TELON WAS A SMALL TOWN OF WARRIORS and merchants south of the grand and beautiful Camelot. Everyone in the town was expected to fight and hold their own, except for the women of course. But somehow Sebidwen had remained the exception to her father, being the only child her mother could bare before death stole her from their hands, handing them grief instead of happiness. She had always supposed that her father had wished for a son instead of a daughter, but had never brought the topic to his attention. It was ridiculous to think in such ways when you had better things to be doing.

Sebidwen had trained her whole life, fighting alongside the men and other small boys in the town, going on excursions and missions with the other warriors. They taught her to hold her tears when in the presence of others, to never show weakness of any form and to keep her chin held high. They taught her what it was like to feel and endure pain. They taught her so much from the time she was big enough to ride a horse unattended and, in a short amount of time, she had easily gained a high moral standing and a strong respect in Telon for her bravery and courageous acts on the orders of her father. Everyone in Telon revered her and held her up to the highest of standards.

In comparison to how they had first treated her, when Sebidwen was a little girl, it could easily be said she had come a long way to win the hearts and respect of the townspeople. The feat had been nothing easy for merchants and warriors were taught one thing consistently — never trust your eyes. Even a wolf can wear a sheep's skin without a shepherd knowing any differently until his sheep begin dying without explanation.

The villagers had never thought of Sebidwen as a wolf, no, of course not! They had simply wanted to remind her that just because she was their leader's daughter, she couldn't get away with anything she fancied. She would be held responsible for her words and actions, as a warrior should be. Her father was a warrior.

He'd been the best that Telon had seen since the founding of the town ages ago. Palotine was strict, and determined, and charismatic all at the same time. He had a certain ability to speak with such authority and self-certainty that anyone who listened would find themselves captivated and enthralled by his low, calming voice of reason.

That had been before he'd fallen ill.

"Sebidwen, come to my bedside — now!" Palotine called out to his only daughter, staring silently at the low ceiling of their small home. Instead of a charming voice, it came raspy and as if it were thick with sand. The man's sickly grey eyes were cloudy and rolled back into his head when Sebidwen came into the room. His fever was slowly getting worse and worse. It grew hotter, then colder, and hotter again, his fever was slowly growing worse every day. The cycle of misery was endless for the old warrior.

Sighing heavily from weariness, Sebidwen bent over to get into the too-small doorway, clutching her side to keep her shining chain mail from catching on the hilt of her sword. "Yes, father?" She asked quietly, face contorting into one of utmost respect and fear; fear for her father's life.

Her father, Palotine, was pale and graying — the mark of a long and arduous life. He was deathly ill, and Sebidwen was growing increasingly concerned for her father with every passing moment. He coughed deep red blood, his fever burned hotter than any fire, and he went in and out of consciousness; losing all track of time. He didn't even know what day it was, just that it was one day closer to his eventual and inevitable death. It was a topic he was not scared of discussing with his daughter. Palotine had been this way for weeks now and it was uncertain how long he could last without some cure, or even a diagnosis.

"Sebidwen, I — please..." Palotine paused, feeling too weak to continue his plea. The way his voice shook gave her chills. His voice never shook. "Help me, daughter." Palotine begged, closing his stormy grey eyes slowly as he fell asleep to conserve his little strength he had left. This was the worst Sebidwen had seen him at.

The help he was asking for is where Sebidwen found herself becoming confused. The man had never asked for help a day in his life. He'd never done a lot of things until he became sick, of course. It had been the nature of the illness which made him bedridden that forced him to act out of character.

Brow furrowing together, Sebidwen knelt on her knees at her father's bedside, pressing her forehead against the edge of the bed, hands on either side of her temples. "Yes, sir, I promise to get you help." She swore the utterance quickly, rising to her feet and striding out of his room on silent toes.

Sebidwen turned to look at him one last time before she left. The man who had raised her from a babe was sleeping fitfully for now, pain easing itself into his wrecked body. Sooner or later he would be awakened once more, feeling too hot or too cold, thrashing with his nightmares that now spilled into his waking hours.

