by D. B. Penner
“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?”
“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 d
o 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.
“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?”