Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (23 page)

The riders slapped the flames with heavy blankets and stamped out the coals. Relieved to be spared a fiery demise, Will leapt down, landing lightly on his feet. Vale jumped after him, followed by Art, who slowly made his way down to reunite with his aurochs, Scarp. The four stood between the men and the cadets still perched in their lofty nests in the trees.

“Our gratitude, good riders. You have saved us,” Will said, approaching one of the horsemen.

“Do not so readily dole out gratitude, Imperial. You still have yet to know our business with you,” a rider said from atop his buckskin courser. He pulled his red cowl away from his face and Will saw that he was a boy not much older than he. As with each of his troop, a red cloth was tied around the rider’s arm, and, like the other riders, the mounted boy also wielded a long, barbed spear that he leveled at Will’s chest.

“Come, gather your people and follow to our camp,” the boy ordered.

Will made no move, eyeing the spears with suspicion.

Another horseman reigned his horse, stomping at Will, “Make haste; we must depart before they return.”

“It is just as you said,” Will frowned. “We know not your business with us. Why should we make to follow you?”

“At this point, you do not have the luxury of choice. If you want to survive, you follow us,” the boy rider said coolly.

Seeing no alternatives, Will called the cadets down from the trees, and they followed the mysterious riders down the mountain pass. Will rode Soulfire in the front of the line next to the youthful, commanding horseman. Will asked many questions, but the response never varied: “Wait for the council.”

The
Flatlanda

They rode through the night and well into the morning. When finally the rain ceased, Will dozed in the saddle, unable to stay alert after the sleepless night. Soon they left mountains behind, and rolling hills surrounded them. Beyond those hills, a seemingly endless flatland lay ahead, stretching past the horizon.

Waking,
the vast plain disheartened Will; he was tired and needed a bed and a hot meal to recuperate, not another hundred miles of riding. However, his fears were groundless. Around midday, the cadets, following their guides, came upon a small village milling with busy people. The settlers were dressed in simple clothes but held themselves high and proud. Each wore a colored cloth around his or her arm. They were Sashans, the Flatland Riders, and breeders of the finest horses in all of Gammalgard. Nomads, the Riders travelled about their realm in search of resources in a land that harbored few.

             
At the youthful rider’s signal, Will and the Bladebeard refugees dismounted. Will observed, “Your tribe rides close to the Academy.”

“Winter has arrived; our band lingers in the southern stretches of the realm to avoid the worst of its wrath. When our scouts found signs of the Hunters, we followed their trail as far as we dared. Rest now; the council will meet this afternoon to discuss your fate. Fear not your pursuers now; you will be safe from their fire here,” the young rider said. “But you and the others will hand over all weapons. My people will not trust any Imperial with a blade. And none may leave until the council is adjured. Danger has not passed you by, Imperial. Now that you know where we camp…”

Will understood. He thanked the youth for his tribe’s hospitality and commanded the cadets to set up camp on the outskirts of the village.

They rested a long time, much longer than Will had expected. He woke and the sun was dipping behind the horizon. Seeing that Will had risen, the same youth greeted him and bade Will to follow him. Will and Vale walked beside the lean boy as they picked their way around the hovels and free-roaming horses.

“The smell,” Will stated in disgust as the rider pushed aside a pelt to enter a structure much larger than the others scattered haphazardly around it.

“Horse dung,” the boy explained. “We have need of warmth but dearth of wood. The manure serves as fuel for our fires.”

The rider respectfully acknowledged the two elderly women preparing food by the dung fire and tussled the hair of a small girl sewing a patterned saddle blanket. He continued, “Our Warlord has granted you access to the council. Take that as a good sign, Imperial, but not all is settled. They must hear your account of the night.”

“Of course,” Will said.

Stopped before another hide flap, the Sashan boy placed a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Tread carefully with the Warlord; he is good and just but quick to anger. Explain your plight in full, but be concise; he will not think kindly of a long-winded account.” The boy ushered Will through the entryway and into a spacious room where a group of men sat upon blankets around a smoldering fire.

The youth entering behind Will and Vale addressed the room, “Council, I have brought the Imperial as you requested.”

None moved, and there was silence. Finally, choosing a dripping haunch from the wooden tray by the fire, one of the horselords laughed, “And so you have.”

Will’s guide chuckled nervously as the council guffawed. Then, silence fell again. “Speak,” muttered the youth beside Will.