Her mind was finally made.

Palotine's condition itself was troubling and Telon's local healer, Mesant, had no single diagnosis for him. He'd never seen this severity of illness before and was scrambling for some kind of answer, looking in the rather limited selection of Telon's library and wracking his brain for every possible answer. Mesant stayed awake day and night searching for answers but Sebidwen knew she would have to travel to Camelot soon.

The only stipulation in this situation being that she feared leaving her father until his condition was labeled stable by Mesant. Unfortunately, Mesant had, as mentioned, no diagnosis — which meant no prognosis and no treatment. What a fool! He had no name for what ailed her sickly father; her brave, noble father. Mesant was the only healer in Telon, he was getting older and clearly was out of practice in diseases. Physical wounds were clearly more of his specialty, given that the town was full of foolhardy warriors. He didn't know how to admit that he couldn't heal Palotine, but Sebidwen could see right through his fallacious insistence.

With little consideration, Sebidwen knew now she must leave immediately for Camelot to save her father. It was a three days ride if you took the shortest routes and kept a grueling pace. Camelot had the best healers in all of the lands and she knew that this is where she could find someone to help him. She could save him, but only if she left Telon immediately. Admittedly, Sebidwen should've left for Camelot long ago but, with false hope provided by Mesant, she'd been convinced to stay and lead Telon in Palotine's stead.

What a stupid decision.

Walking to her purposely tidy and sparse room, Sebidwen began to pack. She didn't have many belongings, it was one of the things Palotine had raised her on. Belongings beyond your clothes, sword, and blanket slowed people down. Material belongings were of no use to a warrior and sentiment wasn't something Palotine was too keen on raising his daughter with. Sentiment was equivalent to weakness and weakness was unaffordable.

Sebidwen put together a small sack of food, mostly hard and tacky bread from the local mill, and a hunk of hardened cheese that was suitable and meant for travelers. On a second thought, she threw in some herbs that could be used for poultices and salves in the case of injury. She also grabbed cloth for bandages. That was the way, she'd been taught, that a warrior should pack. She had to be prepared for all circumstances should the need arise that she treat the wounds of herself or others.

After all, the road ahead was known to be dangerous.

Pulling her forest green cloak around her body, Sebidwen marched over to the town's stables where Afagon, her faithfully loyal warhorse, awaited her in his stall. She saddled him with ease and with a practiced hand, enjoying the sounds the birds made in the rafters above Afagon's stall. They were blue songbirds who nested in the stables for as long as Sebidwen could remember, and now was around the time that they would be having babies; the cycle of life.

She was just about to put on her packed and ready saddlebags when the town's bell tower sounded loud and clear. The remaining skeleton crew of Telon's guards called out in loud voices, commanding all available warriors to report to the front gates. Fear was evident in the tremble of their tones.

With the bell tolling loudly and panic quickly ensuing and consuming the women and children, Sebidwen secured Afagon to a wooden post despite his nervous, war-ready prancing and took off at full speed down the worn dirt road towards the gates. "Go in your homes!" Sebidwen commanded in a shout at a group of by-standing children who were watching the chaos unfold with wide, innocent eyes. Their small bodies were frozen in fear, trembling because they knew what was coming. It was the same time as last week.

Before arriving near the wooden gates Sebidwen watched as the local bandits, called the Impalers by the townspeople, rode into Telon on fearless warhorses, wielding swords of death and holding them with ruthless intent. Their eyes held a certain glimmer of evil that stilled any man with good sense. Their faces smiled in laughter even as they began to cut people down, keeping their namesake true. This particular group of people liked to impale their enemies on downed pikes to put around their campsite which was posted not far from Telon, it was rather close. Being a merchant town and a known trading post, their spot was rich in resources and money. It was the perfect place to raid, feed off of, and swindle resources from.

