Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  Tamik felt rebuffed by the exchange. Though occasionally he had difficulty interpreting some of the rexriders’ less frequently used hand and body signals—they differed slightly from those the guardians’ used—it was clear from the brief “conversation” between Tyna and his father that she still saw him as “Melok’s little boy,” even though he had worn the sash of a Secondary Rexrider for more than three sars!

  Tamik pretended to ignore her comments, but it troubled him that they had any effect on him at all.

  The green shrubbery and trees that trimmed the Red River came into view. Beyond that line of vegetation laid the territory of the wild prairie rexes, mortal enemies of the Stonehaven Pride and all other domestic rexes.

  “I hope the ‘favorable’ part of the skywatchers’ predictions will hold true, and soon,” Tamik said to his father. The syllables sounded raw in his throat. He pulled out a water flask and took a long swallow, offering his father the flask next.

  Melok declined. “You’ll be all right,” he said after a brief pause, slapping his son’s leg firmly. “This just takes some getting used to. All us rexriders”—Melok waved inclusively toward his comrades in saddle—“had to get used to it. You haven’t been out for awhile. Soon, you’ll get back your nose for the wilderness.”

  Melok gave Tamik the reins and leaned back in the hood to rest. The young man wished his apprehension was not so apparent to his father.

  “Father,” Tamik finally said.

  Melok opened his eyes and looked at his son.

  “The Seer came to me in Gar’s stall while I was preparing for the hunt.” He went on to describe his exchange with the man.

  Melok contemplated his son’s words without prejudice. Eventually he responded. “We always face unknown dangers when we leave the gates of the protectorate, son. The smugglers know this as well as we do. Usually, we come home safely. Sometimes a whole pride fails to return, but that’s a pretty rare occurrence. You can’t spend your life worrying about what might happen. You just have to live as Mystery prescribes and try to survive the best you can. We really have little choice but to do what we do. You may as well try to enjoy it. In the meantime, just in case the old man really does know something we don’t, I’ll mention to the others that we should try to stay further south this hunt.” His father then closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

  Tamik did not feel much better, but he was glad his father had not laughed at him for even considering the words of the Seer.

  As the pride ventured further eastward into the rolling plains, their travel formation loosened up. At first, Tamik appreciated the ability to ride just outside of the dust cloud. But he would rather have ridden in the dust than be on Gar’s back when he advanced brazenly, challenging for the party’s lead position.

  Gar moved ahead until he was snout to snout with the Prime Bull. The leader gave off a snarl that echoed deep within his nasal cavities, but Gar ignored the warning. Tamik yanked hard on his reins in an attempt to steady the beast. The temple buttons on the hackamore were ineffectual, though they likely inflicted substantial discomfort. The Secondary Rexrider was finally forced to use more strident measures, and he cracked his bullwhip near Gar’s ear.

  “Back off, Gar!” he hollered. Gar, unfazed, continued to edge toward Rayak. The younger rex was at the typical age of expulsion, but Rayak had yet to expel Gar as he had done with all his previous male offspring by the time they were Gar’s age. This was unusual because, if Gar successfully challenged his sire’s Primacy, the loser would have to leave the pride—there could be only one Prime Bull. Rayak’s reluctance to expel his spawn seemed to encourage the young bull’s recalcitrant behavior. The other rexes in the pride had already moved away from the two bulls.

  Melok had awakened from his nap and now watched his son with interest. He took little time to assess the situation, and then pointed at the choke-collar, a wishbone-shaped brace of leather-bound wood attached to the beast’s headgear. When applied, it slowed blood flow to Gar-rex’s brain.

  “It is during times like this when we have to administer the choke restraint,” Melok said. “But do it carefully. Too much and he could black out and fall. That wouldn’t be good for any of us.”

  Tamik took his father’s advice and immediately reached for the handle. As he pushed down firmly on the brace, Gar stumbled slightly, a sign of dizziness, and then he dropped back away from the Prime Bull. Tamik ordered him to belly down, but he was only able to gain control of the beast after several debilitating chokes. As the rest of the pride regrouped, Tamik edged Gar back to his appropriate position in the formation.

