Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (25 page)

“Ehan, watch out!” shouted Will.

The Sashan rolled in this saddle off to the side so that his body hovered parallel to the ground, evading the bird’s attack just in time. Drawing an arrow back, Ehan loosed the shaft upwards at the bird hovering above his horse. The giant predator fell with a thud, white fletching protruding from its neck.

Another bird snapped at Soulfire’s flanks.

Hold tight, Master William,
Soulfire instructed calmly.

The charger bucked and planted an enormous hoof in the beak of the pursuing bird. Will turned to see the bird fall into the grass, beak shattered.

Two birds closed in on Art at once, tearing at his cloak with their long talons and sharp beaks. Raising a hatchet, Art slashed at the birds tugged at his clothing. Vale, rising from the tall grass, snatched one with his claws. The leopard dragged his flailing prey to the ground where they dropped out of sight. Their tussle ended quickly as Vale roared triumphantly.

Art connected with the second bird as it descended on him, burying the hatchet’s head deep in the long neck of the bird. Scarp swept the body aside with a toss of his head.

Watching Art and Scarp, Will did not see the bird that lifted him up and out of the saddle. Tossed hard to the ground, Will rolled aside to avoid the massive beak. The bird stomped on his chest, pinning Will to the ground with three sharp talons. Raising its head to deliver a final strike, the bird was suddenly jolted off of Will.

Ehan, riding out of the saddle again, thundered past on his buckskin, skewering the bird on his spear.

Their numbers lessened, the birds began to flee, sprinting away on their strong legs. Will was amazed at the speeds they reached; they were indeed extraordinarily quick.

Vale burst out of the grass to take one last bird around the neck as it ran past him. Dragging it to the ground, Vale delivered the deathblow, clamping down with his dagger-like fangs.

Then, they were alone in the flatlands. Will clambered back into the saddle.

Ehan smiled, “You are seeing what it means to be Flatlanda. And you both survived your first ranging. This is good. Now, help me bring back the dead ones. Tie their ankles together and drag them behind your mount.”

Art drew up next to Will and Ehan. “What are these things?”

“We call them moa birds. They are fierce predators. Together in their pack, they can hunt the mammoth, but our horses are much easier prey.”

“Not today,” Will observed dryly.

Ehan chuckled, “Not today.”

Oaths

“Bits and bridles, lads! Of course the mammoths have calves this season,” the Warlord exclaimed upon hearing their return. “How close were you?”

“Before or after they tried to stampede us?” replied Art drolly.

“And then the moas caught our scent,” Ehan added. “But we brought back supper.”

When Will, Art, and Ehan sat down for dinner with the Warlord and his wife and three daughters, the boys had just come in from washing themselves and their mounts in the stream that ran by the Sashan camp. The water had been icy cold, but it was refreshing. As a dish full of grainy bread was passing around the circle of eaters, they recounted their story of the afternoon again for Ehan’s sisters, who laughed at Art’s description of the moa birds.

Ehan’s mother served the moa meat cooked as steaks. The dish was delicious, tender and full of flavor.

One of the Warlord’s raiders wearing his red armband and cowl appeared at the hide door, saying, “Lorge has returned.”

The summoning was not unusual so Will continued eating, wondering out loud, “How much of this can I take? I shan’t want to keep it from anyone else.”

“Take as much as you want, Brightflame,” the Warlord said, stepping back into the longhouse. “Tonight is the last night you and Art will be spending with us. Tomorrow, you ride to the Academy. Lorge, who rode to warn Stormhand, brings news that Boewdard’s plan has been thwarted. The castle is in friendly hands once more. Unfortunately, Boewdard escaped in the fray as the Emperor’s forces took back the castle.”

“Good Warlord, what use have the Emperor’s forces for us?” Art burst out.

“I cannot say why you have been called away, only that you must sleep well this night before you ride out tomorrow.” Not one to beat around the bush, the Warlord continued brusquely, “Ehan pack your things. You will go as well. Escort them to the castle and return to us.”

“You would send your only son into Imperial lands alone?” Ehan’s mother wailed.

“He will not be alone,” the Warlord growled. The youngest girl began to sob. “He will return to us,” the Warlord glowered. He seemed unhappy with the circumstances, but resigned to his prior declaration. “Our Chief has spoken. You will go, boy?”

“As you command, father,” the young Rider said obediently.

Will had not made move to respond to the Warlord’s order but, on the inside, was delighted that Ehan would travel with them. The Sashan was a phenomenal rider and a better friend, true of heart and fiercely loyal. The journey would seem a lot easier with him riding at their side.

Disobeying the Warlord’s command for sleep, Art and Will stayed up late that night reflecting on all of the experiences they had with the Flatland Riders. When finally they drifted off to sleep, the two dozed soundly with the Sashan family, warm under thick fur blankets.

