The Riders - The Newhome Saga

Chapter Two - Dilemmas and Departures

The Riders – The Newhome Saga: Book One, Chapter Two “Dilemmas and Departures”

The fall gave way to winter over Windport, as the newly-assembled novices of The Smithwest Trading Guild carried out their cartography training through the winter months. During this time, they got to know one another as well as their new trade. As spring came upon the lands of Newhome, they completed the initial training needed and were ready to head to the western parts of the land to map out the unknown. The night before their departure, they decided to go to Windport and celebrate the last night of their apprenticeship.

The night air was filled with the smell of roasting meat on a spit, the flow of drinks, conversation and song permeated through the crowded tavern. Farim sat at a large round table in the center, refilling his mug, and enjoyed a good laugh as Ian shared one of his many stories of his scouting days with the militia. Josephine and Aurora were at the other end of the table having a more subdued conversation. Morgan, ever quiet but vigilant, was silently drinking from her own mug, but constantly gazing around the tavern floor, watching for any dangers.

“So where’s Crevecour? He’s missing out on all the festivities?” Farim half-announced, half-asked between his gulps.

“He said he needed to check in with his local officials of Markson.” Josephine had to almost shout over a sudden burst of cheers and yelling from the other patrons in responding, “but he’ll be here afterwards.”

“Good, because I really don’t want to start celebrating until all of us are here. Barmaid!!” Farim continued, raising his mug for a refill while speaking.

Morgan was momentarily distracted by Farim, as a man bumped into the back of her chair, hard enough to make it move. It did not seem to be accidental.

“I’m sorry.” The man started, while placing a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, “I must really watch my step.” He finished, half-smirking at her.

“You should,” Morgan coldly responded, “because the next time you touch me may be your last.” She shifted quickly, while almost springing up to her feet from her chair, ready to fight. Her hand was not fully on the hilt of her sword, but close enough to pull instantly if needed.

The tavern went silent.

“You fancy yourself useful with that?” he nodded towards her still-sheathed sword.

“Let’s find out.” Morgan replied, with ice in her every word.

“Friends, friends.” Ian very quickly interrupted, trying to sound as pleasant as he could, “there’s no need for this. We are merely here celebrating the end of our apprenticeship, and…”

“With the Smithwest Merchant Guild, I know.” The man replied, now looking at Ian, ignoring Morgan, “I’m with the Warcaster Trading Company, you may say we are now rivals in the same business. Seeing what Smithwest was able to dig up and call his own, I don’t really think there’s going to be too much competition now.” He half-chuckled and started to turn away from the assembled group.

“We’re not done.” Morgan stated, which made him pause and turn back to her.

“You really want to draw blades here? Attract the town guard? You really aren’t that smart, are you?"

“There is another way to settle this.” Ian quickly interjected, “just down the road from here is a Feasthall of Keltanna, the Goddess of Strength and Warfare. As you know, they have a fighting arena where disputes can be settled, blood or no blood drawn, as decided by the combatants. That seems to be a much more reasonable alternative to getting blood and whatever else may be spilled on the nice floors of this tavern.” He finished, smiling and nodding towards the bartender across the room, “can we agree to this much, please?”

Morgan nodded, not facing anyone but her opponent, then gestured towards the door.

“And I thought this night would be incredibly dull.” Morgan's new adversary responded, moving out into the streets, and headed towards the Feasthall.

Morgan followed him closely, while the rest moved quickly to keep up. Crevecour hastily left some coins on the table to cover their repast for the evening.

The outside of the Feasthall, a large, rectangular-shaped building, with the entrance prominently stretching out into the nearby roadway a bit further than its neighbors loomed before them. The sounds emanating were louder and even more boisterous than the tavern than the assembled had just left.

Keltanna’s symbol, two crossed black swords facing upwards against a red shield with blue outline, was painted over the main entrance to the building, boldly proclaiming her presence here. A sudden burst of laughter and yells of frustration exploded outward as the door opened, letting everyone into the main floor of the hall. The tables and chairs were on either side, as the main part of the floor was separated out into a slightly lowered rectangular combat floor, extending almost the entire length of the Feasthall.

A younger acolyte of Keltanna served as both greeter and grandmistress of ceremonies for the fighting floor. She approached the group, while Ian moved forward, and quickly explained the situation. The acolyte immediately smiled, as she moved away from Ian and made her way to the floor’s center.

“Assembled of Keltanna, there is a dispute here that must be resolved.” A loud cheer from the crowd was the immediate reply. She held a hand up, quieting the room, “these two” she started, gesturing towards Morgan and her opponent, “wish to test their strength at arms. That will be decided here.” Another eruption of cheering, and the passing of some betting coins began as well.

“Since this is not a time of open warfare, this conflict will be settled with wood, not steel. Opponents, make your way to the floor, and get your blades.” She moved aside, making a waving gesture towards the center floor for Morgan and her new enemy.

They both moved silently towards the fighting floor. The young man strode with pride into the center, chose his wooden blade and held it aloft to the roar and approval of the crowd, then took his position.

Morgan moved to the opposite end, picked up her blade, and got into position. Turning quickly, she saluted her opponent and assumed a fighting stance, never betraying any emotion.

The rest of Morgan’s companions managed to squeeze their way towards a table near the edge of the fighting floor, while Ian started to make a few wagers, siding with Morgan. Farim waved for some more food and drink, while Crevecour, Josephine, and Aurora quietly settled in, intently watching Morgan.

