The Chronicles of Athan

The Old King’s pony finally died sometime after midday, leaving him completely alone.  He was prepared for her death, since the little mare had been shot in the ambush that separated him from his remaining companions.  Only her willing heart and complete trust in him had kept her going this long.  But now she could no longer help him; he was alone in a cold and desolate place, a long way from anyone who would not kill him on sight. 

This was all his fault, of course; he had been in charge.  He had been the one who had decided to go on this extended circuit of his lands on a combination hunting and exploring trip into the mountains that bounded the loosely defined the boundaries of his territory.  He was the one who insisted that a ride of seven was all the escort he needed.  ‘If I expect my men to patrol the boundaries in rides of seven men, then I should be willing to do the same.’  So he had only six men with him when they were ambushed.  Of course he had not known when he left the Hold that he would be going this far and be gone for this long.  Just as he had not known that he would have risen so high in the world.  He had been lucky, and even with that luck it had taken him a very long time to get where he was.

He pulled the leather saddle off the remains of his pony.  His hunting bow had been lost in all the excitement so he left his quiver of hunting arrows behind, but before he did he broke his few remaining arrows.  No point in leaving useful plunder. He pulled off the horse blanket and bundled it with his bedroll and balanced the load over one shoulder with his saddle bags over the other.  Finally taking up his water bag he headed uphill.

It was hard going with such an unbalanced load.  He moved briskly until he was out of sight of the remains of his poor pony.  He tried not to leave an obvious trail, but the ground was rocky and it looked like snow again, so he was not especially worried about being trailed by the bandits that had attacked him.  He was more worried that wolves and birds would lead them to his pony and if they made a rapid search they might see and overtake him, so he made the best speed that he could uphill.  He went uphill because bandits tended to be lazy and think a man on foot would take the easiest, most direct way back to his people; that way was downhill.  The Old King stopped for a moment and sat on a fallen tree to ease his load.  He reached into his mouth and pulled at a loose molar that had been nagging at him.  With a twist and a pull he jerked the tooth out; the pain was not great; the relief was.  He spat a bit of blood from his gums down on the ground behind the tree he was sitting on in a place where it would not be obvious.  He then dropped the tooth down out of sight as well.  He reached back into his gum and rubbed the new tooth coming in where his old one had once been.  The King had recently lost all his teeth, which was not unusual, but having new ones come in to replace them was not usual at all, and this was not the first time it had happened to him.  Getting new teeth was embarrassing.  He liked to be away from his Hold while it was happening.  That was another reason he chose to go on his long “hunting trip” with so few companions.  He did not like to call attention to how different he was from other people. A grown man getting new teeth like some child was somewhat weird. And sure enough Enoch had teased him about it; claimed his cooking was so bad it made your teeth fall out, but so hearty it grew ‘em back. The Old King had not seen Enoch die; when he looked back after that first sudden flight of javelins and arrows, all he saw was his pony standing next to his arrow-riddled body.  Enoch had been with the pack animals in the middle of the line; he had not had a chance.  Athan thought he had also seen Kaj and Pelops down; Rasmus and young Sergeant Tenucer had been bringing up the rear.  Perhaps they had been outside the initial killing zone.  Well, there was no help for any of it.  He would have to keep moving.