artfvlly
the empress.
cerdiwen erikough
coded by incandescent
The sun had barely risen over the horizon, a subtle chill to the windless air. Within an hour the landscape would be washed clean with light and blinding heat. The dry air of the summer months was always ruthless, often more so than the cool darkness of night and the terrors it brought. Cerdiwen sat atop her bay stallion, assessing the wastelands with a trained eye. The stallion was an anxious one, constantly shifting and pacing but by the goddess he could run. Technically, he was company property, ‘Whirlwind’ they called him. Fast enough to outpace a sandstorm, a perfect fit for Silas’ little wraith. Although, she wasn’t that little these days.
Silas, or informally known as ‘The Blackblood Reaper’, had scouted her when she was a teenager. She had just started out as another piece of fresh-meat to him, he needed a scout and she could provide. Over time they had formed a professional relationship, akin to a friendship at times. She scouted for his important resource hauls, he paid her. Part of that job was the anxious stallion beneath her, who was probably too green for the jobs they did together. She couldn’t use him for anything but jobs, they were strict on leisure time when it came to investments. In return though… they ended up with an under-ridden, green, anxious mess of a stallion that she had to deal with.
Cerdiwen shifted in the saddle, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead as the sun rose higher. The wolf furs she wore to combat the cold of the night were becoming too heavy. Hood still up, she flexed her shoulders to let the layer fall off. Listening as the Vampyr Tribe morning bustle started up, she tucked the furs into her saddle bag. Silas was late, they were supposed to set off before the heat set in. She had never known him to be late, which worried her. She had been asked two days in advance to be waiting in Vampyr for this job, it wasn’t like Silas to flake on her. Especially when it came to her travelling alone through the wastes to get to a job.
Things in Bluewyrm had been rough when she left, with the summer heat the rivers supply had slowed. The water was unclean, muddy, stagnant. She would spend hours boiling her share just so she knew she’d have enough for all the journeys. The harvest had been bad this year too, too many attacks to Daar Tribe and Orcalith Tribe. The Wasteland beasts were either getting more cocky or bigger in number. There had been talk of the increase in attacks, the way the beasts were pushing their territories onto Tribe lands.
There was a clacking of many hooves on the hard stone path behind her which pulled Cerdiwen from her thoughts. Turning around, she recognised the face of Silas. He sat atop his grey mare, as scruffy and gruff looking as the day she first met him. Slowly turning Whirlwind, Cerdiwen tilted her head to the side. Behind Silas was a group of his workers, all hardy built men and women. The protection, warriors cut from the desert sands itself. They never bothered to get to know Cerdiwen, despite having worked together for years. They recognised her as an outcast, plus there was the reputation that followed her being a scout. Scouts weren’t meant to last long, at least not as long as she had. They feared her, her dark eyes, quiet nature and the symbols of Nellaser she carried in her pocket.
Behind them was one of the fanciest sand skiffs Cerdiwen had ever laid her eyes on, it was built from a reflective metal that camouflaged it among its surroundings. She could’ve sworn it was accented with gold, the mast standing high twinkling in the morning light. The sails held the symbol of a spider web, made from red and gold pigment. Cassari. The royal sigil. Cerdiwen took a moment to eye the Ox that pulled the skiff, their harnesses made from quality leather. The metal that hooked them to the skiff looked to be made from gold too.
“You’re late,” Cerdiwen said dryly to Silas as he paused beside her. His scarred and sun-worn face crinkled with the slightest bit of amusement in response.
“I’m sure you can imagine why,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the royal sand skiff. Cerdiwen followed his gaze, purposely ignoring his warriors who sneered at her.
“Hardly,” she said quietly in response, looking back to him. “What is going on here? Pity resources from Thellone? Is that why you’ve got your best bastards lined up?”
Silas offered her a grim look in response.
“Careful,” he breathed, but Cerdiwen took note of the way he barred his teeth. “As if they would care that much,” he said under his breath. Cerdiwen raised an eyebrow.
“We are escorting King Thellone’s advisor, he’s been travelling the river and back again making an important announcement on behalf of the king.”
“What kind of announcement?” Cerdiwen asked, furrowing her brows as she glanced back at the royal skiff.
“I don’t know, kid. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” Silas replied roughly, then paused. Cerdiwen took notice that he seemed like he was about to say something more. Then a shrewd voice rang out from the royal skiff, causing all of the company to turn their heads.