  “Good work, Tamik,” Melok said. “See how fast it comes back to you.”

  Tamik nodded. There were a lot of places he would rather be than in the wilderness on the back of his father’s mount, but he did feel a sense of satisfaction after bending the massive predator to his will.

  * * *

  When the sun neared the western horizon, the rexriders began to contemplate where to camp, but Rayak-rex had other ideas. It soon became evident that the Prime Bull had spotted the dust plume of a flock of lightfoots and was leading the pride toward them, careful to keep upwind. One of the fleet-footed omnivores, which looked like a cross between a small nobhead and a large landbird, would make a tasty snack.

  Unaware of the approaching predators, the lightfoots scratched through the brush for snakes, lizards and beetles, or chewed on the seeds and greenery hidden beneath the shaded lower branches of the chaparral.

  Gar’s complete attention now focused on the hunt, and he remained obediently in his place. To the relief of his riders, hunger seemed to have overcome his ambition for the lead.

  Rayak stopped suddenly, causing the pride to halt. The rexes kept their heads low, crouching behind tall bushes out of sight. Then, following Rayak, they crept toward the foragers, staying on hard soil to avoid stirring up dust. Every rex knew its role, even the fledglings, who silently held back.

  Rayak splayed his quill feathers briefly and rumbled inaudibly, communicating to his pride. He took a few more strides, and then puffed air audibly. Tamik disregarded the churning in his stomach caused by the inaudible vibrations. The rexes stopped again and bellied down quietly. The bulls flicked their crown feathers in response to their Prime Bull, and the she-rexes flicked their tails, signs to the rexriders that they should release unnecessary equipment.

  Tamik untied the tethers that held the lance to his side of the saddle and slipped the long weapon off its metal pinion, lowering it gently to the ground using one of its bindings. Such a weapon might give the domestic rexes an advantage when taking on large game or confronting wild rexes, but now it would impede maneuverability. The riders also lowered the cart wheels that formed the sides of the saddle hood, to reduce weight and give the rexes a lower center of gravity.

  Gar-rex tensed. Tamik’s stomach muscles clenched. He watched his father for cues.

  “Keep quiet, and hold on,” Melok whispered. The Senior Rexrider finally released the camping gear from the saddle and indicated for Tamik to do the same. The gear landed on the ground with the expected thud, but also a metallic clank that was a sure sign the gear had been packed improperly.

  The lightfoots looked upward, frozen in place. Then they began to move away from the origin of the alien noise.

  Disapproving glances flew in Tamik’s direction, including his father’s own reproachful stare. Even Rayak glanced back over his shoulder to fix his gaze on Gar. The rexriders had been little more than passengers on the expedition so far. Now they could play an important role in making a kill, but thanks to Tamik’s carelessness while packing, a chance for the rexes to feed might have been compromised.

  All Tamik could do was shrug apologetically.

  The other riders finished their preparations, with an even tighter focus than before. Melok tied off Gar’s reins loosely. Tamik, directing his mind away from his error, checked his waist restraint and shoulder brace, and then pulled a spear out
of his side quiver.

  A sub-audible grunt from the Prime Bull induced the rexes to fan out in an attempt to surround the prey before it was too late. The more agile she-rexes moved ahead while the bulls moved into position flanking the prey. Then, when the pride was ready, Rayak-rex gave the inaudible signal for open pursuit. The she-rexes charged around the flock of lightfoots, startling them into a darting stampede, and the bull rexes were laying in wait. When the flock was close, the bulls displayed their crown feathers like cocklebirds on parade and sprang into action, thundering toward the prey. Their roars projected predatory Power, confusing the lightfoots, as if a dense fog of fear had dropped down upon them.

  Tamik held on to the saddle as his father’s beast closed in on a target that was zigzagging away. Tamik readied his spear. He felt a swirling surge of energy as Gar, a consummate predator, focused menacingly on his disoriented prey. Tamik flung the spear with a skill he had almost forgotten he possessed. It penetrated the delicate creature’s flank, and the prey collapsed, tumbling over several times.