And so, Will related how he had become aware of the conflict at Bladebeard Academy. Will started off slowly and uncomfortably but soon gained confidence before the crowd of frowning horselords. He did not mention the episode with Vivyan. The embarrassing betrayal, Will concluded, was irrelevant. Nor did he mention the Void Gauntlets; that should remain a secret until he knew if he could trust these nomads.

His tale told, Will stood quiet, watching as a hulking man rose to his feet. His muscles were knotted from decades of arduous work and little luxury. His face was tan, freckled, and beardless. Will bowed politely, matching the green gaze with his own blue one. “I know you.” Though booming, his accented voice was kind, “I know you by your face; it’s your father’s face, and a spitting image at that. Well met, Stormhand. What is your given name?”

“How do you know my father?” Will asked the giant of a man.

“Answer his question,” the young rider hissed urgently in Will’s ear.

The Warlord laughed a deep booming laugh, “I see my son has been taking care of you.” Will looked at the young Flatland Rider, surprised. “Aye, Ehan is my eldest boy and heir to my position as Head Rider and general of our warriors. But I will answer your question, little Stormhand. I have met your father three times. Our first meeting occurred many years ago when Mattias had been sent as a messenger to our tribes from the Furialist Embassy. He came pleading for Flatlanda to ride against the Shadow Liberator’s troops. The Furialists were overrun, and even their storied warriors could not hold against the Shadow’s numbers. We sent riders, but it wasn’t enough to prove victorious. They perished with the Furialist, slaughtered far from home.

“Our second meeting occurred after Mattias had become Matthew, General of the Imperial Armies. He marched his troops with hopes of eradicating the Liberated Army from his homeland. I’ll admit I was not worried when he did not return; Mattias, or rather Matthew, was too fearsome a swordsman to fall to the Liberated infantry.

“So, I was not surprised to see him a third time. Matthew is one of the few who is not contested when passing through our lands. I rode with him a time as he travelled across the Plains four summers past. He returned from the Furialist lands with a beast so beautiful he had to show it off. Mattias supped with me and we drank to the horse’s good fortune. Red hair like fire with that black mane like a starless night, his was a fine colt

“He is mine now. Soulfire,” Will said.

“A noble name for a noble animal,” the warlord smiled. “Sit, Stormhand, we have much to discuss. I know now what has happened at the school. Boewdard has betrayed the Emperor, revealing his true colors at last. I cannot say that we Flatlanda did not see that coming; an ambitious officer, Boewdard was. You then, Stormhand, led the recruits to safety, did you? The cadets listen to you, and as arrogant as Imperials are, that is something to be proud of. The colt does take after his sire.”

“You have my gratitude, Chief Warlord, for your hospitality and aid. I, William, Stormhand’s son, the Brightflame, am at your service. My frevmat, Vale, as well. You honor us,” Will said, stroking Vale behind his soft ears.

“I appreciate your gratitude, but I do not claim the title of Chief. I am the Head Rider and Warlord of our people, commanding the Riders, the warriors of our land. Here also are the Master of Supply, the Master Huntsman, and the Master Breeder, who’s charge it is to oversee the breeding and care of our horses,” the Warlord said, indicating men with yellow, green, and white cloths knotted around their biceps. “And here is our Chief, Ivan Hillbreaker. I will now let him speak, for he grows restless.”

“Young Furialist, I have listened to your testimony and come to a decision,” said the hoary horselord with a braided white beard and a tattered, black cloth tied about his arm. The Chief paused before saying, “We are the Flatlanda, Riders of the Flatlands. These Sashan Plains are our land and have been for time immemorial. We do not interfere with your affairs in the Empire, yet the Imperials insist upon encroaching on our lands. Once more, we are the Flatlanda. We are proud and we are strong. We will not suffer Imperial annexation of these lands that are our home. However, we recognize the peril that drove you into our realm. Let it not be said that the Flatlanda are incapable of mercy. You, young Furialist, may stay for now. Be at peace. Your cadets, however, must leave. We have not enough food or shelter to allow them to remain here as frost approaches. They will be leave within the week or face a hostile cavalry.”

“Of course, you have done much already. The others are eager for home; we will let them return,” Will bowed.

“Let them go where they will, as long as it is away from this place.”

The Warlord spoke again, “I do not recommend returning to the Academy. Weeks ago, we dispatched a messenger to your father reporting the Hunters’ movements. Our man ought to have reached your father well before Boewdard’s treachery. With luck, your father had time to gather troops and by now, is laying siege on the Academy in attempt to win it back from the jackal Boewdard. I have faith that your sire will prevail and slay the traitor; he is a determined man, your father. But it will not do to have untrained cadets stumbling about the battlefield; they must avoid the valley.”

