Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (24 page)

“I thought they were monsters,” Ehan frowned defensively. “The elders speak of Imperials as if they are a plague. They are not that different from us. More docile maybe. They certainly are less hardy than we, but their hearts can be good. Look at the Brightflame.”

Full of a father’s fury, Warlord stood glowering at his son. “Ehan, the Imperials are not to be trusted. They have killed a countless number of our people when we linger too close to their precious farmlands. Allies have turned enemy more times than one can remember.”

Ehan nearly shouted, upset at the patronizing tone in his father’s leveled voice. “Look at the Stormhand boy and tell me he’s not true, his intentions good, his heart loyal.”

“Loyal to what Ehan!” the Warlord shouted, all patience lost. “I see loyalty in his heart and a fierce heart it is too. But that is not the Imperial in him. That is not his mother’s heart. His heart is his father’s, and Matthew Stormhand was as wild as they come. Wild like us. You can always predict motives the untamed man; he does what he can to survive. It’s the cultivated man, who knows not suffering, that is dangerous and unpredictable.”

Ehan fumed, but remained silent. The Chief looked to Will and smiled. “You see our dilemma, Furialist?”

“I do,” Will responded. “I, too, have seen what the Warlord speaks of. I have seen friends turn on one another, boys and girls slain for no reason, betrayal, hatred, anger. But I have seen too cadets band together in the face of adversity. I have seen strength, love, and brotherhood. A young man, my friend and brother at arms, faced an undefeatable enemy to enable my escape. I watched him die for me. Arthur, who remains my truest friend, nearly died himself defending the recruits of the Academy. I rescued him from the Foyer, but before I did, Arthur had slain a dozen men before succumbing to his wounds, and even then, his frevmat fought on.

“All men, all people are subject to jealousy and hate, but to discount a man based not on his individual worth but by a perception of his people is a base act not worthy of a man, tamed or not.”

No one spoke. Finally, the Warlord raised voice, “Well said, Brightflame. Your father’s sense of honor is not lost on you. Let the Imperial… Arthur, stay.”

Will rather thought his speech sounded more like his mother, who was tolerant to a fault and spoke kindly of most all people, than it did his father, who had been known to vehemently speak ill of men who had done him wrong, but Will did not mention that now. The Chief nodded silently and took a seat to wait out the storm.

And so Art and Scarp were not cast out of the Sashan shelters, though many raiders complained. The Warlord responded with a threat, “Arthur is a guest of our tribe, harm mane or tail of his and it’s your life.” The raiders backed down in the face of the massive Sashan’s ire. Muttering filled the campsite for a day or so after, but no one dared question the outsider’s presence again.

Over the course of the next two months, Will and Art stayed with Ehan and the Warlord in their longhouse that sheltered their large family and several horses.

Will observed Ehan. The more Will saw, the more Will could tell that the Sashan boy was disciplined and strong, that Ehan would allow no mistakes when caring for his horses, for each Flatland Rider had at least two horses of his own, and that Ehan had a finely honed riding style well-suited to combat and hunting on horseback. Ehan rarely spoke aloud, allowing his stature, facial expression, and measured laugh to do much of the communication for him.

In this time, Will also gradually came to understand more of Sashan society. Split into hundreds of bands, tribes of a dozen families or so that rode together, the Flatlanda hunted the vast herds of mammoth that provided them with sustenance throughout the year.

When Will expressed interest in seeing a mammoth hunt, the Warlord was not keen on the idea. “Brightflame, your horse is too big. As fine a beast as Soulfire is, he cannot keep pace with our coursers. Besides on the Flatlands, Art’s cow will only draw predators. It is too dangerous.”

Art patted Scarp on his shaggy shoulder, “An aurochs is more than a match for any beast out there, except for maybe the mammoths themselves. Scarp will be fine.”

In the end, the Warlord reluctantly agreed to send Will, Art, and Ehan on a scouting mission to track the herd’s location. “It’s not the same as a hunt, but you will get a sense of the animal this way,” said the Warlord. “Watch how she moves; try to think as she thinks. This knowledge is crucial to the hunt. How will she react? Will she stand her ground or will the herd stampede the horses?”