  Gar was on it before it had a chance to try to right itself. He took the creature in his crushing jaws, and shook it viciously until the lightfoot’s head hung limply from its broken neck.

  Gar-rex dropped his prey and plucked Tamik’s spear out with his teeth, dropping it nearby. Then he held the dead lightfoot with his hind claw and prepared to eat. Tamik leaped down to retrieve his spear, constantly maintaining contact with a tether on the saddle. That’s when Rayak rushed in, roaring at Gar and asserting his right to feed as a more dominant bull. Gar crouched in a defensive position snarling up at the prime bull, but Melok applied the choker again, this time dissuading his mount from conflict with a minimum of resistance. Tamik snatched the spear and scrambled back into the saddle as Gar violently scratched the dirt and turned away.

  Tamik glared back at Almar. Though irritated, he understood the way of the rexes.

  Almar flicked his chin at the young man.

  Gar then saw the lightfoot that Sama-rex had killed and stormed toward his sibling. The she-rex backed away, abandoning her kill to the bull. Tyna smirked at Tamik. He felt some shame at his earlier gaffe, but fought hard not to show it. Whether or not he succeeded he could not say.

  Gar ate the head of the lightfoot first. Its body disappeared within several bites. Nothing remained of the animal except for the blood that moistened the dirt under Gar’s claw. By now, most of the other rexes in the pride had either killed or stolen a meal, and by the time Gar finished eating, the flock of lightfoots was nowhere to be seen. There would be no extra meat to take home. Sama-rex was among those who would remain hungry.

  Almar directed Rayak-rex back to where the gear and lances lay. The other riders followed to re-arm their mounts, and soon the rexriders were back underway with full rigging.

  Rayak’s hunt had brought a small measure of relief to Melok. His worries about Gar’s impending Primacy challenge could be put off temporarily. In a strong pride, Primacy was the ultimate accomplishment of a potent bull rex, and his best chance for breeding success. Good hunts reinforced the Prime Bull’s position. Even Gar-rex seemed to recognize Rayak’s dominance again, but this small a catch would not keep the pride—or Gar—content for long. More and larger game had to be found.

  When the fine line between sport and battle blurs,

  It is necessary to be especially cautious.

  --Sortan

  7. Swordplay

  Western Wilderness at dusk, 9/01/1643 –

  The Stonehaven Pride made their way toward a tributary that joined the Red River near where the lightfoots had first been discovered. A site there, suitable for camping, was on gently sloped terrain and had trees for shade. Not only was it close to clean spring water, it also boasted a dependable supply of dry dung for perimeter fires. The rexriders arrived there just as dusk approached and promptly began stripping their mounts of gear, alowing them to settle in for the night.

  Beko and Nanta, the sibling juvenile rexes, chased each other around a poison red bush, stirring up dried leaves. Gar-rex sat near Nef-rex in the shade of a twisted pawillow tree, grooming the older bull with his tiny front claws, periodically nipping at loose skin and parasites and licking dried blood, behavior that could help Gar cement a good long-term relationship with the higher ranking animal. With friction growing between Gar and the Prime Bull, the younger rex needed to take every opportunity to strengthen ties with other members of the pride.

  Nef’s rider, Pako, a good friend of Melok’s, was a lifelong bachelor like his mount and somewhat unrefined. His beard ran wild, and the dimension of his waist was the result of his penchant for fermented beverages and salty foods. He groaned gutturally each time he bent over to clear a stone from the spot where he planned to erect his hutch.

  Tamik was setting up his father's hutch near by and trying to contain laughter that developed into a brief coughing fit.

  “Hey, Pako!” Tamik called, “When I’m finished with my chores, how ‘bout some sword practice?” The younger rexrider punctuated his request by rattling his sword in its scabbard.

  “Aren’t you getting a little old to be pretending you’re a guardian? I mean, how much do you really have to practice to fend off a raptor or hack at the snout of a wild bull?” Pako asked, goading Tamik before blowing his nose into a soft skin-rag that he then stuffed back into his waist-tie. Like all rexriders, Pako had been trained to use a sword in self-defense, but it had been some time since he had been required to unsheath his.

