Chapter 1- Son of the Plains

“I have never seen better riders than the Sons and Daughters of the Plains. For I have seen them gallop at full speed while drinking a cup of wine.”

- Marshall Julia in Four Hundred Laws of War

“We have to leave them… or we’ll be surrounded.” Jodoro warned.

The young Captain kneeling beside the wounded men turned and looked at him. His hair was black, there was blood in it. He wore his mustache long- just like all the other Ardinite officers.

He needs to make the call, Jodoro thought as he mounted Cow. These men cannot ride, and we need speed…

“How much time do we have?” the Captain asked. He was closing the eyes of a dead comrade. The man was a Lieutenant. That was the thing about death- it did not care about rank. Jodoro nodded at Midge and she jumped on her pinto and galloped into the moonlit night.

“We have no time Captain,” Jodoro pled. “We will surely be surrounded in moments.” The Captain’s armor groaned as he got to his feet. That was the problem with the Ardinite forces, they sacrificed mobility for protection. Out on the Plains of Detre mobility was everything. His grandfather was full of tales about men like this. They came dressed in full kit like they were the King’s Honor Guard and they died. All the armor in the world wouldn’t stop a Farki lightblade. War did not discriminate. The men who could stand were holding the reins of their horses.

Waiting.

“Mount up,” the Captain shouted, and the remnants of the patrol obeyed. He fixed his gaze on Jodoro. “Lead the way.”

‘Bout fucking time, he thought. Midge might be in the wind by now. He nudged Cow with his knees and lit out. The wind was blowing from the east, so he put their backs to it. The Farki came in full force this season and there was nothing the meager forces Ardinum stationed on the plains could do to stop them. Their advance had been inexorable and their Redwarriors ruthless. Yesterday, the genius Captain asked Colonel Tarbell to scout the enemy’s advance forces and the request was granted with the express order not to engage. Naturally, that order was ignored once the Captain spotted a small group of enemies. Their blood had been up like a young bull in spring. The troop made out good, but they wasted too much time.

The sound of an arrow leaving a bow whistled ahead of them. Midge has silhouetted on the back of her pinto: bow drawn. Her arms blurred and the moon light bounced off the azure grasses of the plains giving her the appearance of a Sacred Spirit. She fell in line as he passed and gave a Killdear call. Enemies to the south and north. He could feel the noose tightening around them and let Cow have his head. This was dangerous ground filled with animal burrows and hidden rills. But he was Onaki. Born on these plains and born on the back of a horse. Give him a deep-chested pinto and so long as the grasses gave off their light, he and Midge would make it through.

But that was not the case. The Ardinites were slower than a cow who twins every second year. Midge let out the call of the Plains Hawk and they stopped their horses next to the column.

“To the fort!” he yelled to the Captain as strung his blackhorn bow. The pincers were closing in on them. He took the south pincer and Midge the North. The luminous glow of the enemies’ lightblades flickered in the night giving them a place to focus their fire.

They rained a storm of arrows down on the enemy advance and mounted again. A horse whinnied and Midge’s pinto went down. She smiled at him from twenty yards away and blew him a kiss. He kneed Cow into motion and watched through tear-filled eyes as she was run down by a trio of Redwarriors. They let out a roar as her head flew through the air.

He caught up with the Ardinites a few miles later. The Farki advanced forces had likely given up the chase but they rode all night and the force of the horses’ hooves burned a thousand holes into the hells. The Captain hailed the guards at the fort and within a few minutes he was in a meeting with the Colonel.

Jodoro gave Cow a quick brush and feeding. Word was spreading of the evacuation that would occur in the morning. The fort would be burned to prevent it from falling into Farki hands. His hands were shaking but he busied himself by waxing his bowstring and cleaning his sword.

Midge Mightyviper was dead and he would never hear her snorting laughter. Never walk the fields of coneflower and trickseed with her in summer. Never kiss her plump lips again and never see her dimpled smile. Cow snorted at him and he broke out of his reverie.

“I know you miss her too Cow,” the large black and white pinto tossed his head. The braids Midge put in his hair last Sunday were flung into the air. “We’ll kill a thousand Farki for her and if the gods will it, we’ll put an arrow into Empress Sala’s eye too.” A young soldier about his age approached his spot in the fort’s courtyard and handed him a cup of stew. The soldier stood there for a moment until Jodoro looked at him.