“Blackblood. Does this look like a family reunion? We have a schedule, we’re already two hours behind—“ A skinny, pale man spoke. He stood upon the skiffs deck, royal robes and all. The quality was almost as sickening as his skin. The working tribes didn’t have the luxury of clean, pale skin. They were all worn out by the sun and sand.
“We are behind because you insisted on breakfast,” Silas interrupted, which gained a few chuckles from the warriors. Cerdiwen held her tongue, watching as the mans pale skin went to an angered pink.
“Regardless, Blackblood, we need to get moving. Now.”
“If you insist,” Silas sighed, turning back to Cerdiwen. “Listen kid, there’s a war brewing. Don’t get involved, keep your head down. You’re a good rider, a good scout too. Now, run like the fucking wind and maybe we’ll all live to see another day.”
Cerdiwen didn’t respond, instead starting at the scarred, older man for a moment, then to the line of warriors and royal skiff. Whirlwind didn’t hesitate for a moment as she nudged him forward with her heel, galloping into the Wasteland.
———————————
The uneventful trip that Cerdiwen had hoped for was quickly crushed. She knew it was foolish to hope for peace in a place such as the Wastelands, but an easy job was her favourite. She was about five minutes ahead of the main pack, the midday sun beating down on her back. She had shed most of her layers, left only with a hooded shirt, pants and her boots. Whirlwind was growing tired and thirsty, his nose and mouth crusted with sand.
Letting out a sharp breath, she pulled on the reigns pulling Whirlwind to a halt. She pulled out her water, pouring some into her hand. Leaning forward, she held her hand under Whirlwinds mouth allowing him to lick the water from her hand. Her skin felt sticky, thick with sweat and grime. Taking another handful of water she used it to clean her face, then took a swig from her bottle.
Tucking her bottle back away, Cerdiwen squinted at the path ahead of her. Through the sand there was a permanently carved path. At some point in the history of the Riverian Kingdom the paths had been scouted, reused and trekked. They were the safest routes to take, avoiding known beast dens and were sure to end in the destination in mind. Cerdiwen had travelled these paths hundreds of times, yet every time she rode it, it seemed to change. New sands would blow it and new land marks would form. Sometimes she would have to go off path to avoid a beast, it was just all in a days work. Sometimes, Cerdiwen did find herself admitting it was boring to her. The constant nothing, waking up to risk her life for what? Some more money in her pocket? It was a cruel reality, but she could never see herself doing anything else.
Sighing through her nose, she went to kick Whirlwind back into a trot when she felt something. Well, a lack of something. The desert was silent, not even the whispering of sand in the wind. The desert had gone dead. The wind was gone, no sharp dry currents shooting into her.
That was not good.
The royal skiff had been using the wind to propel it forward, they would have to get out the Ox for however long this dry spell lasted. It was always dangerous when these windless patches popped up, travelling slowly was a death sentence.
Cerdiwen was about to turn Whirlwind around to warn the party, when she heard a grunt. Whirlwind twitched beneath her as they both silently recognised the sound. In her distracted moment of contemplating the lack of wind, Cerdiwen had failed to notice the black mass ahead of her. A large, male Karkadann had stumbled onto the path. Karkadann’s were herbivores, not extremely touchy. The slightest movement or violence around them could set them into a frenzy. She felt Whirlwind twitch beneath her against, silently praying to Nellaser that he wouldn’t bolt.
Luckily the Karkadann hadn’t noticed their presence yet, not did it pay attention as they swiftly turned and galloped back to the group.
It didn’t take her long to reach them, Silas seeing her as soon as she rounded the corner. He held up his hand, telling the group to halt as Cerdiwen pulled a spooked, panting Whirlwind to a stop in front of them.
“Why are we stopping? Girl, what is the meaning of this?” She could hear the grumbling of King Thellone’s advisor. Silas waved his hand dismissively as the man, as if to silence him. “What do you think you’re doing? I am the advisor of King—“
“What is wrong, Wendy?” Silas asked as Cerdiwen caught her breath, looking behind herself to make sure she wasn’t followed.
“The wind, it completely cuts off around the corner. Dead spot.” She replied breathlessly. Silas frowned, following her gaze.
“Well, get the Ox then! We are prepared for this, are we not?” The advisor was still spouting, the ring of warriors rolling their eyes. Silas grabbed Cerdiwen’s wrist to grab her attention.
