[originally published January 24, 2013]
Callista pulled up on her mount and scanned the hills to the north and
east, waiting for Torvaagh to return from scouting the road ahead. The sun was
setting fast behind her in the west, and she did not want her best rider caught
out alone in the dark. The cold Vaasan night was no place for a solitary scout,
not even a wily shaman like her kinsman.
She shifted irritably in the saddle as
she waited, rubbed at her shoulder, and cursed. More than a fortnight had
passed since she had fought in the field tournament at Talagbar. In the end,
the melee had come down to herself and the Baroness Varisia of Ironspur, and
Varisia had given as good as she got. Callista still carried the bruises from
that contest, and she had been in a foul mood ever since she'd gotten them.
A brief but bloody encounter with a band
of steppe raiders only two days past had made things worse. In other
circumstances she would have welcomed the fight as a pleasant bit of exercise as well as an
opportunity to remove potential poachers from her clan's extended hunting
grounds. Unfortunately, in the ensuing
mayhem she had further strained the shoulder of her swordarm. Her mood, and her
injury, had both been badly aggravated.
She frowned in thought. At least she had
been called to the moot.
She was truly pleased to have been
summoned. It had not gone unnoticed among her kin that she had seen her
thirtieth winter come and go. Only those who reached such an age were
considered clan elders, and only the elders were deemed worthy to participate.
The summons from Grommon'Kash had been
waiting for her when she returned to her pavilion after the list. She had read
the message, immediately ordered her retainers to take down all the tents, and
marched for the Vale- she knew that they could reach the valley in time for the
moot only if they left without delay.
As she sat reflecting, she did not
realize Torvaagh had entered the edge of the unfolding camp. He strode up to
where his kinswoman had been absently keeping watch, and made his report.
"The road ahead is clear. Four days
to the valley, by my reckoning."
She nodded curtly in agreement. Every
Armageddon knew these roads, and where they led. "We'll camp here tonight,
then."
Without further word, Torvaagh withdrew
to help Callista's other retainers set up the camp's perimeter defenses. He
knew better than to linger around his kinswoman when she was in a mood.
When he had gone, Callista returned to
her own thoughts.
She looked out over the foothills of the
Lugsaas as the sun was setting into night. Her orcish eyes adjusted to the
gathering dark, subtly changing her perception of the barren, yet beautiful,
vista. It wouldn't be too much longer before they reached the Grommon'Kash.
Despite all else, she thought to
herself, it was good to be heading home.