“We…heard ‘bout your girl. Me and the fellas wanted to say sorry. She was a vicious warrior,” he tossed him a pouch of coins. “As recompense for her family and a thanks for saving our tails many a time.” Jodoro watched as he walked away then looked at the bag of coins in his hand. Was this the worth of a life? Had the goddess turned on them? I’ll have to tell Seta Blackspider, he dreaded the thought. There was nothing sadder than a mother’s tears.

Sleep came quickly and he was toed awake be the aide-de-camp. “Colonel wants to see you.” The sun was beginning to peak over the horizons and wagons were loaded and lined up in the fort’s courtyard. He saddled Cow and tied his pack and sleeping blanket to the beast.

The Colonel sat proudly upon a large black stallion that was widely regarded as the meanest horse on the plains. He had a long mane of fiery hair and the troubled brown eyes of a man who had seen the death of friends. Jodoro had seen him send his fair share of Farki to the hells. Uncle Hamsa Heavyheart sat on his brown and white pinto next to him. The Colonel nodded at him when he joined the party and he could see a tear in Uncle Hamsa’s eye as he looked at him.

“Sala’s boys stole a march on us last night. See us alive to your yurtan and I’ll personally recommend you men for the Diamond Leaf,” the Colonel turned to his men and gave the order to move out. Uncle Hamsa gave him the nod and he took the lead.

As their procession snaked through the land, he caught the scent of the burning fort. Five years it had been there and all for naught. He steered the Colonel’s men through the hidden folds of the plains- along the paths that only the Onaki knew. They crossed the Nowell River on the third day and burned the bridge, then swept north for another week. The going was slow. The wagons were mired down in the winter storms and the moral of the troops was miserable. He broke out his six-stringer every night and played for Cow. It calmed the pinto. Some of the troops would join in with their instruments, he was irked by their intrusion but said nothing. He had learned something critical to the Ardinite ethos over these few months: telling an Ardinite no was like telling an Ardinite I dare you.

They were a day out of the yurtan when the Colonel approached him. He was cleaning Cow’s hoofs when the man hailed him. “Ho! Son of the Plains, a word if you will.” His red mustached lips were pinched down on a cheroot. “If yon uncle is right, we’ll reach your yurtan tomorrow morning.”

“Uncle Hamsa Heavyheart has never been wrong about these things.”

“Undoubtedly…I want you to know that you have our gratitude for your service for the past few months,” this was a man unused to giving compliments. “I spoke with Captain Horn and he told me how you got him outta that bind. There’s a place for you among my battalion if you want to see more action.”

“I belong on the plains Colonel. Can’t kill Farki if I’m not here.” He put his trimmers and picks away and looked the man in the eye. There was concern there.

“I think this time the Farki have provoked a war. I have a feeling the King may see us return here soon…but I respect your decision. Fair warning, the bloody congress will likely call upon you in the fall to receive the Diamond Leaf. They’ll need heroes to parade around and make it appear that this wasn’t a fuckshit campaign. If you go- look for me in the capitol.”

He shook the hand that was offered to him. He had no interest in the awards of the Ardinites. There was the debt to Midge and he planned to pay that a thousand times over. Sleep came in fits that night. They crested a small hill the next day and the yurtan spread out before them in the shallow valley. The women had finished painting the yurts for the winterfire and from the top of the hill they looked like colorful beads held in someone’s hand. Hundreds of them dotted the land and thousands of cattle could be seen grazing in the meadows. Winter was here and soon the slaughtering would begin.

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The Onaki waited for them below. He and Uncle Hamsa got off their pintos and walked them the rest of the way. A wail was taken up and soon the Ardnities had dismounted in a show of respect.

Nan Bowerbird was there and Old Trews but he only had eyes for Seta Blackspider. Seta Blackspider had a broad of children but Midge was her eldest girl. The pretty Onaki woman had taken out her cattle knife and placed it on the ground. Jodoro reached her and her wailing stopped for a moment. “Tell me! Tell me Son of the Plains! Tell me my daughter died as a warrior!”

He took the knife in his hands a performed the He’noshi. Seta watched with wide eyes as he dug the blade into the left side of his face and put it down. Hot blood trickled down his face and into his open mouth. Seta burst into tears and wrapped her arms around him for her daughter had died as a warrior and there was no need to perform the Ke’noshi. She unwrapped herself from him and turned to the crowd. “Rejoice for my daughter dines with our ancestors in the High Pastures tonight.” The crowd let out a yawyip and soon the beer was broken out. The revelry continued into the night. Friends, family, and even rivals paid their respects and toasted Midge.

