NOTE: This chapter from the original Breaking the Hold is substantively the same, though on the rewrite, more of Aldantas and Finturan are seen, along with their personalities. Another rewrite of this chapter is in the works, still bringing Aldantas and Finturan more to the forefront of the drama, so this is not the final version, but will give you a flavor of the Remanite people.
CHAPTER X-1 (Originally Chapter 11): REMANITE VILLAGERS
Twenty bone-weary villagers clung to the manes of their racing mounts. The air reeked of the tension of imminent battle. Formless masses hounded after them in the dark, oozing down the mountainside like molten rock. Three days of danger and chilling night currents had taken its toll on the travelers, gnawing at the stamina of master and steed. But the famous keladuk of the Rema Mountains had thus far prevented enemy arrows from taking a life.
Milen, the village chief from Karang, boiled with rage at the humiliation of having to run rather than fight the mysterious raiders, but concern for wife and friends kept him pressing ahead. Lights from their destination appeared in the distance, and he shouted encouragement to those behind. Heads rose in disbelief, each delegate hoping against hope that their nightmare might end in their favor while also fearing the worst.
“We’re going to make it,” Sima cheered, locking forearms around her husband’s waist.
“Not without risking something,” Milen countered, glancing behind his shoulder as the gap narrowed between their party and the pursuers. He telepathed to Wiransa, the keladuk that had chosen him as a young boy. Falling back, the mare swung wide. Milen’s bowstring sang, and one pursuer went down. A salvo of arrows showered the couple in response. Other villagers shot from their mounts. Again and again the attackers surged forward, their pounding boots a thunderous roar that drove the villagers to desperation.
More lights ahead. Anticipation intensified.
Hidden in tall grasses under the starless night, armed farmers from the village of Sudang awaited the overdue delegation from the interior. Faint rumblings from slopes above spurred feverish communication throughout their chain of command. Messengers rushed for reinforcements while the vanguard stole into the darkness.
Louder and louder, keladuk hooves pounded. Cries of defiance trickled through the breezeless night air. Crossbows taut and swords drawn, Sudang’s defenders opened their lines for the Karang envoys. The final steed galloped past, and a mighty horn blasted. Villagers gushed from foxholes, raining arrows and closing ranks. Quicker than Remanite bows could be refitted, the pursuers spun around and fled into the black night. Every Sudang soldier stopped short. Drawing deep breaths, they lit dozens of torches. Astonishment spread from face to face: The mysterious enemies had escaped without leaving a single body behind.
* * * * *
Uncountable stars lit the heavens, and cool evening breezes descended into the foothills. Ulan and Balu, Hanitara’s twin moons appeared together, an omen of disastrous weather to come. But only Milen and Narsan, chairman of the Remanite council, noticed.
Seated on dusty stone benches in the town center, all twenty-eight Remanite chiefs stared into the roaring bonfire, their eyes sparkling as insistent flames licked along knotted logs. Others crowded behind them, The blaze shed enough heat to lessen the cool weather.
“Fear has kept our people holed up in their villages,” admitted Narsan. “These raiders are ransacking our fields and killing livestock. We must take action.” Various leaders added accounts of their own harrowing nightmares to confirm the chief’s words.
“So what are you proposing?” Milen’s ominous tone caught everyone’s attention as he rose.
“What if the raiders are only the beginning of our troubles?” Narsan warned. “Dahat’s spies are gathering along the border of Badun. They could infiltrate our mountains. Sulasi Hold hasn’t been able to provide us with military assistance, so we should consider something bolder. Sages from Menara may help with chama.”
“Asking outsiders for help in a fight?” an elderly man's rickety voice rose from beyond the firelight’s reach. “That’s the day we Remanites fade as a people.”
“It’s an embarrassment,” echoed a youthful voice.
* * *PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER NOT INCLUDED HERE * * *
"Two youths from my village want to ride eastward, Palino interrupted. "They argue that keladuk would bear them to Meara faster than traveling on foot. Their keladuk bonds are unusually close, and all parties are willing. But the river crossings will be dangerous, and you know about keladuk and lowland temperatures--"
"We shouldn't risk sending them," Narsan interrupted. "Too many dangers."
Angry shouts outside the ring of firelight drew everyone's attention. A circle had formed around a trio of fist-throwing teenage boys and half a dozen men trying to pull them apart. Narsan stormed into the ring, demanding an explanation. Two boys, finally restrained, glared at the third whose nose was bloodied and whose arms bore the marks of violence.
"They attacked me for no reason," the battered youth spat in accusation, struggling toward his opponents.
Hirer's hand on Narsan's shoulder stopped the chairman mid-sentence.
"I see we have a politician here," Hirel smirked at the raging youth, drawing snickers from the crowd. "I'm sure that's you you two see it?" he jabbed his finger at the other lads who snarled at the first boy with eyes of fury.
"Insults," a curly-haired boy seethed, wiping grime from his face. "He insulted us and our keladuk."
"Names?" Narsan pointed.
Finturan and Aldantas," Palino sighed, shaking his head as he entered the circle. "The two I mentioned earlier who volunteered to ride east. That one there," he pointed to the bloody-nosed boy opposite, "is Marenin, my nephew. He does have a sharp tongue, I'm afraid."
