Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (4 page)

“Father, what are you talking about?” Will saw the passion in his father’s eyes. The love for Elizabeth and Will was there, but so were shame and guilt. “I love this life.”

Matthew smiled weakly, “Look at me, I speak of old regrets on a day that, by rights, is yours. Your mother may be more right than I give her credit for; I am becoming an old man, sentimental, sharing my fears with those who have not a thing about which to worry. On this day and all the days to come, William, may you enjoy yourself and know no pain. Being recruited to the Academy is an honor to this house and one not wholly undeserved, I think,” Will’s father finished with a wink. Matthew gently led Soulfire out of the stable.

“Goodbye, William!” his parents called after him, Elizabeth in Ma
tthew’s arms. They waved farewell to their only child. Will’s own emotions were touched with uncertainty. The snippets of fear rattled around his head annoyingly. 

What am I getting myself into? This school, what is its purpose? Why were we attacked? Because of my magic?
Will pushed these doubts to the back of his mind and attempted to replace them with excitement and a sense of adventure.

Sensing the change in mood, Soulfire whinnied, shaking his head causing his black mane to whip wildly about. The great horse was pleased to be in the open air, free to run and prance. 

Will laughed, looking back at his parents standing before their broken home one last time before yelling, “Ayah! Soulfire, ayah!” The horse slightly reared before bolting away through the ripening fields.

New Faces

The mid-autumn sun shone down on Will’s neck as his horse, Soulfire, tirelessly trotted towards their destination. Eventually, as the doubts that Will had stowed in the back of his mind reemerged, Will was forced to ponder the thoughts that were floating around in his head like so many restless ghosts.

Among them was his fear of the distance the school was from his home. Another of the uncertainties that occupied his mind was the loneliness he felt. Without his family, Will felt naked. He had no friends, nor had he ever, he supposed. At least, no true friends of age with him. Long ago, there was the miller’s youngest daughter who had been friendly to him, but Will could not recall if he ever knew her name. The next time he had visited the market, she had gone, married to a swarthy widower who kept a tavern along the river.

Will did not know how people would treat him in this new place. Would he be ignored? Or worse, hated?

It won’t be as bad as all that,
Will thought.
How hard can it be to find a friend anyway? Everyone and his brother will be the same as me: freshly recruited and looking to befriend their comrades.

Will was so deep in thought that he hadn’t realized that Soulfire had come to a stop before a boy riding a weathered palomino. The boy had freckles on his nose, which seemed to have been broken several times in the past. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. 

The boy had said something, but Will did not hear. However, the noise brought him out of his reverie. “Hullo?” Will blurted out. He stared at the unknown rider and smiled awkwardly. “Riding to the Academy meeting?”

The boy frowned at Will. “Typically, one does not so quickly reveal his destination to a stranger on the road.” Will looked horrified at his mistake. The boy broke into an easy laugh, “Fear not, friend. I recognize you from the fair in Jaohn. I make for Bladebeard as well. My name is Arthur,” the boy offered. “Call me Art though, everyone does.” 

“Right, Art. I’m William Stormhand. Will for short,” Will added hesitantly, for now Arthur was gaping at him with utter astonishment. 

“William Stormhand, son of
the
Matthew Stormhand, famous champion of the Empire, part-time adventurer, and renowned general of the Imperial Army?” Art rambled. 

“Well, I suppose so... but my father is a farmer, not an esteemed warrior,” Will lied weakly. 

“What farmer’s son is accepted to the Academy? Ponder that for a moment. I’ll bet your father is rather handy with a blade.”

“He is,” Will admitted. “But he remains a farmer.”

“Aye, I heard something about that. He met a beautiful lady in his travels. Then, he settled down somewhere quiet to... um, well I don’t know exactly, but he settled down. I suppose he settled down to farm and whelp a clot that doesn’t know his family’s history,” Art laughed good-naturedly at the insult.

Will smiled. “What’s your story then? The artist who spawned you mustn’t have been very good; he got the nose all wrong.”

Art threw his head back, laughing long and loud. “Not half bad for a farm boy. Aye, the nose. One of the pitfalls of having seven hedge knights in the family; they’re constantly finding themselves requiring a tilting partner.”

“Seven older brothers?”

“And four lady sisters each married to a landed lord, as they are so proud to bleat. They’re always quarrelling over which of their rump-fed husband’s lands yield the most coin, or livestock, or grain, or this that and the other.”