The Colonel’s soldiers had joined the drinking. Soldiers seldom needed an excuse to drink. They bought tobacco, skins, and dyes made from the azure grasses of the low plains. Seta’s eldest son Harras came to sit beside him when his mother left. “I will not forgive you for this Jodoro. I will never forgive you.”

“Then there is nothing for me to say.”

Harras grabbed his poncho and pulled him closer. “Why? Why did she always follow you? Why did she always insist on being by your side?”

He placed his hand over Harras’ and gave him another cup of ale. The man nodded his half-shaved head and let him go. They sat there for a few moments in silence. Old Trews and Nan called him into the yurt. The Colonel and an Ardinite man with a long grey beard were sitting with them.

They were sharing a meal of bread and cheese. Old Trews had the lightblade that the great Lionel Neopell gifted him on his lap. Nan Bowerbird grabbed his face with her large weathered hands and pressed her forehead to his. He failed to choke away the sob that escaped his throat.

“Do not cry for her grandson. She died a warrior. She died free.”

He pushed the pain inside and Old Trews nodded his approval. He passed the lightblade to him. “You will be leaving us grandson.” His knees grew weak, but he managed to keep his feet. “This man has offered you a scho…a scholars-”

“Scholarship,” the man corrected.

“A scholarship to the academy in the capitol. You will go and learn what you can, for I fear the Farki have come to claim the plains for good.” Anger flared in his chest as Old Trews said these words.

“What of the people here grandfather? What of the herds? You cannot ask me to leave in our time of greatest nee-” The slap stung his face and his grandmother’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Boy we have endured centuries of this. Do you think that this is the first time we’ve had to leave the plains? Do you think that you alone will make the difference here? Such pride…you have much to learn Son of the Plains. You will go and you will do well. Your actions will reflect the determination of our people. You will make allies and convince them that we are a people worth aiding.” His grandmother’s spine was straight and proud as ever.

Old Trews tossed him a cup. “Now fill my cup and let us drink tonight for we leave to the high plains tomorrow.” Jodoro did as he was told. He was a Son of the Plains.

It took them two weeks to reach the high plains. They stopped at Bloody Rock for the remainder of the winter to slaughter much of the herd. Ships from Ardinum had come up the river to the small town. They brought salt, wood, and wines. But above all they brought gold and a willingness to wager on beef prices. The Colonel met his transport there and made his goodbyes. Many were glad to see them go for the men did not like the soldiers around their daughters and wives and the wives did not like there men drinking and gambling with them.

Other yurtans moving north settled at Bloody Rock until the pastures were overrun with cattle. Many questioned whether there would be enough grazing, but all hoped that the goddess would provide. Each group brought news of the Farki ending their campaign for the winter. Fire circles were formed, and the elders talked long into the night and it was decided that the Sons and Daughters would be sent to raid the Farki supply lines for the rest of the winter.

On a dark rainy night Harras challenged him to the La’noshi. Jodoro was smoking a pipe of prairie berry tobac with Nan when Seta’s oldest son marched into the yurt and tossed the grass rat onto the coals. Nan put her hand on his back and passed him back the pipe. She left to spread the word and make the arrangements. Seta Blackspider walked into the main room and saw the rat on the fire. She looked at him and gave him a nod. He left the yurt and prepared Cow. Harras would not be steered from his course and it was too late either way. The rat was burning in the yurt and he, as a Son of the Plains, could not ignore this stain on his honor. He or Harras would die today and there was nothing he could do about that.

The elders surrounded them as they stripped to their underclothes. Behind the elders stood the chanting children who would be seeing their first La’noshi. Jodoro mounted Cow as Harras mounted his own horse. The cold rain stung his bare skin as they backed the horses’ rears against each other. Was this his punishment? To die at the hands of Midge’s brother? He wondered as he waited for the cattle horn to sound. Would Midge be waiting for him or Harras in the High Pasture?

The horn took him by surprise, and he kicked Cow into motion. He raced to the line marked in the mud and turned Cow. An arrow pierced his scalp above the ear and bounced off his skull. The world was blurry, but his hands were already moving. He put his arrow to the string. Another shot hit him in the thigh and he almost lost his seat. He shot his arrow and it disappeared into Harras’ throat. He jumped off Cow and nearly collapsed into the mud. He walked over to Harras and looked into the man’s eyes. There was a faint smile on his face as Jodoro plunged his knife into the man’s heart. Harras died without a sound like a true Son of the Plains.

