Stormrider

Chapter 6: The Spear Goes South

The night was cool and damp, and the sky overcast.  Eomund had fled in the early morning hours after the night creatures had ceased their stirring and before the song birds would begin their chorus.  The only sound was that of Lithos’ hooves which seemed deafening as thunder - surely they could be heard as far as Fothmorn.

But no one pursued, and the lights of Fothmorn were soon lost to distance and night.  Eomund went on, ever slower, through the darkness.  The sound of the occasional twig or puddle might signal their progress, but for the most part, it seemed to Eomund as if they were going nowhere; simply walking in perpetual darkness.

But Lithos’ instincts and senses were keen.  He was an excellent guide and did not once stray from the path.  Later, the clouds retreated and the light of the stars began to shine and the way became more clear.  

After a time, Eomund began to notice the song birds and various rustlings among the brush.  The land started to come alive, and soon the light of dawn began to spread across the sky like wine spilled upon the table.  The sun rose before them, and it smote upon the spear head.  Eomund, in his haste, had neglected the sheath; and the naked spear blazed with light like a fire.  He turned it in his hand and Gramgeir flashed like lightning as he did.  He thought then of the legends of the Stormriders and of the battle at Yolmoth.  Looking before him, he could see that the way was clear.

He gave a shout and spurred Lithos onward. Behind him, his own shadow looked like the ghost of a warrior emerged out of the distant past.

They rode hard and fast for some time.  The sound and sensation of the wind filled Eomund’s senses.  The spear seemed to sing as the wind passed over it, and Lithos tossed his head and whinnied with joy.

About noonday, they came to the creek that intersected the Road.  The small bridge was yet there, though it was much covered with branches and the like.  Eomund dismounted and led Lithos to the waters to drink.  Eomund sat by and ate a meal of dried fish and bread.  Those, though by now, he had had many times, seemed to taste strange and foreign to him, sitting in the Ridderwold, where he might better have had rabbit or venison.

Setting out again, they took a brisk pace, but did not speed on ahead as before.  The weight of what he had done began to settle on Eomund’s mind.  Having now been away the better part of the day, he realized that he had no plan or place to go.  At the same time, he knew he could not return to Fothmorn.  A longing to see the Fielding again, even if only for a moment had gripped him since their flight to Fothmorn and had not loosed its hold.  He resolved that he would return to his ancestral home.  Once there, then he would see what happened next.

Ere evening fell, he came to the fork that led to the Fjording away south and the Fielding in the north.  The sign that had once marked the way, was gone - burned like so much else in the fire.  Eomund knew that if he took the road north, he might make it to the Fielding some time after night fall.  Thus, he resolved to camp by the crossroad, for he wished to come upon the Fielding in the light of day and behold what was wrought there.

That night he slept fitfully, mulling over in his head many things.  Doubt as to if what he had done was right. What he must do now.  Whether he should return to Fothmorn.  Again, he resolved that he would see first the Fielding before he decided aught else.

He rose early the next morning; unable to sleep the night before, he was eager to be off.   The path to the Fielding was much more overgrown than the main road, and Eomund wondered if any had passed this way since the great fire.  The going was slow and Eomund was glad of his decision to wait out the night before attempting the trek.  The brush blocked the path in many places, and Eomund and Lithos waded through.  Several times Eomund lost the path and was forced to backtrack or veer far to the east or west to find his way again.