“We need to push back, there’s a Karkadann on the path. Male. Massive. It’ll total the skiff if we get too close,” Cerdiwen said to Silas, her eyes finding his.
While this was happening, the royal advisor was already ordering the Ox to the front. Cerdiwen watched Silas visibly clench his teeth as he whipped around.
“Put them back!” He yelled at the men already unloading the Ox.
“What is the meaning of this, Blackblood?” The advisor seethed in response, Silas ignored him.
“Get that skiff turned around, pull it out of sight! You lot,” he shouted, pointing at his group of hired muscle, “Form a line, prepare yourselves. One Karkadann, aim for the belly!”
Silas’s attention turned to Cerdiwen as the organised chaos ensued, she could hear the advisor grumbling as the Ox were forced back onto the skiff.
“Draw it towards us, take it up on the cliffs there. We’ll shoot arrows into its belly,” Silas told her, motioning to some cliffs to their left. Cerdiwen nodded, tightening her grip around the reigns in her hands.
“You run that horse to it’s breaking point, you hear me? Fly like the world itself is opening up after you. We can’t fuck this one up, Cerdiwen.” Cerdiwen nodded stiffly in response, guiding Whirlwind forward. She didn’t bother looking back as she approached the corner.
With sweating hands, she untied the knot holding up her saddle bag. She would need the least amount of weight to make this work. Settling back down in the saddle, she listened as the voices of the party slowly faded away. Turning the corner, she felt the sweltering heat increase as the wind disappeared. Cerdiwen could feel Whirlwind tensing beneath her, breath shortening as they approached the Karkadann. One would expect her to have certain feelings of fear or terror approaching such a beast, but Cerdiwen was often one to suppress such feelings. Even if there was a sickening feeling in her stomach, she could put those emotions on hold.
The Karkadann raised its head from the bush it was nibbling on, black beady eyes assessing her as she grew closer. It looked as if it were going to ignore her, be docile and put it’s head back down. She knew better, but still fell for the trap of growing closer. Whirlwind stumbled on a rock, his last nerve breaking. The stallion reared up, squealing in terror. Ceridwen held on, guiding the horse back to solid land, but it was too late. The beady eyes of the beast had moved, a giant horn had taken its place. And it was charging directly towards them.
“One for sorrow,” Cerdiwen muttered under her breath as Whirlwind sprung into action beneath her, sprinting down the path on course for the ambush.
——————————
Bluewyrm was a shithole if Cerdiwen had ever seen one. The streets were made from dirt and clay, houses scattered across the barren landscape. Most were made from clay too, shaped into small boxes with hanging cloth for doors. The river was close by, ankle depth due to the summer heat and muddy too. In the centre of the tribe was the courtyard, it had the benefit of being made from stone. A large house stood a the head of it, a large bell a top of it. In the centre of the courtyard was a platform, only really used for announcements of auctions. Around the tribe people bustled, working hard. Shop keepers had their pop up stalls, the stables grooming the sand off the horses fresh from the Wastelands. Somewhere in the distance, Cerdiwen could hear the drunken singing of people in the tavern.
That was to be quickly interrupted, somehow the party had managed to take down the massive Karkadann. She could see Silas attempting to sell off its leather and shell to a group of shopkeepers down the street. The Kings Advisor had made his way into the house with the bell, Chief Catun’s house. Ceridwen was chewing a soft apple, leaning on a post in the courtyard. Whirlwind had been stabled and she had been paid. She was just anticipating the bell to start ringing, to signal an announcement.
Like clockwork, Cerdiwen watched as a young boy scampered to the top of the building, the loud sound of ringing sounding out. It didn’t take long for everyone to gather. Half of them had been eyeing up the royal skiff nearby, probably hoping for extra supplies. Cerdiwen followed the crowd who gathered around the platform, standing next to a group of drunk men near the front. She watched as the Kings Advisor took the stage, next to Chief Catun. He looked sickly pale again, a look of self importance on his face. Cerdiwen bit her cheek to stop herself from smirking. The faces that stared up at him weren’t ones of respect, they were hungry. They were angry. They had respect for Catun, but this man? He might as well be their next meal. She could already see a group of bounty hunters opposite her basically licking their metaphorical claws in anticipation.