Stopping in her tracks, Sebidwen drew her sword from its leather scabbard at her waist, watching hopelessly as the guards at the gates were slaughtered without a second thought. They had been woefully unprepared. This was the third time in a month that the Impalers had ravaged Telon and each time more and more people died, mostly warriors and their families. Anyone who dared stand against the Impalers were dead unless they were good at standing their ground, like Sebidwen. But... they were beginning to get outnumbered. It was only a matter of time before all that remained in Telon were women and small children.

The leader rode upon a horse of the deepest red roan with a sword that was permanently stained with the blood of his victims. He looked like death himself; wearing a necklace of grimy human ears that had been severed from their owners and a tunic of dark red (said to be dyed red with blood), his hair even grew in long blond locks and lay tangled around his face. No one knew his real name, they only knew of his ruthless title and actions through stories that were told in the wake of the Impalers. No one cared to know, either — only to flee as soon as they heard his horrible and breathless laugh as he took joy from wielding a sword to a hapless woman.

But the people of Telon did have a name for this leader. They called him Kahese in order to keep from being unreasonably scared of him, they gave him a name so they could look him in the eyes when his group came into town. The key to facing fears was staring them in the eyes and this was a philosophy every one in the town stood behind.

And Sebidwen was determined to stop him. This would be the second time she had faced the Impalers. The first time, she had been away on a request for her father, hoping to find a special herb in the forest to help heal him or slow down his mysterious illness. It had not worked, the effort had been folly. When she returned to find Telon devastated by loss, Sebidwen was filled with an untamable rage that pushed her forward to take steps to defeat this leader.

Despite the light rain and harsh winds, Palotine had insisted on training for a couple hours. To toughen her up, he had insisted, reasoning with the little girl that war would not stop just because of too much wind or rain. She knew he was only doing what he thought was best, but she extremely disliked the rain. It made her clothes heavy and her hair too wet to see through.

He wielded a sword of the finest stature, made by Bersufir Brese, and he faced his daughter squarely. Behind him, a small group of four boys in-training formed a deadly triangle with Palotine at their front, all were holding swords bravely with looks of malicious intent upon their faces; the faces of a warrior's intimidation, she'd been taught. They calculated her and she took this moment to calculate them.

Sebidwen suddenly recoiled from her fighting stance, putting her sword down by her side. The tip of it nearly touched the ground beneath her. "Father!" She complained in a high pitched voice. "I am outnumbered, this is not a fair fight—"

Palotine waved her off.

"Fairness does not matter, Sebidwen. A great warrior knows that to defeat his enemy when he is sorely outnumbered — he must cut off the head of the snake and the rest of the body will wither." Palotine explained this logic to his daughter, readying his stance once more. He was tired of waiting around in the rain. He motioned to her sword quickly as he swung his own once, rather impressively, to strike the air between them.

"Ready yourself."

Sebidwen shook herself fiercely, deciding to take clever action upon the Impalers and Kahese. They outnumbered Telon's warriors by many so formulating a plan of central attack was virtually useless. Sebidwen knew she'd have to be clever and sly to do this right, she'd have to be smarter than Kahese had thus far proven himself to be.

She allowed the other warriors to target the bandits as she snuck behind crumbling buildings to get an angle on Kahese, going as slow as possible for fear of being spotted and challenged by one of the Impalers. If anyone saw her, they showed no signs of it and she went through the outskirts of the village unchallenged.

"Bring me all of your wealth!" Kahese commanded in a deep and bellowing voice that spoke with masculine authority, his restless roan horse moving relentlessly beneath him in spinning circles, tail fanned out and neck bunched up. Sebidwen could only guess that his horse was trained to do this; you could never, after all, turn your back to a potential enemy in a hostile environment. It was a smart thing to teach the beast, Sebidwen briefly noted she'd have to teach Afagon to do the very same trick.

"Bring me your women and children! It's examination time."

Sebidwen frowned as she realized she was not able to find a clear spot to get behind the horse. The tactic the horse was using was effective, she would definitely have to train all of Telon's horses with this later. Maybe it would help someday. After deliberation, she figured she might just have to charge Kahese in order to get the jump on him. Even then, it was a risky strategy. Too risky. But what else could be done? She could get an angle where all of Kahese's followers had their backs to her but she'd also have to time it to when Kahese's horse had his back turned.

