72nd of Spring, 498 AV
“No, son. You are not ready.”
The handsome young man looked down as a shadow fell upon his face. His Ankal has twice refused the lad’s request for a chance to prove himself. In the pavilion, those who cannot hunt or track must forage and tend the herd. Azmere despised being treated like a child. He felt he was above the simple tasks of cleaning pots and rinsing pans. He resented that he wasn’t give the respect one of his lineage deserved. Such arrogance was fueled by stories told to him by his entire family including his mother. A gentle woman, she was sprung from a line of men marked by Zulrav’s hurricane; Stormwardens. Azmere clung to these tales like a soft blanket day and night. As he slept, the winds of Zulrav’s voice rang within his dreams as massive storms and triumphant victories. During the day while farm tools sat idly in his hands, every breeze held the promise of these dreams.
As he was staring off into the Sea of Grass, his older half-brother Cassander kicked the stool from underneath Azmere’s weight and sent him toppling to the dirt. Azmere, ever smaller than his elder, sprang to his feet and squared off with the seventeen year old. He lifted his fierce gaze to meet the mocking grin of Cassander who returned the strong stance with a mocking pat on Azmere’s head.
“Oh, little bastard, one day you’ll get your chance to die in the tall grass.” Cassander went to pat Azmere on the head again but was quickly rebuked. Azmere lifted his arm and blocked the patronizing gesture with his right and then made a straight palm strike with his left to his brother’s sternum. The blow caused Cassander to take several steps back. He drew back a fist but was caught at the wrist by their Ankal.
“Enough! Both of you.” Their father, Cypher Moonbow, loomed like a godly statue over his sons. Truly, as one of the finest warriors in the Diamond clan, he was a giant among men. Cypher stood over six and a half feet tall, was chiseled of muscle and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. The boys both snapped to attention and stared straight ahead. There was a fear that held them in check and rightfully so. Cypher stood a moment and allowed his presence to set in with his spawn. “Cassander leaves before sundown for his trial and you!” Cypher turned his eyes to stare at Azmere. “You will wait for your trial until I say you are ready.” Having said that, the patriarch turned and left so he could attend to pavilion matters.
Cassander dusted his shirt and gave a hoity glare to his sibling. “Don’t worry, bastard. When I’m Ankal, I’ll make sure you get a good fork to bed the cattle.” He left the young man to fume. Azmere picked up his pitchfork and went back to bedding the stalls.
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“This aaaand…this aaaaaand…” Azmere looked back and forth in his corner of the tent. “Where is it?!” His volume scared him a bit. The realization of discovery caused the boy to freeze. The cease in movement gave him clarity. Azmere reached under the blanket and found the small knife he’d been searching for and tucked it into his pack. He double checked his gear and gave a nod of approval. He had a few days of rations, a spare change of clothes, his skinning knife and some dried scraps for the dog. Azmere donned his traveling cloak, a quiver of ten arrows and grabbed his bow. He ducked out of the tent being careful to avoid the pavilion guards and went to the kennel. He went to find Abednego who was more of a brother to Azmere than any of his siblings. The beast was both loyal and attentive but also intuitive and clever.
Azmere never feared while he was with his friend. He waited for the patrol to pass and then released his hound. They went off into the tall grass under the cover of night. He stopped, his heart caught in his throat. The brilliant blue eyes turned and looked back to the grounds where the striders were kept. He had bonded but was an inexperienced rider still. If he took Hephiestian, everyone would surely know that he had gone. With a sadness, the boy decided it best to leave his horse behind. He would need the bells’ worth of a headstart much more than he would need his mount. Firm in his decision-making skills, the small head nodded to no one then turned and disappeared into the untrampled grasses with his canine companion. Azmere would have his trial.