“Greetings, Bluewyrm Tribe. My name is Belator, Advisor of our King Thellone. I am here to make an important announcement—“
“Is it more food? Water?” A voice called out from the crowd. Belator chuckled.
“No, no, it is more important than that—“
“More important than water? We are starving out here while—“ The crowd burst into outrage, shifting around like sand in a duststorm. Cerdiwen smiled to herself as she was jostled around with the rest of the crowd. The shouting grew louder as Belator looked at Chief Catun in disbelief, muttering something to him Cerdiwen could not make out.
“Enough!” A shout rang out from Catun, stepping to the front of the platform. The crowd quietened and stilled. “King Thellone has sent a message for us all to receive. If you will not listen, then I shall tell you. Settle down.” Chief Catun paused, as if waiting for any objections.
“The King is offering an opportunity for any warriors. He is requesting a group of the finest warriors from each tribe. These warriors will all be entered into a trial, which is to the death. Each team will compete until only one is left standing, there is money, luxury and glory on the line. King Thellone is offering a personal, military quest to the winners. He hopes to wage war.” The was a long pause of silence once Catun finished speaking, then the crowd burst into yelling once more.
“Why would we want that?”
“Why more war, have we not lost enough already?”
“We are starving and he wants war?”
“Remember,” Catun yelled over the commotion, “Remember how we got here? King Arathund barred us from the lake, from the life source! He took it from us and left us to the scraps, the Wastelands! It is not King Thellone’s fault that we are here, it is King Arathund! We will not die quietly or weakly, we will not be buried in this sand! That lake is our birthright, and it is ours to take!” Shouts of agreement followed Catun, Cerdiwen looked around, hardly impressed. She caught Silas’ eye across the crowd, he just shook his head. Stay out of it, right.
“King Arathund is dead! Their kingdom is weak, his son, King Arinholm is just a boy! Younger than my own daughter! How can he lead a kingdom? He can’t! So we will reclaim what is rightfully ours, who here will take the honour of volunteering?”
The crowd was riled up, people cheering on Catun, others pushing forward to volunteer. The crowd pushed back to make a clear space for the volunteers to step forward. Cerdiwen followed suit in stepping back, watching as Silas made sure none of his muscle volunteered. In fact, she was so focused on Silas that she didn’t notice the group of drunk men beside her shoving each other around. With a dull whack, the Cerdiwen was shoved forward by a misplaced shove. Adjusting her footing, she looked up to realise she was in the cleared space.
“Our first volunteer!” Chief Catun roared.
Silas, or informally known as ‘The Blackblood Reaper’, had scouted her when she was a teenager. She had just started out as another piece of fresh-meat to him, he needed a scout and she could provide. Over time they had formed a professional relationship, akin to a friendship at times. She scouted for his important resource hauls, he paid her. Part of that job was the anxious stallion beneath her, who was probably too green for the jobs they did together. She couldn’t use him for anything but jobs, they were strict on leisure time when it came to investments. In return though… they ended up with an under-ridden, green, anxious mess of a stallion that she had to deal with.
Cerdiwen shifted in the saddle, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead as the sun rose higher. The wolf furs she wore to combat the cold of the night were becoming too heavy. Hood still up, she flexed her shoulders to let the layer fall off. Listening as the Vampyr Tribe morning bustle started up, she tucked the furs into her saddle bag. Silas was late, they were supposed to set off before the heat set in. She had never known him to be late, which worried her. She had been asked two days in advance to be waiting in Vampyr for this job, it wasn’t like Silas to flake on her. Especially when it came to her travelling alone through the wastes to get to a job.
Things in Bluewyrm had been rough when she left, with the summer heat the rivers supply had slowed. The water was unclean, muddy, stagnant. She would spend hours boiling her share just so she knew she’d have enough for all the journeys. The harvest had been bad this year too, too many attacks to Daar Tribe and Orcalith Tribe. The Wasteland beasts were either getting more cocky or bigger in number. There had been talk of the increase in attacks, the way the beasts were pushing their territories onto Tribe lands.