They woke next morning to the caws of black crows. A pale Winter sun was rising as Will readied Soulfire, and Art clambered onto Scarp’s saddle that rested on his sloping shoulder blades. A short time later, Ehan arrived, leading his favorite warhorse, and the company departed. There was no teary farewell, and few enough Sashans woke even to see Ehan off. It was not for a lack of caring. Their perceived indifference was merely a reflection of a Sashan’s nature to recognize the impermanence of any arrangement; Ehan would be back.

Soulfire plodded through the light snow, his large hooves breaking the icy crust with every step. Though they walked along leisurely, the three came upon the mountain pass earlier than expected.

“Typical of the weather this time of year,” Ehan said, as the sky had grown grayer and colder the longer they traveled on. “Winter’s grasp will soon be broken, and Spring will warm the Plains.”

As if to deny the truth in Ehan’s words, snow carried on icy winds soon battered their faces, stinging their cheeks and eyes. Entering the pass, dangerous icicles occasionally fell from rocky bluffs high above.

When they finally made camp for the night, the fire was hard to start, as the kindling was damp from the snows. And yet, despite all that nature seemed to set against them, the trip had been enjoyable. The cold did not much bother them; Will and Art had been given the red cowls of the Flatlanda cavalry to cover and protect their faces from the freezing wind. The horses and Scarp were well rested and their strong legs seemed indefatigable along the ride.

Soon, they were on the last leg of their journey to Bladebeard Academy, their spirits running high. Though night had fallen, Will would have been able to see the castle from where they were camped in the foothills of the mountains if the overcast sky had not blocked out the moon. Their small fire flickered feebly just off the path. Around it, sat the three friends.

Passing a roasting tuber to the Sashan youth, Art grinned broadly. “So, Ehan, do you have a special woman back home? Of course, the women in your tribe would be your sisters and cousins, so fooling around with them would be rather… unsatisfying, wouldn’t you say?” Art joked. Frowning, Ehan pushed Art off the fallen tree upon which they sat.

Ehan replied, smiling despite his attempt to keep a straight face, “If what they say about Imperial women is true, they are like fat ponies, pampered and you cannot ride one for more than a few minutes before they’re exhausted. I’m sure the only women you’ve have had looked like plump, little men. Tell
me; were they with or without beards? Is that how you gauge the difference, or does that not matter?”

“Are you slighting my masculinity?”

“You have never felt the touch of a proper woman, that is for certain,” Ehan laughed. Art blushed. Will chuckled and shook his head at the two.

A brisk wind whipped through the camp.
Rummaging through his saddlebags for something to keep his hands warm, Will found the Void Gauntlets. He had almost forgotten about them in his time with the Flatlanda. Pulling them on, Will felt the surge of power flood through him again.

Settling back down into his seat, Will heard a snuffle behind them. “You hear that?”

Art and Ehan shook their heads. Will stood and grabbed his bow. “I would have some meat tonight. Vale, to me,” Will smiled, scanning the forest for the meal.

Sniffing the air, Vale crouched low to the ground, his tail twitching from left to right. The two slowly stalked into the forest, leaving the others bickering by the fire. Well out of sight of their campsite, Will nocked an arrow, and waited for his prey to make another noise.

With a loud crash, a beast leapt from the shadow of the trees. Will’s arrow missed by inches and the feral beast was on him. A Hunter’s dog pinned his shoulders to the ground. The canine’s enormous weight knocked the breath out of him, leaving Will gasping for breath as he tried to free himself.

Will felt the pressure on his body increase as Vale drew his curved claws across the gigantic dog’s back. The dog flailed, slashing Will across the chest with its claws and attempting to sink its foul teeth into Vale’s neck. Great globs of dark saliva flung in all directions from the beast’s muzzle.

Scrambling to his feet, Will pulled a hunting knife from his boot. Vale and the dog continued to thrash in an attempt to bite the other’s neck, but their strength and quickness were equally matched as neither could gain the upper hand on the other. Seeing an opportunity to strike, Will dove forward and thrust his knife into the beast’s neck. The labored howl of the dog echoed loudly in the night.

Blood gushed profusely out of its wound as the hound lunged at Will. Just as the dog was about to collide with Will once more, Vale caught it in his claws and clamped his fangs into the dog’s neck. There, Vale held the dog as its final whines escaped its collapsing windpipe.

Will released a sigh of relief as the beast died. He turned away as Vale broke the beast’s neck.
Are you injured?
Will asked Vale, noticing that his front paw was bleeding.

Not really, but the taste is disgusting,
Vale replied. Will stroked his frevmat’s bloodied muzzle. Without the leopard at his side, Will knew that he would not have walked away from the encounter.

We must get back to the fire,
Will said urgently.
If the Hunters are in the wood, our friends will be in trouble!

