A masked woman sped over the wastes, throwing her weight side to side to weave her mount between the massive spikes jutting from the ground. She rode a large creature, six feet at the shoulder with massive, twisting horns and square pupils. It cleared the dunes with ease, weaving between the spikes, legs pumping in rhythmic cadence. A plume of dust billowed behind them, cloven hooves kicking up sprays of sand with every powerful stride. Birds circled above her, keeping their distance. Good, she thought. Let them come. The animal bounded over cracks in the crust, deep channels cutting through the ground below. The reins sat comfortably in the woman’s hands, and her eyes never left the horizon, constantly scanning, flickering back and forth.
The sun hung high in the sky, beating down mercilessly, nary a cloud in sight. It reflected off the sand, overwhelming to the senses. The heat stifled all life, air thick with haze, dust lazily whirling in the hazy currents. Her mask, little more than a piece of cloth with narrow eye slits, protected her eyes from glare and her throat from heat. The mask, stained and frayed at the edges, had a symbol painted on the forehead: a rising sun peeking over a horizon line, rays radiating outwards.
Birds circled the lone rider, wings light at the prospect of an easy meal. They cast dark shadows on the ground, staying well away from their prey. They wore patience well. At least, those with enough wit. The smallest bird in the flock broke off, making an early pass at the weary rider, wings tucked in tight to it’s sleek body as it dove, racing towards the figure below.
The rider’s hand shot up and the bird stopped dead, going limp all at once. In a flash, the rider opened a pocket, retrieved twine, hand twisted from marl vines, and in the blink of an eye the woman had hung the bird’s small form from her saddle. The other birds continued circling, unfazed. They knew well how some lessons could only be learned once.
Just ahead of the masked woman, a group of men in dirty furs sat bareback atop beastly companions, silently lurking in wait of prey. The beasts they rode could be more aptly described as monsters, and were a woefully deformed bunch. One had more limbs than any animal rightfully should. Another was covered entirely with spikes, the rider carefully situated between them. Most of them were rat-creatures, fangs overgrown and twisted, tails of pink flesh. Ugly, wretched things, the lot of them, and yet the pairs adore each other. Nearly all of the men unconsciously stroke their animal companions as they wait. At night, the rider-mount pair brave the biting cold together, pressed against each other for warmth.
A rider’s bond with their beast was essential to forming an effective hunting unit. For what other reason would riders put themselves in danger for their mounts, if not love? Just the same, why would a beast go careening into battle so, if not out of a desire to protect their rider and make them proud?
They wear the colors of the wastes, dirty furs caked in dirt and dust. They breathe only through rags over their face, and the lucky among them have goggles and helmets. They are at home in these broken lands, acclimated to them since birth. Each is a blooded warrior. All are in this desolate place. The weak are killed quick.
The masked woman bounded out in front of them, and the bandits went tearing after her. They prepared pikes, tips gleaming. The shafts were thin, made of a waste composite, and only the very tip had the good fortune of being metal, fastened securely and sharpened to a splitting edge. Extra pikes stuck out of the riders’ laps, squeezed in place with thighs, butts dragging in the sand behind the racing beasts.
The lead rider threw cursory stones with a sling, but the woman moved in odd patterns, weaving through the spikes and over crevices. Stone after stone flew at her, some missing by mere inches, but not a single one grazed her.
The woman pulled a sword from her saddle, and the men stopped in shock. The sword, eight feet from pommel to tip, gleamed in the harsh sunlight, not a pit or scratch marring its perfect form.
The war party hesitated for a moment, mounts slowing slightly, before redoubling their pace, kicking their heels. “So much metal…” and then greed hit, “SO MUCH METAL!”
The raider at the head of the party turned to his men, shouting, “This one’s a Seeker! Bound to be dangerous, but that sword is ours! Break out the good ammo, boys!”
Two riders pulled out makeshift crossbows, the bolts menacing and spiked, all odd angles and jagged edges. They took aim but did not fire, sights lined up waiting for the perfect shot.
The lone woman looked back and her eyes widened, aghast at the number of bandits arrayed against her. Half a dozen in a direct confrontation is suicide. I’ll lure them down, split them up, pick them off one by one. She thought, and fled down into the crust.
The bandits immediately gave chase, and one of the archers, seeing his window of opportunity narrowing, steadied his hands and slowed his breath, slowly clenching his hand tighter and tighter until TWANG the bolt flew true toward the center of the woman’s back. At the last moment, her sword flew up, deflecting the bolt and sending the tip skittering off the finely tempered steel.