With this advice in mind, the boys spent the rest of the afternoon gathering supplies for their mission.

When they woke the next morning, the Master of Supply, wearing his yellow armband, surprised Art by gifting him a special saddle to fit Scarp’s broad back. Displaying the typical Sashan’s stoic behavior, the Master of Supply merely said, “I am curious to see this one properly ride the bull.” His eyes, however, betrayed his almost childlike glee at the prospect of Art riding the aurochs atop his saddle.

To Art’s great delight, Scarp’s new saddle fit perfectly, and as the boys hoisted themselves onto their steeds, the Master of Supply cracked a smile.

Stepping outside the longhouse, the air was crisp, yet the skies were cleared of clouds, promising a day without snow. Will’s excitement mounted.

Mammoths, Vale!

The frevmat snorted,
Take care not to get too close. I do not want to see you trying to ride one of these behemoths.

Don’t give me any ideas
, Will laughed.

As they rode out into the frosted
prairie and away from the Sashan camp, Ehan spoke more freely. He explained to the others that every Spring, after Winter releases its hold on the Sasha Plains, the bands come together to trade and feast.

The great feast is a time of revelry for the Flatlanda because one greets family and friends from different bands that are separated throughout the rest of the year. For younger Riders, the coming together was a chance to woo and be wooed.

A Sashan man seeking a bride would ride his horse through the gathering where the feast was held, performing acts of horsemanship to display his riding prowess and skill at keeping the animal. A Sashan woman then could choose the man she thought best suited to her needs and ride out to meet him. The Flatland Rider could then choose his bride from those who rode beside him, though not one who did not choose him. Sometimes, a Rider would not choose any bride, participating merely to show off his abilities. A woman could only choose one Rider for the year, so Ehan assured Will that it was a difficult thing to be passed over.

After the choices had been made, another weeklong feast ensued to celebrate the new couples. Weddings, held by the hundreds, take place at the end of that week’s feast. After the wedding, the bride takes two days to say farewell to her family, for she is now a member of her husband’s band, which consists of his father, uncles, brothers, male cousins, and their families. Then, the bands depart from their meeting ground, riding in all directions to occupy the Flatlands once again.

Will wondered how that could be, as the bands would soon swell to incredible sizes if all males stayed with their families, but Ehan quickly explained. When a tribe grows too large to provide for itself, growing beyond a hundred and twenty riders and thrice as many horses, the band splits. An uncle or elder will lead a part of the clan away only to meet up again with the rest of their family at the Spring feast.

Will loved the history of Ehan’s people and the stories the young Rider had to tell. Ehan, who was eagerly anticipating his first ride at the feast, demonstrated an archery technique where his horse thundered ahead as Ehan hung from the saddle with his shoulders nearly brushing the tall grasses.

“It looks pretty,” Art commented when Ehan returned, “but you didn’t shoot. Are you accurate riding like that?”

“The Flatlanda do not play at war. When I loose an arrow, I aim to kill.”

“Will you take a bride this Spring?” Will asked

At this, Ehan blushed, a rare show of emotion from the Sashan boy, but he did not respond. Will laughed, but did not blame him. The prospect of taking a wife and raising a family seemed daunting. Will had not forgotten Vivyan’s betrayal, the thought of which still set his stomach to stone.

Coming to the crest of a bluff, the party drew to a halt. Sprawled before them was a scene like none Will could have imagined. Hundreds of mammoth lumbered a mere stone’s throw away, grazing the grasses with their thick, fuzzy trunks. At a dozen feet long, their curving tusks, cumbersome though they appeared, did not impede the movement of these giants. Indeed to Will, the mammoths moved gracefully despite trudging with footfalls that shook the earth.

“They’re magnificent,” Art remarked. “Have you ever seen anything like this,
farm boy?”