The crowd was still keening when Marta, Seta’s second daughter, tended his wounds inside his yurtroom. There were tears in her eyes as she removed the arrow from his thigh, cleaned, and stitched the wound. “Damn you Jodoro Jaguar,” she cried. She wiped her face and some of his blood was left on her cheek. “You must have been born under a red moon. For you will surely kill all my kin.”

He grabbed her by the chin and turned her face toward his. She had Midge’s dimples, but her eyes were green. “I loved Midge she was my dream. She died like a Daughter of the Plains and there is no greater honor.” Marta nodded her head. “You cry for them, but you do not think what it was like for me. My loved one died before me and now I have killed my best friend in La’noshi. You have other sisters and brothers. I have none and now no lover and no best friend.”

He let go of her. How could Marta understand? She knew Harras could never be swayed because Harras loved Midge as much as him. She dried her doe green eyes and Jodoro handed her a cup of tea. She sat on his bed and drank it. “I was always jealous of her. I always wanted you for myself. But now I see that if you had chosen me, I would be dead now. In a way Midge saved me from that.” She took a piece of parchment out of her leather bag. “He asked me to give you this if he died.”

He sat and listened to her until she left. When she was gone, he took out the letter. His name was scrawled on it and he tried to muster the will to read it, but he failed. Everyone knew the truth of what happened that night. Harras never missed. Harras wanted to die. No one would speak those words though because to do so would break the sanctity of the La’noshi.

A few weeks shy of summer Jodoro set out for Bellgaurd astride Cow with Sweet Ceta Honeybee carrying his packs. It was a long journey to the capitol, and he would have to reprovision many times along the way. After a lonely week of travel, he reached Ardinum’s border.

Bellgaurd stood in the middle of a pass that led into Ardinite lands. Nan and Old Trews said that beyond the city there was a valley where farmers grew wheat, oats, rye, and barley on terraced hills. The city had gray stone walls and watchtowers. He could see soldiers on guard and the ramparts were lit with torches. Dried bird shit was plastered on them wherever the terns had taken their turns. A hulking bell towered over the city. It was suspended from a stone bridge that stretch the length of the pass.

He was among the last allowed entry into the city for the night and began to desperately look for an inn. The streets were crowded, and refuse ran in open streams throughout the town. Teams of children ran up to him in the streets with their hands out, but he ignored them and spurred on. He eventually emerged into a square that was packed with men and women.

An old greybeard was standing on the ledge of a crumbling fountain. “Kin Folk! If you would have seen this place twenty years ago…You would not recognize it. We had prosperity, happiness, we were winning the war with the Farki. Now…Now…Our leaders shit on us.” He gestured around the square with his cane and the people cheered him on. “They sell us dream while we are awake. They tell us not to dream when we are asleep. Even now they speak of great victories in Detre yet they come back with their tails between their legs.” He limped off the fountain with the help of his cane. “The Farki march on us now, but that is not the great danger. The Onaki will come before them. They will eat our bread, drink our ale, and work our jobs while we meagerly get by.”

“What are we to do about it? The Duke will not listen to us.” a woman’s voice shouted from the crowd.

The greybeard gestured for the crowd to be silent. “We must petition the congress and we must resist any of the Duke’s policies that do not directly benefit the people of Bellguard…if that does not work we must be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice an-”

The sound of bells rang through the square and people began to scatter. Why the hells are they running? Jodoro thought. The crowds were making Cow uneasy and he was just heeling the pinto around when squads of men dressed in red tabards ran into the square and began swinging large handbells at people. The beat everyone. The bastards were merciless with them and the screaming grew louder as they beat the citizens to the ground.

A mother holding her skirts in one hand and her child in the other fell to the ground. Two guardsmen rang the bells down on her head and he had to steer Cow clear of them. A guardsman grabbed Sweet Ceta Honeybee’s halter and Cow lashed out at him with his back hooves. The man was struck and called out for help but Jodoro had already broken through the square. Guardsmen pursued him through a maze of city streets. The streets were no longer lit by the lamps that peppered the main avenues and squares.

Jodoro looked behind him and noticed that the pursuit had been called off. He gauged his surroundings and saw that he was in a narrow alley crowded with rotting wood scraps. There was a light ahead of him, so he followed it. He emerged onto a main street and saw the sign for an inn. He paid the owner for the night and stabled the beasts. The food they served was barely edible and the other patrons looked at him as if he’d drug horseshit into the yurt. There was talk of the Farki and of the Duke’s rule.

He slept in the stable out of choice, the hay was damp and smelled of mold. Some stable hand had cut words into a beam.

All is swell in Bellgaurd’s hells.