“Damn! That should have hit her! You can’t block bolts, that’s cheating!” The archer shouted, shaking a tightly clenched fist.
The bandit leader snorted and rallied his men, “Alright boys, we gotta follow her down there. No chance we let that much metal get away."
"METAL!" The mounted bandits chorused greedily.
Continuing, the leader ordered, "Archers, the two of you follow from up top; harass her and give us directions. Ghar,” he said, pointing at the smallest of the bunch, a squat man atop a beast half the size of the others, “I want you to take point. The cracks in the crust narrow enough here that I’m not confident the big beasties can squeeze through. If we ever get separated, we’ll find another way around and you shout loud enough for us to follow, got it?”
“Aye!” Ghar squeaked, and the bandits set off as one, a hunger for metal deep in their bellies.
“We pull this off and who knows, maybe we’ll get metal knives! Or armor!” One of the bandits called, and the rest howled in laughter. Metal armor, what a ridiculous idea.
Down below, the masked woman was weaving through the cracks in the crust, sheer walls rising up twenty feet on either side, barely wide enough for her to traverse. The walls narrowed, and her mount’s horns scratched the sediment on either side, but then they were through and into a clearing. She looked around, spying an alcove set into one of the walls of the clearing, invisible to any pursuers following from atop the crust. Perfect. She thought, and swung off her mount, leading him by the reins to the little alcove. “Stay here, Yakhai. I will return soon, and we can truly be on our way to the Demon.” She stroked him gently across the neck, and laid a parting kiss on his cheek before vanishing into the crust.
Ghar followed the woman’s tracks, coming to a place where the walls narrowed, and he squeezed through, eyes flicking left and right, searching for any indication of movement. She was nowhere to be seen. He looked around desperately, head jerking back and forth, a growing fervor to his movements. No! This can’t be happening! I can't disappoint the boss! He spurned his beast forward, circling the clearing, when he saw it. There! The girl had left her mount, and it was placidly chewing on a meager patch of tough, yellowed grass. A savage grin took hold of his face and he urged his beast forward, only to have something slam into his chest and he was thrown backward. He smashed into the dirt hard, bones creaking. Every muscle in his body hurt, and his head was swimming, delirious. He tried to rise, but evoked no response from his body.
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The girl stood firmly atop Ghar’s beast, sword plunged firmly downward into its neck. Ghar went to scream, to cry out for his best friend’s life, but only a weak croak emerged amid droplets of blood. The girl withdrew her sword and advanced on Ghar, and for the first time he realized his mistake. This was no girl. Escape! Every instinct in him screamed, and an uncomfortable wetness filled his pants. The woman advanced, seven feet of powerful muscle and cold fury with eight feet of steel in her hands. For the first time, Ghar heard her speak.
“I Seek the Demon. Where is he?” Her eyes narrowed, focusing in on him. Ghar felt a fear unlike any he’d ever known grip him, his mind already reeling from pain, and his only response was a weak gurgling “P- Please...” accompanied by tears flowing down his face. His only thoughts were I don’t want to die! Please! Don’t let it end like this! Save me! Someone! Anyone! Please!
Steel flashed, severing tendon, artery, and windpipe. The man’s head rocked back into the craggy ground, attached by only a thin flap of skin. The woman wiped her blade on his dirty furs, eyes roving the surface of the crust twenty feet above for any other bandits.
The woman made quick work of the man’s belongings. Bowl, spoon, and cup she laid to the side, breaking his pike at the base of the shaft to take only the tip. A bone knife went into a pocket, and the scrap of cloth over his face went into another. A charcoal drawing of his beast she left in the dirt, the scrap of paper too small and dirty to consider taking, but the stick of charcoal she took.
She shook her head, thinking. Leave the next one in good enough shape to answer questions. She paused. One of them, at least.
“Here! Be wary, she got Ghar!” One of the archers called out, and the woman jerked her head up to look at him before disappearing back into the labyrinthine crust.
The three pike-wielding bandits raced to where the archer called out, but found themselves squeezed too tightly by the walls to continue.
“Damn!” The leader called out, “We have to find another way around. Archers, keep her busy but be careful! Reverse, boys! Search for another route!” The pounding of beast paws receded.
The archers prowled the edges of the clearing on top of the crust, confident in their vantage point. Crossbows trained on the clearing, they sat atop their mounts, alert. Forced to concentrate on a clearing with their companion’s body near decapitated at the bottom, insidious thoughts crept into their minds. Minutes passed with no indication of movement below, and the archers’ nerves began to fray. One of them raised his bow, and looking away from the clearing, called out to his companion. “I think she moved on. We should let the othe-”
“Behind you!” His companion yelled, and the archer snapped around only to catch a bone knife in the throat, followed by a kick that sent him and his mount tumbling into the clearing below. They fell for an eternity, scrabbling at the air for purchase. Purchase that never came. Man and beast crashed into the ground and stilled, red seeping out to water the dry dirt around them.