Will opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a deafening trumpet. A mammoth, much larger in size than the rest, lifted its mighty trunk again to bellow another warning; the animal had spotted them.

“Fear not. That is just the male alerting the herd to our presence. They will move away from us now,” Ehan reassured Will and Art, who looked thoroughly shaken. “We are not hunting them, so there is no reason to get closer. Let them retreat and we will return to the camp.”

But the mammoths did not retreat. Instead, the largest of the giants moved forward, towards the boys on the bluff. Their advance was slow, but the threat grew with each step.

“Bits and bridles,” Ehan swore. “They’ve got calves.”

Sure enough, between the mighty legs of the mammoths scampered their tuskless babies.

“If we hold our ground, maybe they won’t charge,” Will suggested feebly.

Ehan shook his head. “It’s no use, they’ve seen Vale. A bull mammoth won’t stop until he has eliminated the threat to his herd.”

“What do we do?” Art asked. The mammoths were quite close now, close enough for Will to smell the musky odor and hear their gnashing of teeth.

“Ride!” shouted Ehan wheeling his buckskin horse about and galloping full tilt across the
prairie.

Run, Soulfire! Ayah!
Will urged, digging his heels into Soulfire’s ribs.

At their retreat, the mammoths grew bolder. Trumpeting the attack, the bull mammoth charged forward. Its great tusks swept the grass as it attempted to run down Art riding atop Scarp.

The mammoth was closing in on Art and Scarp when Vale suddenly burst from the tall grasses. Leaping at the giant, Vale sunk his claws into the thick fur hide of the mammoth. With a deep bellow, the mammoth reared. Its truck flailed at Vale, who released his grip and disappeared back into the cover of the grass.

Seeing that Will and Art were falling behind, Ehan made a wide sweep back towards the danger. His buckskin obeyed fearlessly and did not object to Ehan’s short bow singing in its ears. Yet, in its rage, the mammoth seemed unaffected by the Flatland Rider’s arrows pelting it.

By then, they had put a sizable distance between themselves and the rest of the herd. The stampeding mammoths halted one by one, until only the large bull remained in pursuit.

With arrows peppered across its face, the mammoth caught up again to Art. Raising its trunk and issuing a ferocious trumpet, the mammoth thrashed its head to gore the aurochs fleeing before it. Art cried out for help. There was nothing Will or Ehan could do but watch, horrified.

Just as Scarp’s legs were nearly swept from beneath him, a host of avian screeches rose all around them. The mammoth drew up short, its ragged breathing rumbling deep. Blood gently dribbled from many arrow wounds as the beast stood stock-still, listening. Another bout of chilling screams sounded, and the mammoth turned to trot hastily back to its herd.

Art breathed a sigh of relief and slumped exhaustedly over in the saddle. Scarp’s breaths came in sharp snorts. Heart still pounding fast, Will turned Soulfire and walked to his friend laughing.

“I thought you were going to get flattened for sure,” Will said, pulling up alongside the aurochs and his rider.

“Nearly impaled me, the bastard,” Art chuckled himself. “What made him stop, Ehan?”

The Flatland Rider did not respond, staring intently at the long grass as if searching for something.

“What is it?” Will asked.

Ehan’s buckskin grew agitated as the grass rippled near it. Ehan tried to steady the horse. “Will, is that Vale?”

“Vale is over here.”

Suddenly, a great bird leapt high into the air emerging from the cover of the grass. Its screech was answered by a dozen more.

“Moa!” Ehan shouted, kicking his horse into a gallop away from the enormous bird.

Will and Art followed suit as ripples in the grass moved towards them from all directions.

Such was their size that, instead of flying, the enormous birds ran upright on long bald legs. Their snapping beaks were
serrated and powerful. With plumage that camouflaged so perfectly with the grasses, it was no wonder that the birds had snuck up on them. These were efficient predators, the scourge of the parries.

One of the birds pounced at Ehan, using its stunted wings to guide its short flight. Will saw for the first time the razor sharp talons that rivaled the size of Vale’s deadly claws.