Also there was a short section that just needed rewriting, and I procrastinated on that. But I think I've got it fixed so it flows better and shows more of that character's nature.
Anyway, here it is, Part Two:
Kazimir Camp
Deidre ran
for an hour and a half before she stopped for a rest. She had just
crested a hill overlooking an empty valley.
Not
quite empty. She corrected herself. A small cabin sat at the base of
the hill, a touch of faint smoke rising from the chimney, evidence of
a dying fire.
No one
would settle here unless they had a water source. Stretching her arms
over her head, she breathed deeply. Favor is gained with a gift. All
I’ve got is this scraggly squirrel.
With a
heavy sigh, she sat down and began to think. She was in no condition
to hunt a wolf right this moment, and setting a snare for a deer
would take too long, and had no certain outcome. Unstoppering the
waterskin, she took a healthy swig, then swished it around, listening
carefully to judge the amount left. She heard water. Not just the
water in the skin, but actual running water.
Her
hopes soared, but she quickly pushed them down. Just because there
was water didn’t mean it was safe to drink. Putting the skin back
over her head, she stood and listened, turning slowly to divine the
direction of the sound.
As she
started forward, something checked her. If this turns out to be a
false lead, I lose valuable time and energy. The safest bet is to
keep going.
“Well,
then! Are you coming down or aren’t you?” A voice called out,
startling her.
Deidre
whirled around, staff ready. A wave of annoyance passed through her.
This was the second time today someone had been within earshot and
seen her first. She had to pay closer attention.
At the
door of the cabin stood a man holding a lantern up in one hand and
clutching a sword in the other.
“Come
down here, mister, or I’m coming up after you!” He added sternly.
Deidre
realized that the moon was at her back, rendering her a silhouette to
the man. Using her staff to steady herself on the steep slope, she
made her way down.
Once she
had come within the circle of light, he hastily corrected himself.
“Oh, ‘scuse me, ma’am. Just tryin’ to be careful.”
“Very
wise of you.” Deidre said, gracing him with a smile. “I was just
passing through.”
As she
spoke, he studied her carefully. She had dark hair that was lightly
streaked with gray, which seemed out of place around her youthful
face. Her clothing was rough and sturdy, but skillfully cut, and she
handled her heavy staff with practiced ease.
“Most
night travelers I get are more trouble than they’re worth.” He
adjusted his grip on the sword as he spoke.
“I was
left no choice.” She explained. “Earlier I was delayed by an
attack. My water supplies are running low and I was heading for the
next source I knew of when I happened upon your valley.”
“You’re
wanting water, then?”
“Yes,
sir.” Deidre retrieved the squirrel from her belt. “I have this
to exchange.”
The man
eyed it. “Kinda scrawny.”
She
sighed. “I know. But if you’ll let me sleep here for a few hours,
I’ll hunt for you at first light.”
Now he
eyed her. “Oh, will you? And what will you bring back?”
“A
wolf.” She promised. “A wolf with a healthy pelt.”
The man
laughed, sheathed his sword and offered his hand. “Rath, son of
John.”
She took
it, but did not give her own name.
“Well,
come in,” He stepped aside to let her enter. “We’ll cook that
squirrel of yours for a snack, and tomorrow, after you’ve gotten me
a wolf, I’ll fill your waterskin and give you another besides!”
She
stiffened at his familiar and commanding tone, and didn’t move
towards the doorway. “I’ll sleep out here, and make a fire with
your permission.”
He
frowned, then finally shrugged. “Eh, suit yourself. Just keep it
under control.”
“I
will. You have my gratitude.” Deidre turned and walked away.
Kneeling
at the far end of the valley, she unstrapped everything from her back
and rolled her shoulders in relief. As she organized her sleeping bag
and her pack, she noticed that Rath was still watching her. It made
her uneasy.
She
decided against building a fire and set the squirrel to the side, a
plan for it slowly forming in her mind.
After
unhooking the cape and cowl wrapped around her shoulders, she began
to untie the bandages wrapped around her arm. She grit her teeth as
the dried blood tore away from the tender skin. Even in the faint
lantern and moonlight, she could see that it wasn’t faring well.
Opening the waterskin she used half of the remaining contents to
flush the wound clean and rinse out the cloths. Then she retied them,
glancing at the cabin as she did so. Rath was still watching her from
the window.
Sitting
down cross-legged, back straight, she faced the cabin, staring back
at him. After only a few moments, he left the window and then lantern
went out. With a smile, she laid down, still facing the cabin, and
soon fell asleep.
The
sun’s rays were just beginning to think about reaching up to touch
the horizon when Deidre opened her eyes. It took her a moment to get
her bearings, but once she realized where she was, she got up
quickly. She had a wolf to hunt.