The archer across the clearing drew a bead on the woman and fired, but she was already off, sprinting for him. Voul, protect me!. He thought, and threw his crossbow down, drawing a bone knife and urging his mount towards the mad woman. His mount lunged for her, wicked teeth bared wide, only for a slab of steel to meet them with a savage CRUNCH. The beast flipped, throwing its rider into the dirt. The rider hit the ground with an OOMPH, the wind knocked out of him. He rose instantly, jumping back up to his feet, determined to avenge his friends, only for his eyes to widen in horror.
Steel flashed. The woman made a single overhand swipe, and his mount, writhing in pain, stilled, its lifeblood spilling out onto the dirt. She looked at him, cold gaze piercing, and called out. “I Seek the Demon. Where is he?”
The archer, watching the woman make demands of him atop the corpse of his best friend, spit on the dirt and drew a sneer before charging headlong at her, only a bone knife held in his shaking grasp. She killed him easily, a single stroke parting him into two halves before she disappeared back down into the crust.
The other three bandits finally broke out into the clearing, charging headlong with a cacophony of roars that died as soon as they saw the sight laid out before them. All three of their companions, dead in the dirt, mounts strewn beside them. The leader shouted “Back to back, boys! There’s three of us, she can’t take all of us working together!” Unlike before, there was a shake to his voice now, the unmistakable rattle of fear distorting his words. Even he didn’t believe what he was saying.
The three remaining bandits formed a tight circle, all still atop their mounts, pikes held at the ready. The pike tips shook in the receding sunlight, the heaving breaths of their wielders sounding out over the otherwise quiet wastes.
A shadow fell over them, and as one they looked up, seeing the figure of the massive woman atop the crust outlined by the setting sun. Golden light streamed around her, setting her sword ablaze, making the leathers she wore seem to writhe and twist on her body, the souls of her victims ensnared within. In a loud, clear voice, smooth as running water, she called out. “I Seek the Demon.” A pause. “Where is he?”
The puny, shaking figures below recoiled at her words, before the leader ventured a question. “If we tell you, will you let us go?” Desperation soaked every word, fear dripping like sweat from his tongue.
The woman nodded. “Of course, you have my word.” Her sword came down, an arc of fire against the dusk, and she planted it in front of her expectantly. The rising sun on the front of her mask shone intently, gleaming in the light.
The bandits looked amongst each other before nodding, shirking away from the daunting figure, and the leader spoke again. “He is in the Cave of Kharsas.”
A frown crossed the woman’s face. “Where is that? I have never heard of such a place.”
“I forgot, you are a stranger to these lands.” His eyes flickered to the symbol on her mask and he mustered all the respect he could manage. “Seeker, the Cave is to the northwest, in the land of great mesas. Follow the holy symbol and you can’t miss it.”
She nodded and spoke. “Thank you. That will do.” In an instant, she was gone, disappeared back into the crust.
The men relaxed, letting out a collective shaking sigh. They turned to each other, relief clear as day in their eyes. The leader spoke, his voice little more than a whisper against the setting sun. “Gather the bodies. We’ll drag them back to camp. We can’t let the scavengers have them.”
They set off to their task, and only a few seconds later, a scream rang out. One of the men slumped over, beast dead underneath him. The woman stood beside them, blood dripping from her sword.
The bandits scrambled backward, the remaining underling squeezing his eyes shut and hugging himself while the leader pleaded, “But you said you would let us go! Please!”
“I lied.”
Screams filled the air, and the birds above circled thicker than ever.
She strode back to Yakhai, sword cleaned and bodies looted. “Sorry you had to see that, old friend.” She patted his neck, rubbed his ears, and mounted up, leaving the bodies to lay in the dust.
After the woman was long gone, the birds landed, eager for a meal. Soon, the first of the real scavengers came. Pinchers, bugs the size of full grown men, emerged from the crevices in the crust and dragged the bodies away easily between their mandibles. Worms flocked to where the blood had been spilled, lapping it up from inside the soil. In mere hours, it appeared as if no struggle had taken place, the only indication of human presence a small charcoal drawing of a man and beast sketched in an amateur's hand on a tiny scrap of rough spun cloth, outlined with a heart.