“I’m the only in my house,” Will said, for once almost glad that it was true.

“Lucky to be. Me, I’m the youngest. Got all my brothers’ clothes and dinted up armor waiting for me when we arrive at the Academy. I suppose I should be thankful, most twelfth children get piss for porridge. That’s what my old man says anyway. A broke bloody nose is nothing compared to the conditions in which the peasants live, though. I’ve seen it. One day, when I earn my knighthood, I’m going to set things right by them. ‘Gallant Sir Arthur, the Twelfth Son, come to save us,’ they’ll shout as I ride past on my own destrier. I suppose I’m only the eighth son, but Twelfth Son has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” laughed Will. “How will you come by such fame?”

“You’ve now hit upon the heart of the matter, farm boy. If I knew, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.” Art saw Will’s expression at that and smiled, “I guess it’s our job then to forge our own paths to fame. You and me, what do you say, farm boy? You’ll be my trusty squire?”

“Certainly, if you think you can best me.”

“With a sword, maybe, but you look like you could pull a plow circles around a team of oxen, so maybe not. And with a lance? Blast that! Old Sam here can’t outpace your charger,” Art eyed Will’s mount jealously. “Red as a flame and looks as if he can move faster than wildfire.”

“Soulfire,” Will corrected.

“Aptly dubbed, farm boy. You must realize that your father is more than an udder-tugger.”

“We harvest wheat,” Will interjected.

“Grass-mower, udder-tugger, sheep-lover, makes no difference. No farmer could afford such a beast.”

Will considered his words and knew them to be true.

“I’m going to stick close to you. If you have a quarter of your sire’s skill, only a fool would make enemy of you.”

“Shall we continue on together then, oh master of the joust, Gallant Sir Art the Bootlicker?” Will japed.

“You won’t see me kiss ass, farm boy. Until I see what ability you possess, your filthy boots will remain untongued.”

“Would that they remain so. I wish no man to call me friend then proceed to grovel at my feet.”

“Did I call you friend? I suppose I did.” Art smiled warmly.

The two rode together in silence, though not the kind that is born of hostility or discomfort. Will was amazed that his father could have struck such an illustrious figure, but was disconcerted as well because Matthew had concealed so much from Will. Art seemed to have not sensed Will’s troubled contemplation as he hummed a merry tune, and from time to time, took a swig of a skin dangling from his saddle.

They came across a sluggish river, stopping to water the horses and eat a morsel. Resting beneath a lone tree on the riverbank, Will asked about Art’s family. Between bites of hard bread, Art responded freely.

“Youngest of twelve, as I’d said. My father was a second
son of a minor lord in the Hinterlands. He squired for a knight of the Emperor’s own guard as they were distant relatives by marriage, a great honor at any rate. He warmed the heart of a maid born far above his station, but on the day he was knighted, her lord father gave his only daughter’s hand to my father. My grandfather had a right litter of sons so giving away his only daughter to a knight she loved seemed not such a loss.

“Soon after their wedding, my father begot a son, but, owning no lands, Father began a career as courier rather than settling down. He delivered messages from one lord to the next and sometimes from the Emperor himself. My Father, the Messenger Knight, feasted and drank with all in their castles and palaces before he set out to deliver their word. Father used to say that he was the greatest lord of all, because to him, every portcullis in the land was open. ‘The Lord of Many Castles’ he called himself in jest. He was granted a small fortress in Duskane when he retired from delivering letters. It’s nothing compared to the strongholds of the Bloodlines Triben or Payne--or even Berkdale, but it’s an agreeable location on the river delta Bourkes all the same. That’s where I learned to ride and fight with a sword, though I prefer my axe. Aye, and where I broke my precious nose as well. My mother said it used to be a handsome nose. Don’t know what she means by
used
to
; I think it looks just fine.”

“It’s got a regal look to it. Yours is the nose of a mighty king,” Will teased.

“Who’s the beslubbering bootlicker now?”

They had a laugh and mounted once again. Passing beyond the rolling grasslands of Will’s home, they rode across flat prairies. The flatness of the terrain felt strange to Will, but Art was too well-travelled to be cowed by the bare landscape. To pass the time, Art told of his elder brothers and their years at the Academy. He also spoke more about his father’s long journeys as a courier. Will was intrigued by the descriptions of the massive buildings and foreign cities. He wished to hear all about them, pelting Art with questions. “… And the Emperor’s palace stands on a mountain cliff four hundred feet above the city. The enormous window of his solar allows him to observe the city below and gives him such a view the surrounding countryside that he can see beyond the horizon.”

