"Oh look!" said Rysha then, removing one hand from his sides to point. "Butter flowers! Look how big they are… Daryd, I want to pick some, then I can take them home to Mama!"
"We're looking for much more important stuff than butter flowers," Daryd told her sternly. If only Mama hadn't insisted that he take Rysha with him this morning! He could hardly feel like a true Udalyn warrior with his seven-yearold sister clinging to the back of his saddle, complaining all the way.
"I want to pick some flowers!" Rysha insisted, indignantly. "If you're going to go into the forest, I'm going to pick some flowers! Or I'll tell Papa where you went!"
Daryd scowled. "You're such a pain, Rysha."
"You're a pain!"
The forest and the undergrowth became thicker, so Daryd steered toward the river. Soon enough, the great Yumynis appeared through the trees, wide and broken with rocks, its level low in the late summer.
Daryd rode along the grassy verge above the riverbank. Below, where erosion bit into the earth, a gravelly, rocky bank ran perhaps fifteen strides until the water's edge. Daryd made the spirit sign to his forehead and, behind him, Rysha did the same. The Yumynis was the lifeblood of the Udalyn. It had sustained them in the Catastrophe, a century before, when the Hadryn had tried to kill them all, and nearly succeeded. It had sustained them in the century since, locked in their valley, surrounded by the vilest of enemies. And it would sustain them in the future, as the Udalyn rebuilt their numbers and their weapons, working for the day when all that had been taken from them would be theirs once more. The great spirit of the Yumynis had given birth to the Udalyn countless centuries before, and now it kept them alive in all their struggles.
Soon Daryd found a grassy meadow and dismounted. While Essey grazed happily upon the grass, her tail swishing, Daryd and Rysha looked for herbs and mushrooms. Which was not such an unmanly thing, he assured himself as he peered beneath a large, mossy log for flashes of telltale colour. The wise ones of Saalshen loved herbs and mushrooms also, it was told, and made magical potions from them. The wise ones had not visited the Udalyn since the Catastrophe, but many stories were told of them still. And their disciple, Yuan Kessligh Cronenverdt, had come to the valley, when he was liberating all the north from the Cherrovan warlord Markield-Daryd's grandfather had told him that story many, many times. Kessligh Cronenverdt fought just like the wise ones, and he was the greatest warrior in all Lenayin. He'd even trained one of the princesses of Lenayin to fight like them too, it was said.
Soon, Daryd's hessian bag held a small weight of herbs and fungi. Absorbed in his searching, he suddenly realised that he did not know where Rysha was. He was about to call, but stopped himself. Not that the forest was unsafe-he'd told Rysha the truth about that-but if he was going to become a great warrior, he needed to learn to think like one.
Feeling pleased with himself for thinking of it, Daryd retraced his steps on sodden undergrowth and mossy roots toward the meadow, where he had last seen Rysha. Rysha could be annoying, but she wasn't stupid. She knew not to wander and was usually far more cautious than Daryd was. Even so, Daryd moved at a crouch, scanning through the trees as he'd seen his father and uncles do on a hunt, a hand on the hilt of his knife.
The forest grew lighter as he approached the meadow… and then, he could hear a new sound, above the calling of birds, and the gentle rushing of the river. A deep, distant sound. Like thunder, only steady, not rising or falling. Daryd had never heard anything like it before in his life.
Still creeping, he made his way to the edge of the meadow and peered out. Essey's head was raised, no longer chewing on the grass. Her ears were pricked, her attention turned toward the river. Beyond the fringe of trees where the meadow opened onto the riverbank, Daryd saw a dark mass moving. Atop the dark mass, sunlight glinted on metal. Occasionally a banner rose, flying as it moved. Horses, he realised in shock. The dark mass was hundreds of horses. And the thunder-noise was the sound of all their hooves.
"Daryd!" hissed a voice behind him, and he spun in shock, fumbling for his knife. Rysha stood there, her light brown hair now decorated with a bright yellow butter flower. Daryd's heart restarted, his knees threatened to give way. His fumbling hand had not found the hilt of his knife at all, much to his frustration.
"What?" he demanded angrily. Her big eyes stared across the meadow.
"It's the Hadryn!" she whispered, as if fearful they would overhear. "The Hadryn have come!"
Daryd stared across at the far bank. And then he realised… "Essey!"
He ran onto the meadow, grabbed the horse's reins and led her back to the trees, hoping none of the riders would see her through that brief gap in the trees. The Hadryn were headed toward Ymoth. Toward home. Toward Papa, Mama and all the family.
"Quick!" he said to Rysha, "get up!" For once she didn't complain, and he helped her astride before following. "We have to warn Ymoth! That's the entire Hadryn army!" Even now, the column of horses was continuing to pass and showed no sign of stopping. Not hundreds. Thousands.
He urged Essey forward through the trees, but the undergrowth here was thicker than nearer the fields. Immediately, his path was blocked by a large fallen log and he had to go around, only to find that way partially blocked as well. Nimble-footed though she was, Essey made little progress as bushes caught at her legs and roots caused her to stumble. Across the river, the Hadryn were moving far, far faster.
"We're too slow!" he told Rysha desperately, ducking a low branch that clawed at his hair. "We have to ride along the riverbank!"
"But they'll see us!" Rysha protested, her voice filled with fear.
"We have to warn Mama and Papa!" said Daryd. "We have to go faster!" He turned Essey toward the river and the mare wove, stumbled and bounded her way between the trees as best she could. Finally the undergrowth thinned and Essey cleared the last, twisted trees upon the riverbank. The sight took Daryd's breath away. Across the fields on the far side of the Yumynis, a single, endless column of armoured men on horseback was moving at a canter. Even from the far bank of the wide river, the roar of hooves made a sound so loud it was frightening. Banners flew at even spacings along the column, flying colours and symbols that were foreign. Many of the riders were wearing black, a Verenthane colour. Daryd knew little of the Verenthanes, except that some were good, some were bad, and the Hadryn were worst.
He kicked his heels to Essey's sides and she broke into her fastest gallop along the uneven riverbank grass. Rysha clutched him tightly from behind, her face pressed against his back-she had never liked it when he went this fast and the riverbank was not as flat as he would have liked. Essey raced up and down the bumps, at frightening speed, and Daryd simply tried to stay straight in the saddle, unable to crouch as much as he'd like lest he give Rysha nothing to hold onto.
Above the thunder of Essey's hooves, he heard a distant shout, then another. He risked a glance across the river and saw a rider separating from the column, galloping to match him along the opposing bank. That man was looking straight at him, from a hundred strides away, and fear knotted in Daryd's stomach. The Hadryn wore a mail shirt with a coloured vest and jacket over the top, and his head was covered by a pointy steel helm. An arm was waved and another rider joined the first, together they tore ahead along the opposite riverbank. It startled Daryd to see how fast they were-Essey was running at full gallop, yet the two Hadryn horses gained a big lead in no time, disappearing now behind some poplars growing in lines along the riverbank.
Then they reappeared again, leaping down from the high bank to the gravelly riverside and cantering to the water. Daryd's heart nearly stopped again as he realised the horses were going to cross the river. The water level was low this time of year and, for the big horses the Hadryn used, it probably wouldn't be difficult. It hadn't occurred to him. Terror flooded his veins and he cursed himself bitterly-not so much for himself, but for Rysha. He should never have taken a risk with her life. His first and most important role as a big brother was to protect her, and he'd failed, miserably.