The Sashan Chief rose to his feet. “As for you, young Furialist, during your stay, you will be asked to assist our people in their daily tasks, a fair price for our hospitality. I will inform you when you are able to leave.”

“I am to be held captive?” Will asked, taken aback.

“No, not as a prisoner. We will keep you safe until the Hunters have moved on. They are after you, not the progeny of Imperial lords. Go now, Furialist. Inform your cadets of their fate. Ehan will be your guide, assisting you during your stay with my band.” The Chief sat with an air of dismissive finality, and Will bowed out of the tent.

Will and the lean Warlord’s son, Ehan, walked across the village to the still-dozing students. “Ehan, who were those five hunters that tracked us through the woods?” Will questioned. “Their powers were unbelievable. Never have I seen anyone deflect an arrow with flames.”

Ehan furrowed his eyebrows, “I would rather not dwell on that subject, but considering who and, more importantly,
what
you are, I feel it cannot hurt to tell you. Those men, they are twisted, treacherous beings. They are Furialists, like you, the same five who joined with the Shadow Liberator and betrayed their people to him. They helped the Shadow infiltrate the Furialist lands and with his aid, tore apart every stronghold remaining to the Furialists. They are the Shadow’s personal Hunters. As his assassins, the Hunters will secure their mark. Fate favored you last night; it may not in the future,” Ehan stated plainly.

“You have my gratitude, Ehan, for rescuing us in the pass. I pray you excuse me, I must inform the others,” Will said, parting ways with his guide.

Mind racing, Will met with the lolling cadets on the fringe of the Sashan encampment. He told them what he had learned as it pertained to them, keeping the rest to himself. Upon hearing the Chief’s terms, many cadets eagerly voiced their wishes to leave as soon as possible. Having been raised on tales of barbaric Sashan people, most harbored no desire to linger in the presence of the nomads.

Carting supplies to their horses, Will catered to the departing cadets as best he could as they prepared to ride out. Two days after their arrival in the Sashan village, the refugees left for home in a long convoy.

The scant few remaining were, for the most part, willing to help the Flatlanda in their daily chores until their mounts had recovered enough to travel once again. The cadets shoveled manure and tended to small plots of land that served as temporary collard gardens. But, the Flatlanda firmly insisted that none handle the Sashan horses for fear the Imperial touch would spoil them.

After a week, Pat, the last remaining refugee excluding Will and Art, set out for home. Thanking Will for his part in the Battle at Bladebeard Academy, Pat said a hasty goodbye, attempting to fight back the tears welling in his eyes, before walking eastwards with a large pack on his back. Will worried that, with the cold winds rising and the Hunters still in the region, Pat would find trouble travelling alone. Ehan figured not, declaring that though Pat was too fat to ride properly, he had a survivor’s spirit and a hero’s determination. Will did not want to express his doubts, knowing Patrick’s horrendous skill with nearly every weapon, so he merely nodded.

Then, only Will and Art remained, helping the Sashans prepare for when harsh Winter Frost season would overtake them.

The first blizzard came on so quickly that the Sashans had barely time to bring their horses into the large hide structures assembled for them.

Will was caught outside and if not for Vale, would have been lost in the storm, for visibility had been reduced to a three-yard radius. Vale led Will into the nearest shelter. Insulated by shaggy hides, the interior was toasty warm, offering relief to the freezing Will.

The loud voices in the hall were quickly silenced. Will saw the scowl of the Warlord, Ehan’s grimace, and the Chief’s stoic glare and knew he had just walked in on a heated debate.

“My apologies,” Will muttered. “I was caught in the storm. It was not my aim to interrupt.”

The Chief stared at Will for a time, then spoke, “Perhaps, your word will change the course of our conversation. Warlord, explain your position.”

The Warlord looked almost sheepish as he glanced from Will to the Chief and finally to Ehan. Recovering his scowl, however, the Warlord began, “I will not harbor the Imperial under my roof. Why he did not leave with the others is a mystery to me, but he cannot remain.”

Ehan jumped to anger once again, “To throw him out now is to kill him. It would be more merciful to slit his throat in his sleep than to toss him to the Winter, though the frost might kill him just as quick”

“Mercy!” the Warlord cried out. “You speak of mercy, boy? You, who wished them all dead? You, who wished to not allow them to stay among us even for a night?”