“You speak as if you’ve seen it yourself,” Will said.

“Me? No, not yet. I but relate my father’s own observations. He has seen it himself enough times to count upon two hands, a great honor to be
sure. But enough about all that; it bores me to speak solely on matters with which I am well acquainted. What of you? How is living with
the
General Stormhand?”

“I suppose we live a typical life. Wake up, tend the animals, toil in the fields, eat, and sleep. Not much to it,” Will admitted.

“Surely the existence of a farm boy is of more import than that sad routine. Tell me all, I would know more about you.”

At Art’s request, Will talked about his life on the farm and answered wave after wave of questions about his father and his work helping the people who ask for his aid. Surprisingly, the boy from the Duskane was fascinated more by Will’s accounts of working in the fields and with the animals than of the tournament in Jaohn. “I’ve always wanted to know how bread gets to table. My giglet sisters would have me believe it was
magicked
to my plate,” he said. 

The two rode on at a leisurely pace, stopping every so often to let the horses drink or to eat an apple. The sun started to set, dying the sky and the surrounding landscape a deep pink. Will and Art admired the beauty in comfortable silence.

The two traveled together like this for several weeks, keeping mainly to the Piper’s Way, the road that, according to Will’s map, spanned from Jaohn in the north to the Mor Forest on the southern border of the Empire.

After crossing the bridge over the river Banecot, Art suggested they stop to set up camp as the sun had just hidden itself behind the horizon.

“It cannot be much farther; we could ride through a few hours of dark and be to the tryst this very night,” Will proposed. He was weary of the road and would prefer a bed to the stone-littered ground.

“If you know the land, ride ahead. You’re like to get lost in the dark or worse. It’d be a shame to break that beautiful animal’s leg in an unseen rut in the path. Old Sam and I stop here.”

“I will be the first to admit that I do not know the road. Any country but the fields and forests in which I was reared will be foreign to me.”

“Then you’ll join me and make camp for the night?”

“I’ve got the bread,” Will said, dismounting and hobbling Soulfire. He removed the colt’s saddle and bridle, retrieving a loaf from his pack. Soulfire nickered happily as he was unburdened and began grazing. 

“And I’ve got some meat,” Art declared happily, freeing his own horse from its load. “Mind you, it had to be salted so it’d keep, but salted pork is better than no pork.”

“You won’t tether your horse?” Will asked.

“No, he is ancient. Old Sam won’t wander far. Ah! No fire tonight,” Art said sharply.

Seeing Art’s nervous face in the moonlight, Will acquiesced, placing aside a handful of kindling. “No fire.”

“We’ve got the moon, and I for one don’t want any unexpected visitors in the night. A fire would draw anyone within a mile, and only the unsavory flock to fires in the dead of night,” Art explained.

Will disagreed, to stretch out beside a warm fire with a hot meal in his belly would be ideal, but he did not raise complaint.

They made a meager feast of the bread and meat, but having travelled so far, Will was satisfied with every morsel. Art took several more swigs from his skin. Seeing Will looking on, he proffered the drink to Will.

“I don’t partake. Alcohol weakens the mind and slows the body.”

Art laughed, “I shouldn’t disagree. My brothers have taught me that much as well. Their blows are heavier with drink but slow enough that my bedridden grandmother could avoid them. Nay, this is only water.”

Will took the skin and drank but a gulp, not wanting to finish it. It was indeed water, tepid water but wet water.

“There’s a good farm boy,” Art grinned, taking back the skin. “You’ll take first watch?”

“Watch?”

“The roads south of the Banecot aren’t frequented by maids and holy men last time I checked. Without a sentry, bandits and soldiers alike could come upon us. I couldn’t say which would be worse.”

“My guess would be the bandits,” Will figured.

“Maybe, but maybe not. Most soldiers aren’t much better than brigands. Thieves and murderers all of them, only they plunder and slay at the behest of their banner. Bandits in uniform, well-armed bandits at that,” Art frowned, crinkling his broken nose. “Without proper leadership, soldiers are the greatest scourge on this earth, leaving in their wake only famine and bastard babes. That’s why we’re here.”