinging brush and loose earth beneath their feet, the tall, rangy men moved quietly, using bronze-bladed spears to support their ascent. Both were clad in jackets of tanned hides, while hide boots were lashed tight over trousers of dull, woven cloth.

As they neared the summit of their climb, the taller and older of the pair raised a hand, motioning for his companion to halt.  He stooped down, crawling the last few metres to the summit, the second man following his example.

Brush grew thick at the summit, tangled tight.  The pair pushed aide the brush, to peer down into a wide bay that spread out beneath them.  The slope they had climbed led to the top of a broken cliff face, where the nests of sea birds and craggy shrubs clung tenaciously to precarious ledges.  The cliff was part of a promontory that jutted out into the sea, while across the bay was another stony headland.  Between them, the white sands of the beach arced around, sheltered from all but the worst of storms.

The lands sloped gently up from the beach, over a series of sandy dunes and into airy woodlands.  A stream flowed serenely through the woodlands and down into the bay, originating further up in the valley that the woods hid from view.

The first crimson light of the dawn began to spill over the horizon far out to sea, the sun illuminating the beach and the activity that took place upon it and out in the bay.  Upon the white sands half a dozen ships had been run up, their sails furled and oars stowed.  Men spilled from them, joining those already on the beach.  More ships were being rowed into the bay, towards the beach.  The bows of the ships were brightly painted, in a riot of colours.  Reds, greens, yellows and blues, they were in the form of stylised animals, more the idea of the animal than an actually representation of them.

They were Chelosian ships, come from the lands and islands further north.  Raevak studied the ships below with pale eyes, his leathered face showing concern.

“I count twenty, Jal,” he told his younger companion, voice soft, despite the distance that lay between the ships and them.  It was not the distance that kept his voice low, but the sight that had appeared before them.

“There must be hundreds of them aboard,” Jal replied, eyes wide.  He was young, little more than a boy, with only a few wisps of facial hair.  Raevak gave a soft grunt in agreement with the young man, before pointing towards another band of men that were leaping from one of the newly beached ships, splashing ashore through a gentle swell.  They were a short but stocky group, wrapped up in furs and carrying crude bronze axes or stone-headed clubs, with dark hair and thick, bushy beards.

“Vačeci.  Mercenaries no doubt, come for the plunder.”

“The Vačec fight for the Chelosians?”

“Some do, if they are paid.”  The Vačec were a wild and primitive people from the mountains and forests to the north.  Fierce warriors, they were as likely to fight each other as they were to fight anyone else, but some allowed themselves to be hired by the Chelosians.

More men continued to join the growing horde upon the beach as further ships landed, and a camp began to grow.  Small bands pushed up off the beach to scout ahead.  The Chelosians were, for the most part, short but not bulky like the Vačec.   Each had a large, round shield of bronze and hide, tunics of woven cloth that hung to their knees and carried bronze-bladed spears.  A few, those with wealth or power, had armour of bronze or hide, and bronze greaves.  Horsehair crested helmets helped further mark them out, dyed, for the most part, bright red.

“Over there,” Jal said, pointing towards one of the largest of the ships.  Men were at work trying to coax a number of horses from the ship, while others were putting together a handful of chariots for the kings and champions to ride upon.  The chariots were few in number, there being little room to store them aboard the ships.

“Jal, get back to the village as fast as you can and warn the chief,” Raevak said.  “Tell him there are twenty Chelosian ships at White Sands.” 

Jal nodded nervously before asking," What will you be doing?”

“I will be keeping an eye on them.  Hopefully I can learn some more of what they are planning.”

“Will you be safe?”

Raevak laughed at the boy's obvious concern.

“Son, no Chelosian has caught me yet.  Now go.”  Jal nodded again, then wordlessly he began to scramble back down the slope and the long ran for help.  Raevak turned back to watch the Chelosians, shaking his head at the fearsome sight spread out beneath him.