Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #3 (Part 1)

The Uncommon Commons (Part 1)

They walked for days. Much conversation and wisdom was learned from the shaman Crow. Much sweat and passion was shared between Rachel and the raven haired guard. Much Raider blood slaked the thirst of her blade.

On the third day, Crow made to pass wide beyond a path of marked road. Raider fortresses defended it on either end. Rachel explained what had happened in the fortress the day she left the her home. Crow saw wisdom in letting the accomplished warrior try her hand at breaking the stranglehold the raiders had taken on the travelers in the Wastes.

“After all, if you die, my bodyguard will have more energy during the day!” They shared a hearty laugh as they approached the first stronghold.

Crow had called it The Raid Shack. It was a fair name. The guards out front had no opportunity to call out to their fellows, so swift and silent was Rachel's blade.

The need for stealth passed, she kicked in the door to the intact building. Two came for her, a third staying back out of reach. While she felled them, a flame spat from an iron dragon carried by the hesitant one!

Diving below and beneath, Rachel cut the man's hamstrings. His dragon slept, and immediately after, so did he, for all eternity. The flames caught the ornate hangings that still dressed the Raid Shack's windows. A final raider looked around the stairs, drawing a mage wand.

Crow had taught Rachel the wisdom of the wands and staves, how they were guided by and hand, the same as a sword. The hand was key. Move away from its direction, and no mage fire would touch you. Rachel dodged into the closet where the iron dragon had been hidden. She slipped past again, and then around into the Kitchen, the wand-hand following her a hair too slowly.

Eventually, the demon in the wand slept, its snoring like insects clicking in the night. Rachel walked up the stairs, the mirthless smile on her lips matched by the savage glee in her emerald eyes and dancing lights of the flames reflected in her copper hair. The Raid Shack burned only corpses as it fell behind her when she exited.

The other end of the road proved more difficult. Crow named it Wheaton, once a garrison of well armed troops. Now a nest of well armed Raiders. Rachel grew at once quite used to and quite weary of wands and staves. She learned also that day of fire seeds and firetraps, the furious force of them catching her by surprise as she dove for cover behind a ruined wall.

Crow called out to her, “Timing is key! Wait for it!....” The Shaman did magic of his own. He had his own wand, sequestered. It was used to cause the ancient metal carriages to become dragon seeds. Rachel made her move while the Raiders were stunned by the heat and light. Only one escaped her. She chased him into the fortress.

“RACHEL! NO!” Too late, Crow cried out his warning. Some minutes later, Rachel emerged carrying the last raider's head. She was sick, feverish, and delirious. The poison in the air had taken its toll. Blackness claimed her vision as her fever caused Crow and her lover-guard to vanish. In Rachel's eyes, her father and Amata rushed toward her as she fell.