The cleric of Keltanna now stood in the middle of the floor, her hand raised once more bringing the Feasthall to silence. “May Keltanna’s strength show us who is truly the mightiest of those before us.” She then swung her hand down towards the floor.

“Fight!!”

The young man moved towards Morgan, as he swung horizontally to Morgan’s left side. She sidestepped almost at the last moment, swung her own sword and landed a hard blow to his left shoulder. He grunted, spun, and swung high, aiming for her head.

Morgan quickly blocked it and let him close in. Grunting and straining against the crossed swords, she then pushed him back and followed through. Her sword hitting her opponent's chest, knocking him to the ground.

She then came down with an overhead swing, which shattered her enemy's wooden blade under the force of the blow. The momentum carried through, landing in the center of his rib cage. She recovered quickly and leveled the end of her wooden sword at his neck. Her eyes a blazing intensity, looking at him eye-to-eye and not paying heed to the roars of approval from the crowd...only focused on her enemy.

He managed to catch his breath.

“I yield!!”, he quickly bellowed out.

Morgan stepped back slowly, never lowering her weapon. She then faced the crowd, her eyes looking for any other threats. Seeing none, she let out a quick breath and calmed herself down. She handed her sword back to the page at the side of the floor, then silently moved towards her companions.

The crowd erupted into a mix of loud cheers of approval and groans of despair as coins and other lost wagers were collected. Morgan’s opponent rose to his feet and quickly moved out of the Feasthall, avoiding Morgan and her compatriots. He merely turned and gave the assembled one last quick, angry look before leaving into the night.

Ian soon returned to the table. His own coin pouch almost overloaded from the recent winnings. “Well, my friends, food and lodging for this evening is on me.” Ian stated proudly, smiling more broadly than usual, clinking down a small pouch of coins as he returned to the table. Morgan returned a few moments later, visibly calmer as she took her seat. Ian reached into the pouch and gave roughly half of the coins collected to Morgan as she grabbed a mug and took a deep drink out of it.

“Thank you, Morgan.” Ian said graciously. She looked up at him, swept the coins into her own pouch, and then looked up at him.

“My pleasure.” She said, smiling.

Josephine almost choked on her own drink, and quickly set her mug down on the table, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.” She quickly blurted out.

“Surprised?” Morgan replied.

“Well...yes.” Josephine returned, dumbfounded.

“I think all of us are in a way.” Farim stated, while taking a bite out of a small loaf of bread, “where did you learn to fight like that? You’ve got great skill for someone so young.” He asked.

“The elves of the Mirithal Woods.” Morgan stated, taking another drink. “My home was destroyed some passings ago. I managed to escape and find my way to their territory. They found me, took me in, and taught me the ways they fight.”

“I’m sorry Morgan.” Aurora sincerely apologized, leaning forward, “where were you from?”

Morgan paused for a moment, then answered. “Lansby.”

“Wait a minute, all Lansby was wiped out about five years ago. My militia group was unable to find any survivors when we were sent in to help, once word of the attack made its way to our garrison.” Ian interjected.

“You were wrong.” Morgan replied, looking at him with steel conviction in her voice.

“My apologies, Morgan. I did not know.” Ian tried to recover. She merely nodded and went back to her drink. A silence settled over the table.

Ian cleared his throat and looked over at Crevecour. “So, what good news comes from the Temple of the Justicar this evening?” He asked, trying to quickly change the subject.

“None, unfortunately.” Crevecour replied, in-between a bite of a very long-delayed dinner, “my superiors informed me there were suspected activities of Dresdeana followers in the area.”

The news did not settle in well with the rest of the assembled.

The Maiden Death, Dresdeana was the deity of death in its most horrible forms, and worshippers praised her by causing as much death to the living, some even bringing forth various undead to walk the lands, ever-cultivating more souls for their dark mistress. Her followers were deadly to those unable to defend themselves.

“How recently?” Ian asked.

“Within the past week or so.” Crevecour replied, “which means we need to be on our guard when we are traveling.” He finished, looking at all his companions as he said this.

“So, where are we heading to first?” Josephine half-asked, an uncomfortable tone now in her voice.

“To the west, Tiderian City. Guildmaster Smithwest suggested we can get some information on where we can begin mapping some of the more unknown regions outside the civilized areas.” Crevecour replied.

“We need to make a stop on the way.” Morgan stated.

“Where?” Crevecour asked.

“Lansby.” Morgan replied, “It’s on the way, and I haven’t returned there since it was destroyed. There’s something I need to do.”

“Wait a minute, with the reports of Dresdeana worshippers around, wouldn’t that increase our chances of actually finding them at a place like that?” Josephine asked, now visibly concerned, “Is that really a good idea?”

“We will be careful.” Crevecour answered, then leaned over towards Josephine, “besides, do you want to be the one to tell her she can’t go?” He whispered to her.

Josephine looked past Crevecour’s shoulders, into the eyes of a very-determined Morgan.

“No, I guess not.” She whispered back, surrendering to the notion, “but I still don’t think it’s a very good idea.” She finished, loudly for the others to hear.

“You will be with others. We will look out for each other.” Aurora offered, “the woods and wilds are more of a home to me than any city, we will be protected.” She finished, smiling at Josephine with a look of assurance.

“All right.” Josephine sighed, “but you better be right about this.” She said, wagging a finger at Crevecour, “I’ve already seen way too many odd things in my lifetime.”

“Josephine, you’re younger than me by at least two passings.” Crevecour said, almost half-laughing.

“Exactly.” She seriously replied.