Brightflame Accension (Book 1)

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Brightflame Accension (Book 1) Page 24

by D. B. Penner


  “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 mu
st 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.

  The low peal of a hunting horn sounded from the trail. The noise echoed in the sleeping forest, then was sounded again. Shouts and the baying of hounds carried in the air.

  Turning on a dime, the Hunters grabbed Art and Ehan, sprinting away from the clearing, leaving their fellow behind in the snow. Will and Vale dashed after them. Will stopped short and hurled his dagger at the Hunter carrying Ehan, who dropped the unconscious boy and stumbled after his comrades, ripping the blade from his shoulder.

  Will threw his second knife at the Hunter bearing Art but missed well short. Will was losing Art; the Hunters had captured him.

  No! Not yet.

  Wanting, needing to rescue his friend, Will dashed ahead, following in the wake of the rogue Furialists as they crashed through the undergrowth. Suddenly, Will felt a tug on his pant leg. Will tripped, landing in the snow and watched Art disappear into the woods. Struggling to get back to his feet, he wept as Vale held him down. Will screamed and struggled to free himself, but Vale would not let him go.

  You will only die. It hurts me to let Art go, but I cannot let you sacrifice yourself, Vale said with grief in his voice.

  Retrieving his sword, Will trudged through the trees, dragging Ehan’s unconscious body behind him. When he arrived at the camp, Will saw a group of men crouched over the netted and defenseless Scarp. A hunting hound, small in comparison to the Hunter’s, barked at Will.

  “Leave him! Or I will run you through,” Will shouted, laying Ehan down and gripping his sword in a shaking hand.

  “Steady now. We merely intended to free the creature,” a slim man said, approaching Will with his empty hands outstretched. “What happened here?”

  Will saw the horses, three of them, slight and sure-footed beasts all, good for scouting. He noted the colors on the surcoats of the men; they were Emperor’s men, bearing the colors of the Imperial army. Suddenly weak, Will lowered his blade and sank to his knees.

  Seeing that Will would not strike, one of the scouts took up his dagger again, sawing at the net that still ensnared Scarp. The ropes frayed and finally snapped.

  Scarp struggled to rise, shaking the net and the scout off him. He snorted wildly, steam rising from his large nostrils, and glared at Will with horrified eyes. Then, the aurochs thundered away into the forest, spraying snow each hoof tearing up the earth.

  Will stood and made to follow, but Vale swatted him to the ground again with a paw.

  Vale shouted at Will through the mental link, The Hunters will kill you. I cannot let you go!

  Feeling hot tears stream down his cheeks, Will stopped struggling against his frevmat. Scarp had disappeared. It was no use anyway; Will could not leave Ehan behind, but would not catch the Hunters if he brought the unconscious Sashan along.

  Sitting by Ehan, Will wept for Art.

  One of the scouts crouched beside him, asking again, “We are outriders from the Academy. General Stormhand saw the smoke on the trail and sent us to investigate. The Hunters have been spotted in the area, you know.”

  After a long while, Will got up and wiped his eyes. Turning to the scouts, he said with a voice devoid of emotion, “The Hunters you track have been through here. They fled at the sound of your horn.”

  “Hunters!” the three scouts gasped in unison. “And you survived them?”

  “Aye, though my friend has been taken.” Will’s head sunk, his eyes downcast.

  “A tragic loss. And yet, you live. One must ask, how?”

  “I slew most all their dogs. The first Hunter charged me in his rage. I killed that one. The others ran.”

  The slim scout stepped forward to grasp Will’s shoulder comfortingly. “Show me the body. Leave your friend here. Trevor, start up that fire again. Fear not, the boy will be safe with my men. They will keep him warm until he wakes.”

  Nodding, Will eased Ehan onto the ground next to their dying fire. The scout, Trevor, sprang to his feet to gather kindling and a few dry branches.

  Sniffing the air loudly, Vale padded along beside Will on silent paws when they ventured back to the clearing. Will saw the dead Hunter out of the corner of his eye. He called upon magic, hanging the man from a branch by the cloak. The dangling body was a gruesome testimony of Will’s power and a memorial to the tragedy that had taken place.

  With eyes red from tears and great hatred, Will retrieved the Hunter’s blue blade, which gleamed white at his touch. Inspecting the blade, Will suddenly plunged the sword violently into the hanging body, leaving it protruding from the dead Furialist’s chest.

  “Gods be good!” the slim scout exclaimed horrified. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

  “He cannot feel it anymore,” Will said darkly, though wishing that the Hunter could; the Furialist who had betrayed his race and captured his best friend deserved a slower death.

  Without another word, Will stomped back through the snow to the camp where a fire cac
kled happily as if nothing had happened. A few hours passed and, at length, Ehan stirred. His eyes cracked open, squinting. Suddenly, his head shot up. He looked around anxiously, groping for the curved knife in his belt.

  “Calm, Ehan, you are safe, but all is not well,” Will said, not looking up from his marked hand. Seeing that he was not a captive, Ehan relaxed, looking at Will and breathing heavily.

  “All is not well?” Ehan said slowly. “Where is Arthur? Will, when you left, I… I cannot remember.”

  Will placed his hand on Ehan’s shoulder. “Art has been taken,” he said, finding it nearly impossible to utter those few words.

  “Where? Who took him? Will, answer me.” Ehan sat up.

  Will pushed him back down. “You need rest, lie back. The Five captured you and Art while I was ambushed by one of their hounds. They must have used some dark sorcery, knocking you out. When I returned, you had vanished into the woods. I found you… and the Hunters. Vale and I slew one of the Five and four of their dogs before the cravens fled, carrying you and Art. I knifed the Hunter carrying you, and you were dropped, but I missed Art’s captor.” Will’s voice broke. “I missed him, Ehan. Missed!”

  Angry with himself, Will turned back to the fire. Though his voice betrayed his sadness, he could not cry now. He felt only a hate for the four Hunters that remained. The rest of him was emptiness. I will save Art. I will succeed. Vale, we will not fail him again, he vowed to his frevmat. He vowed to kill each and every one of the Hunters for Art and for his people. These are my oaths.

  The Noble Quest

  In the hours that passed, Ehan fell unconscious again, and Will eventually drifted off to sleep, leaving the Imperial scouts to watch for the Hunters’ return. The boys woke late the next morning. They were cold, but not from the snow that fell around them. Accompanied by the three scouts, Will and Ehan rode faster and harder than Will had ever before, and after three days since leaving the Sashans, they had arrived at the ruins of what had once grown to become Will’s second home.

 

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