There was a clacking of many hooves on the hard stone path behind her which pulled Cerdiwen from her thoughts. Turning around, she recognised the face of Silas. He sat atop his grey mare, as scruffy and gruff looking as the day she first met him. Slowly turning Whirlwind, Cerdiwen tilted her head to the side. Behind Silas was a group of his workers, all hardy built men and women. The protection, warriors cut from the desert sands itself. They never bothered to get to know Cerdiwen, despite having worked together for years. They recognised her as an outcast, plus there was the reputation that followed her being a scout. Scouts weren’t meant to last long, at least not as long as she had. They feared her, her dark eyes, quiet nature and the symbols of Nellaser she carried in her pocket.
Behind them was one of the fanciest sand skiffs Cerdiwen had ever laid her eyes on, it was built from a reflective metal that camouflaged it among its surroundings. She could’ve sworn it was accented with gold, the mast standing high twinkling in the morning light. The sails held the symbol of a spider web, made from red and gold pigment. Cassari. The royal sigil. Cerdiwen took a moment to eye the Ox that pulled the skiff, their harnesses made from quality leather. The metal that hooked them to the skiff looked to be made from gold too.
“You’re late,” Cerdiwen said dryly to Silas as he paused beside her. His scarred and sun-worn face crinkled with the slightest bit of amusement in response.
“I’m sure you can imagine why,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the royal sand skiff. Cerdiwen followed his gaze, purposely ignoring his warriors who sneered at her.
“Hardly,” she said quietly in response, looking back to him. “What is going on here? Pity resources from Thellone? Is that why you’ve got your best bastards lined up?”
Silas offered her a grim look in response.
“Careful,” he breathed, but Cerdiwen took note of the way he barred his teeth. “As if they would care that much,” he said under his breath. Cerdiwen raised an eyebrow.
“We are escorting King Thellone’s advisor, he’s been travelling the river and back again making an important announcement on behalf of the king.”
“What kind of announcement?” Cerdiwen asked, furrowing her brows as she glanced back at the royal skiff.
“I don’t know, kid. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” Silas replied roughly, then paused. Cerdiwen took notice that he seemed like he was about to say something more. Then a shrewd voice rang out from the royal skiff, causing all of the company to turn their heads.
“Blackblood. Does this look like a family reunion? We have a schedule, we’re already two hours behind—“ A skinny, pale man spoke. He stood upon the skiffs deck, royal robes and all. The quality was almost as sickening as his skin. The working tribes didn’t have the luxury of clean, pale skin. They were all worn out by the sun and sand.
“We are behind because you insisted on breakfast,” Silas interrupted, which gained a few chuckles from the warriors. Cerdiwen held her tongue, watching as the mans pale skin went to an angered pink.
“Regardless, Blackblood, we need to get moving. Now.”
“If you insist,” Silas sighed, turning back to Cerdiwen. “Listen kid, there’s a war brewing. Don’t get involved, keep your head down. You’re a good rider, a good scout too. Now, run like the fucking wind and maybe we’ll all live to see another day.”
Cerdiwen didn’t respond, instead starting at the scarred, older man for a moment, then to the line of warriors and royal skiff. Whirlwind didn’t hesitate for a moment as she nudged him forward with her heel, galloping into the Wasteland.
———————————
The uneventful trip that Cerdiwen had hoped for was quickly crushed. She knew it was foolish to hope for peace in a place such as the Wastelands, but an easy job was her favourite. She was about five minutes ahead of the main pack, the midday sun beating down on her back. She had shed most of her layers, left only with a hooded shirt, pants and her boots. Whirlwind was growing tired and thirsty, his nose and mouth crusted with sand.
Letting out a sharp breath, she pulled on the reigns pulling Whirlwind to a halt. She pulled out her water, pouring some into her hand. Leaning forward, she held her hand under Whirlwinds mouth allowing him to lick the water from her hand. Her skin felt sticky, thick with sweat and grime. Taking another handful of water she used it to clean her face, then took a swig from her bottle.
Tucking her bottle back away, Cerdiwen squinted at the path ahead of her. Through the sand there was a permanently carved path. At some point in the history of the Riverian Kingdom the paths had been scouted, reused and trekked. They were the safest routes to take, avoiding known beast dens and were sure to end in the destination in mind. Cerdiwen had travelled these paths hundreds of times, yet every time she rode it, it seemed to change. New sands would blow it and new land marks would form. Sometimes she would have to go off path to avoid a beast, it was just all in a days work. Sometimes, Cerdiwen did find herself admitting it was boring to her. The constant nothing, waking up to risk her life for what? Some more money in her pocket? It was a cruel reality, but she could never see herself doing anything else.
