The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was a cold morning. A mist had descended from the mountains, lying flat and stretching out to the edges of the forests that surrounded Ceraborn. The sun, though it had risen early, had yet to burn away that low lying mist.

In the streets of the city, there was a quiet and unnerving nature. Inn houses had been ordered to remain close until noon, an order which had not gone unchallenged by many an angry innkeeper. Nevertheless, the order was clear and sure, enforced by a small regiment of Kingsmen as they patrolled those same quiet streets on that misted morning in Spring.

In the quiet of the Castle, a small band of servants and stable workers began to ready four mares of the long journey that lay ahead of them. They fed them, watered them, and ensured that they were good and strong. One young hand strapped the saddles to each horse, patted them and prayed to the Gods for their safe return. Soon after, the blacksmith came and shoed them, and he too prayed for them.

In the few short hours that followed, the mood around the place changed little. It seemed to those on the parapets, that even the morning songbirds had become mute, as they patrolled in utter silence. And breakfasts were taken in personal quarters rather than in some grand style. This, to those involved, was no great send off to slay some wonderous beast. No, this was a small band of warriors going, against all reason and hope, in order to kill a dragon. Messages still came from Sera, as the number of survivors dwindled as the hours passed. A note from a Priestess had arrived in the early hours, asking permission for the immediate construction of a mass grave in which to bury the dead. Velgar had granted it, and a tear had run down his reddened jowls as he had done so.

Lenren of Cerran did not feel much like eating on that particular morning, his stomach was full from the night before and in the darkness that had preceded dawn, in those murky hours of complete darkness that sit at the heart of a night, he had found himself already dressed and ready to ride. He had met with Astriel, sitting beside the front doors of the Castle, listening to the shrill calls of owls as they hunted in for mice and other rodents in the conjoining fields, as she sharpened her blades again. A habit she would take to her grave, he thought. The girl had been the next to arrive, her new clothes fitted her well, and she had been given a riding cloak, long and thick, with a large brass buckle at the front. She nodded to the others as she emerged from the darkness, appearing to not make a single sound as she walked. Ramon was not far behind her.

'We ready?' He grunted.

'Aye, just about.' Lenren returned gruffly, clearing his throat from morning phlegm.

Astriel picked herself up, sheathed her blades and placed her hood over her face. Her features were distinct, but in the darkness of the night and the hood she was utterly unrecognisable. Lenren checked his bow and arrows, each had been freshly crafted in the previous days. Those, along with his sword and dagger were all that he carried.

All wore similar armour underneath those same riding cloaks as that which the girl wore. Dark black breastplates which had been embossed with the sigil of the Black Archers, and underneath they wore thickly entwined mail skirting which ran to the knee. They had chosen against armoured trousers, instead opting for standard black ones which were easier to move in, and quieter in the darkness.

As the group emerged from the darkness of the entranceway, a small group of servants and stable hands bowed to them. Muted cries of 'Bless you' and 'May the Gods by with you', softly wavered through the dawn air.

'Stay with us young one.' Astriel said, as she helped Melran to mount her horse. The girl looked down to the hooded figure, one hand placed tightly over her own dagger, and nodded.

'These roads are dangerous places for the most experienced riders, I will ride before you and Ser Ramon behind. We will not lose you; we all rest together; we all fight together. Promise me that you shall honour those vows?' Melran could sense the harsh gaze that was masked by the hood, and again she nodded. The hooded figure patted the horse and mounted her own, whilst slightly ahead of them Lenren had began a slow trot towards the outer gate.