. . . . . the chapter will be continue in The Power of Ancients . . . . .
CHAPTER X-1 (Originally Chapter 11): REMANITE VILLAGERS
Twenty bone-weary villagers clung to the manes of their racing mounts. The air reeked of the tension of imminent battle. Formless masses hounded after them in the dark, oozing down the mountainside like molten rock. Three days of danger and chilling night currents had taken its toll on the travelers, gnawing at the stamina of master and steed. But the famous keladuk of the Rema Mountains had thus far prevented enemy arrows from taking a life.
Milen, the village chief from Karang, boiled with rage at the humiliation of having to run rather than fight the mysterious raiders, but concern for wife and friends kept him pressing ahead. Lights from their destination appeared in the distance, and he shouted encouragement to those behind. Heads rose in disbelief, each delegate hoping against hope that their nightmare might end in their favor while also fearing the worst.
“We’re going to make it,” Sima cheered, locking forearms around her husband’s waist.
“Not without risking something,” Milen countered, glancing behind his shoulder as the gap narrowed between their party and the pursuers. He telepathed to Wiransa, the keladuk that had chosen him as a young boy. Falling back, the mare swung wide. Milen’s bowstring sang, and one pursuer went down. A salvo of arrows showered the couple in response. Other villagers shot from their mounts. Again and again the attackers surged forward, their pounding boots a thunderous roar that drove the villagers to desperation.
More lights ahead. Anticipation intensified.
Hidden in tall grasses under the starless night, armed farmers from the village of Sudang awaited the overdue delegation from the interior. Faint rumblings from slopes above spurred feverish communication throughout their chain of command. Messengers rushed for reinforcements while the vanguard stole into the darkness.
Louder and louder, keladuk hooves pounded. Cries of defiance trickled through the breezeless night air. Crossbows taut and swords drawn, Sudang’s defenders opened their lines for the Karang envoys. The final steed galloped past, and a mighty horn blasted. Villagers gushed from foxholes, raining arrows and closing ranks. Quicker than Remanite bows could be refitted, the pursuers spun around and fled into the black night. Every Sudang soldier stopped short. Drawing deep breaths, they lit dozens of torches. Astonishment spread from face to face: The mysterious enemies had escaped without leaving a single body behind.
* * * * *
Uncountable stars lit the heavens, and cool evening breezes descended into the foothills. Ulan and Balu, Hanitara’s twin moons appeared together, an omen of disastrous weather to come. But only Milen and Narsan, chairman of the Remanite council, noticed.
Seated on dusty stone benches in the town center, all twenty-eight Remanite chiefs stared into the roaring bonfire, their eyes sparkling as insistent flames licked along knotted logs. Others crowded behind them, The blaze shed enough heat to lessen the cool weather.
“Fear has kept our people holed up in their villages,” admitted Narsan. “These raiders are ransacking our fields and killing livestock. We must take action.” Various leaders added accounts of their own harrowing nightmares to confirm the chief’s words.
“So what are you proposing?” Milen’s ominous tone caught everyone’s attention as he rose.
“What if the raiders are only the beginning of our troubles?” Narsan warned. “Dahat’s spies are gathering along the border of Badun. They could infiltrate our mountains. Sulasi Hold hasn’t been able to provide us with military assistance, so we should consider something bolder. Sages from Menara may help with chama.”
“Asking outsiders for help in a fight?” an elderly man's rickety voice rose from beyond the firelight’s reach. “That’s the day we Remanites fade as a people.”
“It’s an embarrassment,” echoed a youthful voice.
* * *PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER NOT INCLUDED HERE * * *
"Two youths from my village want to ride eastward, Palino interrupted. "They argue that keladuk would bear them to Meara faster than traveling on foot. Their keladuk bonds are unusually close, and all parties are willing. But the river crossings will be dangerous, and you know about keladuk and lowland temperatures--"
"We shouldn't risk sending them," Narsan interrupted. "Too many dangers."
Angry shouts outside the ring of firelight drew everyone's attention. A circle had formed around a trio of fist-throwing teenage boys and half a dozen men trying to pull them apart. Narsan stormed into the ring, demanding an explanation. Two boys, finally restrained, glared at the third whose nose was bloodied and whose arms bore the marks of violence.
"They attacked me for no reason," the battered youth spat in accusation, struggling toward his opponents.
Hirer's hand on Narsan's shoulder stopped the chairman mid-sentence.
"I see we have a politician here," Hirel smirked at the raging youth, drawing snickers from the crowd. "I'm sure that's you you two see it?" he jabbed his finger at the other lads who snarled at the first boy with eyes of fury.
"Insults," a curly-haired boy seethed, wiping grime from his face. "He insulted us and our keladuk."
"Names?" Narsan pointed.
Finturan and Aldantas," Palino sighed, shaking his head as he entered the circle. "The two I mentioned earlier who volunteered to ride east. That one there," he pointed to the bloody-nosed boy opposite, "is Marenin, my nephew. He does have a sharp tongue, I'm afraid."
. . . . . the chapter will be continue in The Power of Ancients . . . . .