Sighing through her nose, she went to kick Whirlwind back into a trot when she felt something. Well, a lack of something. The desert was silent, not even the whispering of sand in the wind. The desert had gone dead. The wind was gone, no sharp dry currents shooting into her.
That was not good.
The royal skiff had been using the wind to propel it forward, they would have to get out the Ox for however long this dry spell lasted. It was always dangerous when these windless patches popped up, travelling slowly was a death sentence.
Cerdiwen was about to turn Whirlwind around to warn the party, when she heard a grunt. Whirlwind twitched beneath her as they both silently recognised the sound. In her distracted moment of contemplating the lack of wind, Cerdiwen had failed to notice the black mass ahead of her. A large, male Karkadann had stumbled onto the path. Karkadann’s were herbivores, not extremely touchy. The slightest movement or violence around them could set them into a frenzy. She felt Whirlwind twitch beneath her against, silently praying to Nellaser that he wouldn’t bolt.
Luckily the Karkadann hadn’t noticed their presence yet, not did it pay attention as they swiftly turned and galloped back to the group.
It didn’t take her long to reach them, Silas seeing her as soon as she rounded the corner. He held up his hand, telling the group to halt as Cerdiwen pulled a spooked, panting Whirlwind to a stop in front of them.
“Why are we stopping? Girl, what is the meaning of this?” She could hear the grumbling of King Thellone’s advisor. Silas waved his hand dismissively as the man, as if to silence him. “What do you think you’re doing? I am the advisor of King—“
“What is wrong, Wendy?” Silas asked as Cerdiwen caught her breath, looking behind herself to make sure she wasn’t followed.
“The wind, it completely cuts off around the corner. Dead spot.” She replied breathlessly. Silas frowned, following her gaze.
“Well, get the Ox then! We are prepared for this, are we not?” The advisor was still spouting, the ring of warriors rolling their eyes. Silas grabbed Cerdiwen’s wrist to grab her attention.
“We need to push back, there’s a Karkadann on the path. Male. Massive. It’ll total the skiff if we get too close,” Cerdiwen said to Silas, her eyes finding his.
While this was happening, the royal advisor was already ordering the Ox to the front. Cerdiwen watched Silas visibly clench his teeth as he whipped around.
“Put them back!” He yelled at the men already unloading the Ox.
“What is the meaning of this, Blackblood?” The advisor seethed in response, Silas ignored him.
“Get that skiff turned around, pull it out of sight! You lot,” he shouted, pointing at his group of hired muscle, “Form a line, prepare yourselves. One Karkadann, aim for the belly!”
Silas’s attention turned to Cerdiwen as the organised chaos ensued, she could hear the advisor grumbling as the Ox were forced back onto the skiff.
“Draw it towards us, take it up on the cliffs there. We’ll shoot arrows into its belly,” Silas told her, motioning to some cliffs to their left. Cerdiwen nodded, tightening her grip around the reigns in her hands.
“You run that horse to it’s breaking point, you hear me? Fly like the world itself is opening up after you. We can’t fuck this one up, Cerdiwen.” Cerdiwen nodded stiffly in response, guiding Whirlwind forward. She didn’t bother looking back as she approached the corner.
With sweating hands, she untied the knot holding up her saddle bag. She would need the least amount of weight to make this work. Settling back down in the saddle, she listened as the voices of the party slowly faded away. Turning the corner, she felt the sweltering heat increase as the wind disappeared. Cerdiwen could feel Whirlwind tensing beneath her, breath shortening as they approached the Karkadann. One would expect her to have certain feelings of fear or terror approaching such a beast, but Cerdiwen was often one to suppress such feelings. Even if there was a sickening feeling in her stomach, she could put those emotions on hold.
The Karkadann raised its head from the bush it was nibbling on, black beady eyes assessing her as she grew closer. It looked as if it were going to ignore her, be docile and put it’s head back down. She knew better, but still fell for the trap of growing closer. Whirlwind stumbled on a rock, his last nerve breaking. The stallion reared up, squealing in terror. Ceridwen held on, guiding the horse back to solid land, but it was too late. The beady eyes of the beast had moved, a giant horn had taken its place. And it was charging directly towards them.
“One for sorrow,” Cerdiwen muttered under her breath as Whirlwind sprung into action beneath her, sprinting down the path on course for the ambush.