  Tamik furrowed his brow, a sly glint flashing across his eyes. “Think of it as sport, Pako,” Tamik countered. “We can even put a wager on it,” he added, knowing the idea might entice the man. “Anyway, wild animals aren’t the only dangerous creatures we come across out here.”

  Pako laughed heartily, “And since when has a posse of bandits ever attacked a bunch of rexriders and their mounts? As if we have anything they want. Here.” Pako tossed Tamik a bundle of tent stakes wrapped in twine. “Why don’t you do something useful and give me a hand setting up my hutch?”

  The older rexrider fumbled with the lashes that attached a rolled shelter-skin to the base of his saddle hood. The saddle assembly made up one end of the hutch and the skin extended to make a large vestibule when pulled over the two lances that were now attached to the saddle in a horizontal position.

  “What do you think of that skywatcher’s prediction of a ‘favorable but arduous hunt’?” Tamik asked bitingly, if not disdainfully, still unable to leave the topic alone. He lifted the points of Pako’s lances so they could be slipped through the reinforced holes on either side of the covering. “You think we already had the ‘favorable’ part? Or is it so far just ‘arduous’?” He held the shelter skin in place while Pako crossed spears to form supports for the tip of each lance.

  “You’ve really got it in for those skywatchers, don’t you?” Pako asked as he tied the gut strings around the skin flap. When he completed the task he regarded Tamik with his one brown eye, partially hidden under a bushy eyebrow.

  “I just don’t trust ’em, that’s all,” Tamik replied, throwing his riding cloak over the tip of one lance. He drew his sword, inspected it, and quickly sheathed it in a habitual manner.

  Pako made a sound that was either a choked laugh or a suppressed cough, and before long both rexriders were putting their thick, protective riding leathers back on. They moved into the grassy meadow just past the camping area and began a series of warm-up exercises, exchanging lunges and parries. The ringing sound of blade-on-blade action competed with the thrashing and grunts of the wrestling juvenile rexes on the opposite side of the encampment.

  His face shining with the first signs of perspiration, Pako continued his inquiry between quickening breaths and practice thrusts. “Just why is it you don’t trust the Skywatchers?”

  “It’s personal. I couldn’t talk about it even if I wanted to—and sometimes I do want to, believe me.” Tamik backed away and saluted his adversary wit
h his sword, signaling an end to their warm-ups. Then he assumed the traditional fighting position: blade extended, right foot in front of left, a stance that Pako mirrored.

  “This doesn’t have to do with your sister, does it?” Pako asked, squinting toward the setting sun.

  Tamik nodded imperceptibly before lunging at the older man, who parried and counterattacked, jabbing toward his friend’s abdomen. Tamik caught the blade steel to steel and slid his own weapon in with another twist, moving it toward Pako’s chest. Pako barely avoided it before jumping back to recover.

  “Good move, boy, but now I’m coming in!” The formidable figure stepped toward Tamik and cut hard toward the young man’s helmeted head.

  “‘Boy’ this, old man!” Tamik said with a scowl, deflecting Pako’s blade with ease. “And don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’ve only got one good eye.” He pushed Pako back.

  As perspiration dripped over the sewn shut eye socket on the left side of Pako’s face, the older man managed to parry Tamik’s counterstrike, and prepared to attack again, but not before Tamik dropped to the ground and positioned his weapon to stab the tender spot under Pako’s left armpit. The two froze. The older man knew that he would have been run through in a real fight.

  “Your age has slowed you!” Tamik grinned from his kneeling position, blade still extended. “And you ask too many questions. They distract you!”

  “Pa’tah!” Pako spat. Tamik guessed the older rexrider might be at least somewhat embarrassed, as the sounds produced by their competition had drawn the attention of a number of rexriders, including Melok and Tyna. They all seemed game for sport after a long turn in the saddle.

  Pako sheathed his sword, and clutched his chest feigning distress, though the heaviness of his breathing was real enough and each inhalation through his tight face scarf seemed a real effort. As Pako handed over a cube of silver, there was applause from the other spectators.

  Tamik heard his father call out, “That’s one for the young bull!”