Will emerged from the woods to find the camp deserted. Art and Ehan’s weapons still lay scattered around the dying fire, but something felt wrong about the absence of the boys. Ehan’s horse tugged violently against the rope tethering him to a tree, the noble warhorse’s eyes rolling back in terror. Soulfire stamped the ground nervously, and Scarp…

“Scarp!” Will shouted out, rushing to the giant aurochs. Scarp had been ensnared in a weighted net that held him to the ground. Attempting to lift the net, Will knew that his efforts would be in vain, for the trap was heavy and so thickly entangled in the limbs and mighty curved horns of the bull.

Vale stepped forward and nuzzled Will’s arm.
Look at these tracks in the snow. These boot prints are heavier than those of either Ehan or Arthur. And see the claw marks. A pack of those dogs and their masters were here. They have taken the boys,
Vale said. 

The Hunters!
Will looked at the tracks and panicked.
In which direction, Vale?
But as Will said this, he noticed a splattering of blood at the edge of the camp where the snow had been packed hard as if something had been dragged over it. Fire grew in his eyes as Will drew his sword, sprinting into the wood.

Darting between trees, Will crashed angrily through the thin undergrowth. He fell, ripping a hole his pants, but continued onward, hardly phased. Vale streaked past him nimbly and disappeared. Will heard shouts and the howls of wild dogs before him. Hurdling the last snow-covered shrub, he landed in a small clearing. The Five Hunters and their hounds were facing off against Vale.

Will rushed forward, slashing two dogs’ throats as they lunged at him. They fell in black pools of blood that stained the white forest floor.

Vale leapt upon another of the hounds, securing his victim with razor-sharp claws. Vale, with fangs sharp, punctured the throat of the dog only to jump aside in order to dodge a Hunter’s blade. The last dog took off, retreating from the fight with its tail between its legs. Then, only the formidable Hunters remained. Their eyes were infernos, brightened by loss of their dogs.

“Brightflame, you cannot possibly think to defeat us.”

“You have captured my friends; I must try,” Will snarled.

“Only one with a true Furialist’s powers could dream of destroying us. A mongrel like you is no match for a full-blooded Furialist,” the leader said, stepping forward and drawing a cruel blade that glinted red in the snowy night. Will looked at the weapon, dismayed; it closely resembled his, and if the blades shared similar magic, Will knew the destructive capabilities of the sword gleaming darkly in front of him.

Art and Ehan sat motionless behind the Hunters. Will readied his sword, preparing for a fight to the death. Vale crouched low by his side and snarled.

With a sudden wish for blood to paint his blade, Will let his power engulf him. A sensation emanating from his hands alerted Will to the fact that the Void Gauntlets had been activated. The rubies embedded in the back of the gloves shone brightly, pulsing with energy. Will could feel the magic coursing through his body more acutely and there seemed to be more of it.

The Hunters almost gasped in surprise as they saw his eyes, which glowed a furious red in the faint moonlight. One of the Hunters threw a jet of flame at Will, who deflected it with his white blade. The fire was dispelled, and Will grinned.

To the end,
Will thought grimly.

To the end,
Vale growled.

Shouting in a language Will did not understand, one Hunter lunged forward, his fell blade shining blood red.

“Raisíth!” Will shouted, raising his hand. The Hunter’s sword was wrenched from his hand and magically thrust into his own stomach. The Hunter spat up blood and his red eyes dulled. The Furialist crashed to his knees on the forest floor. His face became placid long enough for Will to recognize again that it was eerily familiar. Before the man collapsed, he whispered hoarsely, “Forgive me, Terin.” The last word was nearly inaudible as it flew on his dying breath. The dead Furialist fell to the forest floor, face down in the snow.

No one moved.

A searing pain shot through Will’s hand. He dropped his sword and tore of the Gauntlet. His hand was burned as itching, stinging, flaming-hot lines were etched into the back of his hand. Red lines now spiraled around his hand in an intricate pattern. Horrified, Will stared at the tattoo forming on his hand.

The other Hunters looked at their dead companion and turned to Will with new respect and fresh anger. “Do you even know who you have slain?” the leader hissed violently. His face twisted cruelly. “You will suffer for this!”

He charged Will, who barely evaded the blade whipping for his head. Still clutching his newly tattooed hand, which twanged painfully, Will stumbled away from the enraged Hunter. The others laughed their blood-chilling laughs. In a streak of white, Vale pounced on the Hunter, slashing his face with a massive paw. With an angry yell, the Hunter retreated a pace, clutching his face.

Through bloodied eyes, he glared at Will. Four long abrasions ran from his right ear to his chin. “You, Brightflame, you will be killed slowly. And when I am finally finished playing with you, I will tear out your still-beating heart and feed it to the dogs and quench the thirst of pigs with your blood. You have made a mortal enemy today,” the Hunter spat.