——————————
Bluewyrm was a shithole if Cerdiwen had ever seen one. The streets were made from dirt and clay, houses scattered across the barren landscape. Most were made from clay too, shaped into small boxes with hanging cloth for doors. The river was close by, ankle depth due to the summer heat and muddy too. In the centre of the tribe was the courtyard, it had the benefit of being made from stone. A large house stood a the head of it, a large bell a top of it. In the centre of the courtyard was a platform, only really used for announcements of auctions. Around the tribe people bustled, working hard. Shop keepers had their pop up stalls, the stables grooming the sand off the horses fresh from the Wastelands. Somewhere in the distance, Cerdiwen could hear the drunken singing of people in the tavern.
That was to be quickly interrupted, somehow the party had managed to take down the massive Karkadann. She could see Silas attempting to sell off its leather and shell to a group of shopkeepers down the street. The Kings Advisor had made his way into the house with the bell, Chief Catun’s house. Ceridwen was chewing a soft apple, leaning on a post in the courtyard. Whirlwind had been stabled and she had been paid. She was just anticipating the bell to start ringing, to signal an announcement.
Like clockwork, Cerdiwen watched as a young boy scampered to the top of the building, the loud sound of ringing sounding out. It didn’t take long for everyone to gather. Half of them had been eyeing up the royal skiff nearby, probably hoping for extra supplies. Cerdiwen followed the crowd who gathered around the platform, standing next to a group of drunk men near the front. She watched as the Kings Advisor took the stage, next to Chief Catun. He looked sickly pale again, a look of self importance on his face. Cerdiwen bit her cheek to stop herself from smirking. The faces that stared up at him weren’t ones of respect, they were hungry. They were angry. They had respect for Catun, but this man? He might as well be their next meal. She could already see a group of bounty hunters opposite her basically licking their metaphorical claws in anticipation.
“Greetings, Bluewyrm Tribe. My name is Belator, Advisor of our King Thellone. I am here to make an important announcement—“
“Is it more food? Water?” A voice called out from the crowd. Belator chuckled.
“No, no, it is more important than that—“
“More important than water? We are starving out here while—“ The crowd burst into outrage, shifting around like sand in a duststorm. Cerdiwen smiled to herself as she was jostled around with the rest of the crowd. The shouting grew louder as Belator looked at Chief Catun in disbelief, muttering something to him Cerdiwen could not make out.
“Enough!” A shout rang out from Catun, stepping to the front of the platform. The crowd quietened and stilled. “King Thellone has sent a message for us all to receive. If you will not listen, then I shall tell you. Settle down.” Chief Catun paused, as if waiting for any objections.
“The King is offering an opportunity for any warriors. He is requesting a group of the finest warriors from each tribe. These warriors will all be entered into a trial, which is to the death. Each team will compete until only one is left standing, there is money, luxury and glory on the line. King Thellone is offering a personal, military quest to the winners. He hopes to wage war.” The was a long pause of silence once Catun finished speaking, then the crowd burst into yelling once more.
“Why would we want that?”
“Why more war, have we not lost enough already?”
“We are starving and he wants war?”
“Remember,” Catun yelled over the commotion, “Remember how we got here? King Arathund barred us from the lake, from the life source! He took it from us and left us to the scraps, the Wastelands! It is not King Thellone’s fault that we are here, it is King Arathund! We will not die quietly or weakly, we will not be buried in this sand! That lake is our birthright, and it is ours to take!” Shouts of agreement followed Catun, Cerdiwen looked around, hardly impressed. She caught Silas’ eye across the crowd, he just shook his head. Stay out of it, right.
“King Arathund is dead! Their kingdom is weak, his son, King Arinholm is just a boy! Younger than my own daughter! How can he lead a kingdom? He can’t! So we will reclaim what is rightfully ours, who here will take the honour of volunteering?”
The crowd was riled up, people cheering on Catun, others pushing forward to volunteer. The crowd pushed back to make a clear space for the volunteers to step forward. Cerdiwen followed suit in stepping back, watching as Silas made sure none of his muscle volunteered. In fact, she was so focused on Silas that she didn’t notice the group of drunk men beside her shoving each other around. With a dull whack, the Cerdiwen was shoved forward by a misplaced shove. Adjusting her footing, she looked up to realise she was in the cleared space.
“Our first volunteer!” Chief Catun roared.
