Rys Rising: Book I - Chapter 1. Mountain Daughter

Chapter 1. Mountain Daughter

The strong are strong for a reason, usually not a good one. ~ saying of the Patharki Tribe

Gendahl laughed as Hin Lol teased Medu about riding into a low tree branch and falling off his horse during the boar hunt. Medu was taking the teasing well, even knowing that his blunder would be exaggerated when retold at that night’s banquet.

The dangerous boar had led them all on a merry hunt. Gendahl and his dear companions had tracked it through the Espen Forest for three days, beneath the leafy canopy of patch-worked greens that crowned the ancient trees. After hitting many dead ends, they had joked that the hefty boar had magic with which to elude them. Then, late yesterday afternoon, Gendahl and his warriors had cornered the boar in a canyon, and the tasty animal had ceased to possess the craft to avoid their spears. Gendahl and Hin Lol had thrust the killing blows, skewering the beast from both sides. They had slain the boar beside a dead oak tree, whose bulky skeleton stood with its bare gray branches spreading against a bright blue sky. Tiny green sproutlings and saplings populated the sunlit circle around the dead tree, and, from a perch in the brittle treetop, a gold-feathered eagle had watched the boar die with an interested gaze.

Gendahl looked forward to celebrating that night with his fellow hunters who were as close to him as the brothers he had never had. These warriors were his Infoh, sworn bodyguards to the Lord of the Lin Tohs Tribe. They came from families that had served Lin Tohs leaders for the eight generations since Gendahl’s illustrious forefather, Axerpen, had founded the tribe.

It would be tomorrow before the roasting fires transformed the boar into a splendid main course. Then Gendahl would feast with his entire household, indulging in the joys of hearth and home. There would be meat and drink, his baby son to brag about, and his fine wife to bed as he pleased. When these luxuries grew boring, he and his Infoh would arrange another amusing adventure in their remote realm.

Gendahl switched the reins of his mount back and forth in his hands as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. This was the first year that the blue-dyed bull skin jacket had fit him with perfect comfort. Three years ago his late father had given him the jacket as a present for his manhood year, and it had taken that long for the leather to mold itself over Gendahl’s well-muscled shoulders and firm chest that had all the lean strength of youth without the bulk of later manhood.

Gendahl handed the jacket to his nearest servant, who spread it carefully across his lap as he rode. Gendahl shook out his loosely woven red linen shirt that was clinging to his sweaty bronze skin. He had emerged from the forest into the outlying pastures of his domain, and the noon-time summer sun pressed down bright and hot. 

Riding at the fore of his sprawling hunting party, Gendahl was the first to see the horizon scarred by columns of smoke. An unconscious tug on the reins slowed his horse.

“No,” Gendahl whispered like a little prayer to Jayshem that he knew could not be answered. The smoke came from exactly where his fortress, Do Tohsall, stood.

His Infoh began to shout. “My Lord!” “Lord Gendahl.” “Curse them. It must be the Patharki!”

Gendahl grasped the hilt of his sword and called for his armor. His body servants jumped from their mounts and ran to the pack horses to grab his helmet and body armor.

Medu and Hin Lol stopped their horses alongside Gendahl. Almost in unison, each man drew his copper-trimmed bronze helmet over his head.

Hin Lol said, “My Lord, Den will be holding the walls. We can strike our attackers at their backs.”

Medu added, “We can rouse villagers to the defense between here and Do Tohsall.”

Their voices came to Gendahl’s ears like the whispers of concerned relatives talking in the next room about his incurable disease. Already he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and icy water poured in the hole. The rising smoke came from big fires -- fires that had been burning while he had been frolicking deep in the Espen. Fires of victory.

His wife and small son were at Do Tohsall. Had a grim fate already claimed them while they had no man to protect them?

The irresistible despair that assailed Gendahl surprised him with its strength. He had never expected to feel so deprived of hope and courage when a dark day came to test him. Gendahl only found his resolve because his loyal men looked to him for leadership. He must fight and show his good men the hope that had already been stripped from him like an avalanche wiping clear a stand of pines.