Stormrider

Chapter 1: The Stormriders

THE STORMRIDERS

One morning Eomund awoke to the sound of hooves thundering in the yard outside his window.  The time was well nigh before dawn and the sun had not yet ridden into the sky.  “It’s a bit early to take Steed for his paces, is it not?” said Eomund aloud.

Eomund arose from bed and ventured to the window. There he beheld a host of riders fresh from a long and hard ride, their horses nearly spent.  Clad in mail,  they wore swords at their sides and shields upon their backs.  Eomund watched them for a space, attempting to discern their intent for good or ill.  Eomund’s father stood before the riders and greeted them warmly, clasping arms heartily with the one who appeared to be their chief.  Nonetheless, Eomund donned his padded jerkin and his knife before making his way to the yard.

Eomund emerged from the front of the house and into the the host assembled in the yard.  Eomund’s father was already several paces away making all speed toward the stables.  A large man stepped before Eomund and spoke, “Hail, young lord.  You may not recall me; I am Dunwall of the Stormriders.”

He extended his arm to Eomund who took it firmly.  Dunwall was clad in brass mail and as the sun finally rose it smote upon the mail and flashed with amber.  His flaxen hair was thin on the crown, but his beard was full and burly, like straw in the autumn.

“I remember when you were born.  Your father held a great celebration.  He slew the fattest lamb he had and there was a great deal of feasting.  I’ve never seen him prouder before or since.  But that was many years ago; today we have come seeking the aid of your father and his thanes.  I understand you are a strong rider in your own right.  You might ride with us this day, if your father allows it.”

“Ride where, sir?  And why?”

“Against the ogres,” said Eomund’s father returning behind him, “a war-moot has been called and the time to ride to battle is at hand. Come! to the stables at once.”

Hastening toward the stables, they passed the ancient smithy of Alfvin, Emound’s venerable ancestor, who in ancient times had settled the Fielding.  He was among all the Stormriders counted the greatest in the skill of smith work and it is said that he had dealings with elves from whom he learned much of his craft.  Yet all that now remained of his works was the sword that Beomund bore.  And all that was now struck upon the anvil was horseshoe or plough blade and much of the smithy had fallen into disrepair.

Coming to the stables, all passed within and gathered in the main aisle.  The stable was wrought in a similar fashion as the house, save with less knotwork on the beams--though a single mighty carven horse adorned the roof peak.  Painted in gold it was larger than the two which topped the house.  Ten stalls stood within, though only six horses were quartered this day.

The far side of the stable opened in a large field, a portion of which was fenced in about the far side of the stable.  There Eomund might take his horse for its paces or his father break in a young colt.  Beyond lay the western hills of the Fielding and the Ridderwold which was a great expanse of forest stretching some fifty leagues to the sea.  To the south lay a larger field where cattle grazed.  The riders’ horses were loosed there and given reign to graze as they pleased.

In the stable the air hung thick with the smell of animal and hay mingled with the morning dew that still lay upon the ground.  The horses preened their heads from their stalls. Curious to see what was happening they looked as though they too would take counsel in this moot as well as any rider.

“The ogres are coming down from the north in great numbers, burning and slaying as they go,” said Dunwall, “not two days hence they destroyed Geldleigh. There is nothing left, the homes are razed, the fields are scorched.  They have passed now into the northern portion of the Ridderwold, and but all accounts will be in the Fielding soon.”