Preparing herself for action, Sebidwen was stilled as she watched her greatest friend, Cadwadwyr — known simply as Wyr to her, rush forward to challenge Kahese. He slashed his sword quickly at the red warhorse beneath Kahese, aiming for the beast's underbelly and legs. It seemed Cadwadwyr had concocted the same desperate plan as Sebidwen, except it also seemed that his plan was foolishly carried out.

Kahese instantly heard Cadwadwyr's approach.

Wheeling around, the red horse lashed out with its shod forehooves towards Cadwadwyr, slicing open his chain mail but not injuring his hard-muscled chest beneath. The horse's hooves flashed metallic in the light once more and Sebidwen caught sight of clever ingenuity: razor sharp horseshoes. Good for traction and good for inflicting pain on one's enemies.

Cadwadwyr fell back in shock, stumbling backwards on the palms of his hands as he simultaneously propelled himself backward with his strong legs. He knew the trouble he was in now. The horse realized this too and, as if gaining excitement from what was to come, whinnied his approval. The roan bunched up his muscles, leaning back on his haunches as he prepared to surge forward in one fluid motion.

The rest happened in slow motion for Sebidwen.

Kahese raised his sword, following up with a harsh nudge to his horse's sides, making the beast charge forward as quickly as possible. Running his sword clean through Cadwadwyr's chest, through his heart. Into his heart it went as easily as slicing bread or a wheel of cheese. It slid out of his heart with a sickening wet sound as Cadwadwyr's body thumped to the ground, lifeless. It was the only sound Sebidwen could hear as his scarlet red blood dripped from Kahese's sword, scoring the dirt beneath his murderer with red.

Sebidwen fell to her knees in shock at witnessing the deepest torment she had ever felt in her whole life, leaning against the side of the house for support. She feared she would fall over if she did not grab the loose bricks of the house and she knew she had to stay hidden or Kahese would spot her. "Cadwadwyr..." she whispered quietly to herself, raising a hand to cover her mouth in a foreign, extremely ladylike motion. "No! No, no, no!"

Kahese, as if knowing where Sebidwen hid beside the house, spun his horse around and stared directly into the eyes of the young warrior that was crying like a little child. He pointed with his stained blade at Sebidwen in a quiet and mocking triumph, staring into her eyes for a brief moment as if he somehow knew exactly what he had done to her, as if he had consorted with the Devil to plan this injury to her.

He then turned his horse to examine the women, children, and riches brought to him by his followers — his little brainwashed soldiers. He was the head of the snake, and she knew what she had to do to him.

Sebidwen closed her eyes, shutting out the rest of the town as she was struck unable to think, to move, to breathe or comprehend what had just happened. Cadwadwyr had always been there for Sebidwen, they were the best of friends and Sebidwen had been afraid she was feeling more than just 'friendly' feelings around Cadwadwyr. She'd never stopped to truly think about it. She'd always been too busy or too dissenting to confront the feelings which boiled inside of her very soul.

But he was gone now. How could he go away so easily? How could he have been so quickly knocked down? How could he have let himself be so foolish with a half-assed plan that could never have worked?

Cadwadwyr slowly brushed some of Sebidwen's dark, chestnut brown hair behind her small ear. "You're amazing, you know. You're without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened in this town," he said quietly, drawing closer to his best friend. "I love you." His smile was dazzling, and Sebidwen found it hard to breathe in his presence.

He was gone, and Sebidwen's heart was in pieces. Her chest — it felt like someone had sat on it. She sat there beside that red house for several minutes, crying silently with her eyes closed, finding it harder to breathe with the effort it took to keep her cries silent. She weeped for what could have been and what was there no longer. Sebidwen wanted to shout and scream her pain to the sky but she knew she had to force herself to keep quiet.