Several
miles away, a large camp was woken by a large brass gong. Two long
lines of tents were filled with the moaning and groaning of men as
they rolled off their cots and dressed quickly. They lined up
quickly, glancing down to the end of the row. There sat a tent so
large, it was really more of a draped pavilion. A man stepped out of
it just as the last stragglers jumped into line. He was tall, and
heavily muscled. His face was rough and weathered, but surprisingly
pale. However, it was his attire that attracted your attention first.
His jerkin, leggings and boots were darkest black, but his belt and
scabbard, which was not empty, were purest white. Over all these he
wore a long, finely tailored coat, red as blood on the outside and as
white as his belt on the inside. Finally, those who dared, or were
allowed to approach him were drawn to the fact that his hair was an
unnatural white and his stunningly green eyes were always completely
bloodshot. All in all, he cut a commanding, if not terrifying figure.
He let
his gaze rove over the lines of men, appraising them as harshly as he
had the first day they had joined his tribe. One man in particular
caught his eye. He walked down the line of men slowly, gaze fixed on
the recruit that seemed to offend him. When he stood in front of the
recruit, he said nothing, but looked down at him with a mix of
disgust and challenge in his eyes. The recruit was trembling
slightly, but continued to stare straight ahead as if his commander
were not there.
The
commanding man drew back and punched the recruit across the jaw. Or
he would have, if the recruit hadn't brought up his forearms to block
and absorb the impact. He had to dig his feet in to remain standing,
and even then he was driven back nearly a foot by the power in his
commanders fist. Then he straightened and stepped back into his place
in the line.
The man
nodded, satisfied, then signaled to one of his attendants to begin
calling the roll and returned to his oversized tent.
His name
was Haemon, Son of Carl, and he was the Chief of Kazimir Tribe. He
walked over the many skins that covered the dirt floor and crouched
at a low table. It was covered with more gadgets than you could
imagine. Cell phones, mp3 players, headphones, calculators, and car
keys. But the prize of Haemon’s collection was a handgun, loaded
and fully ready to fire. He had found a box of ammunition near the
gun and had carefully figured out how to reload and operate it-mostly
by letting some of his men play with it privately. Two of them shot
themselves before he finally got any useful information. Already he
had used it to rid himself of three would-be chiefs. Picking up a
cloth, he polished it lovingly.
“My
Lord Haemon!” His attendant burst into the tent.
Haemon
moved fast as a snake, pulling his knife and darting forward to grab
the man’s throat and press the knife against it.
“You
were not given permission to enter.” He hissed.
“But,
my lord,” The attendant gasped, “There’s a man missing.”
“Did
you search the tents?”
“Aye,
my lord.” Choking, the attendant added, “He’s one of the
loners. A tracker, my lord.”
Haemon
released him. “What is his name?”
The
attendant did his best to answer through his coughing fit. “G-gavin,
my… my lord.”
“Gavin.”
Haemon repeated the name thoughtfully, “Wasn’t he the one I
punished for insubordination last week?”
“Aye,
my lord, and laziness the week before.”
“He
was the scarred one.” Haemon said softly. “I remember him. He was
an idiot. Where did he come from?”
“He
was one of the Farze, my lord.”
“Was
that the last tribe we helped, or the one before that?”
The
attendant cleared his throat surreptitiously, “Farze Tribe was the
first tribe we… er, helped.”
“Ah.”
Haemon turned, his green and red eyes boring into the attendant, and
growled, “I want him found and brought to me.”
“Aye,
my lord. How would you like him found?” The attendant had learned
long ago not to guess at Haemon’s methods.
“Send
a tracker and two fighters after him. I don’t care if he can still
see, if he’s in three pieces or they have to break every bone in
his body to get him here. All I want is for him to still be alive
when they get back!” His voice rose with each sentence. “And tell
them that if they aren’t back within a week, we’ll send more men
after them.”
“Aye,
my lord.” The attendant turned to leave when Haemon added,
“And
tell them we won’t be here for longer than two days. Ilismach Tribe
and Averill Tribe lie ahead and beyond them is another of the Old
Cities.”
“Aye,
my lord.”
Haemon turned back to polishing
his gun and grinned savagely. No one left Kazimir Tribe without his
permission. Soon the Kazimir would be larger and wealthier than ever.
And now you've met my villain. Haemon, Son of Carl. He's going to be starring in my next character post. I find him quite interesting as well. I think I'll probably say that for every character, though. Each one is unique and distinct, at least in my own mind. The test of my writing skills will be whether or not I can translate that into the story. I hope I have, but I'd like your opinion.
As per usual, comments can be left below, and are not only appreciated but anticipated. Seriously, you have no idea how happy I get when someone leaves a comment. It's like a mini-Christmas morning.
Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!
~ Trinity
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