She shut out the cries of the women, the whimpers of the children and the laughter of the Impalers. "I love you too Wyr..." she whispered to herself quietly, opening her eyes to stare at his lifeless body. It lay exactly where he'd fallen, his blue eyes were open to stare up at the cloudless sky. If his face could convey his last thoughts, it must've been something beautiful because his face was composed into this serene look he only got only when looking out across the beauty of the wilderness or the tenderness of a flower.

"Move on! Go without me, I will join you at the lake!" Cadwadwyr called out to Sebidwen, fending off their fiendish attackers as the damned beasts of the forest were steadily closing in on them. "And remember that if I don't make it, Sebidwen, you must go on without me!"

He was always so selfless.

Sebidwen let his words wash over her. You must go on without me. You must go on without me! The words rang in her ears, echoing inside the darkest corners of her mind. She knew she had to go on without him, even if it hurt her to do so. Everyone in Telon was depending on her and she had to save them. She had to push aside her pain and use it for something else.

Sebidwen rose shakily to her feet, knees shaking so hard she nearly fell back into the dirt. Her breath shuddered and threatened to leave her completely as she leaned back on the house once more, glaring in the direction of Kahese's back. She secretly hoped that he could feel the burning glare of her eyes and feel the pain she felt.

Brushing her tears away with the backs of her hands, Sebidwen's eyes were surely red and puffy by now. She was such an ugly crier. She hated it. She hated the Impalers. She hated Kahese. Focusing this anger, this deeply seated hatred, Sebidwen found strength to stand and grab her sword from the dirt once more. She would grieve later. Now was a time for action and she knew just how to begin.

She circled back around the houses.

Kahese was finally off of his horse, holding a young woman by her bony chin up to his face. He examined her as if she was a loaf of bread at the market, as if she wasn't even human. "Your cheekbones are too sharp, you're a thin hag, aren't you?" His voice sounded throughout the clearing loudly as he shamed the woman. Nobody dared to speak for fear of incurring his wrath. "Can't afford to feed yourself? Where's the man who's supposed to take care of you? Ha!" Kahese's bellowing laugh followed, making the woman shake silently in his grip. "I'll show you what a real man is like."

The young woman was crying, keeping her eyes closed tightly as tears slipped down her cheeks without drawing attention. She refused to look into Kahese's atrociously callous black eyes. "Please, please just let us go! We will pay you!" She began, begging in between sobs which wracked her chest. Her voice quivered in fear and anger. She didn't know what to do, she only prayed to live to see tomorrow. His cruel and cold masculinity was so overwhelming to the personalities of all men she'd come across before, he was truly a despicable man.

Sebidwen strode fearlessly from her hiding spot, gathering the attention of the citizens and Impalers. "You need not pay this man, Ywain," she called out bravely, proud that her voice did not quiver or shake. Her hatred was fusing with her bravery to create a stronger metallic bite to her attitude. She looked upon Kahese with pure hatred. "He does not deserve our money. None of these cowards do, and they never did."

Kahese turned on his heel slowly to face Sebidwen, tossing Ywain away with a strong arm to the other women who were huddled at his feet. They cried out with broken sobs and caught Ywain, pulling her into their caring arms. Sebidwen was suddenly hit with the realization that the rest of Telon's warriors were either hiding, dead, or captive. She was the only one left in the entire town capable of defending herself. No one else could raise a hand against these bandits besides her. She stood alone against an army.

Alone with her greatest enemy.

"And who might you be?" Kahese's deep voice growled out lowly, calloused hand on his sword handle. He cocked his hip out to one side and tilted his head as he examined Sebidwen with a greedy, malicious eye. He regarded her carelessly, seeing her as no threat to his inevitable victory but merely as a nuisance that was bothering him. It angered her. It made her pissed when his gaze turned almost lustful as he examined the benefits a warrior's life gave her body.

"Sebidwen Andrelles of Telon, lead warrior, and the only heir to Palotine Andrelles, the Leader of Telon," Sebidwen answered boldly, squaring her stance quickly and holding her chin up high. "And you are trespassing on lands that do not belong to you."