Warrior Queen

Katherine left the town of Frye on her mare Freya and with her trusted dog Sheba. They journeyed for several hours until they crested the hill. Katherine was shocked when she saw smoke rising from the plain below. her home was on fire and she kicked her heals into the flank of Freya and galloped to the farm. The fire had burned out but the building was destroyed with nothing but blacked timbers. Katherine dismounted and rushed to what was left of the door looking for her parents.

Katherine found her father lying face down near the door. She turned him over and saw that his throat had been cut. Katherine screamed and held her father's body to her chest crying. Katherine knew that her mother must be inside the building and crawled into the ruins. Katherine found her mother laying on the bed. She was also dead with her throat cut.

Katherine stumbled back outside, the acrid scent of smoke clinging to her clothes as Sheba whined and pressed against her legs. The realization that this wasn't an accident settled like lead in her stomach - the precision of the wounds spoke of ****. Her trembling fingers brushed against something metallic near her father's hand: a crude iron pendant shaped like a coiled snake, unfamiliar and chillingly cold to the touch.

Katherine examined the pendant but did note recognise the markings. She pocketed the pendant and then found a shovel. She slowly dug a whole under the old oak where she had so many happy memories growing up. She cleaned her parents bodies as best she could and placed them together in the grave and covered them over. She cried as the sun set and vowed she would not cry again until all those involved had paid.

Katherine found her fathers sword still intact in the barn. She strapped it to her waist. She had been training with her father since she was a child. She saddled Freya and whistled for Sheba. She mounted and rode toward the town of Frye. She would find answers or die trying. She would start in the tavern thats were tongues would loosen with information.

The moon hung low as Katherine approached Frye's outskirts, the tavern's yellow light spilling onto muddy streets. Inside, raucous laughter clashed with the clink of tankards—a jarring contrast to the hollow ache in her chest. Sheba pressed against her leg as Freya snorted, sensing her rider's tension. Katherine's fingers brushed the serpent pendant hidden beneath her tunic, its coldness a silent promise. She pushed through the swinging doors, eyes scanning the room like a hawk assessing prey.

Silence rippled through the tavern as patrons noticed her ash-streaked clothes and the sword at her hip. A burly man near the hearth spat into the fire. "Look what crawled outta the smoke," he muttered. Katherine ignored him, striding toward the barkeep—old Thom, who'd known her since she was knee-high. His eyes widened at her haunted expression. "Katherine? Gods, lass, we heard about your—" She slammed the serpent pendant onto the counter. "Who wears this symbol, Thom? Speak true."

The barkeep recoiled as if she'd dropped a live coal. His knuckles whitened around the tankard he was polishing. Around them, whispers died—even the drunkards sensed the shift. Thom leaned close, his voice a raspy whisper. "The Viper's Fang. Mercenaries. Came through last week... paid in silver for supplies, asked about outlying farms." His gaze flicked to a shadowed corner booth. Katherine followed his eyes to a cloaked figure nursing an ale. "That one," Thom breathed. "He stayed behind."

Sheba emitted a low growl as Katherine slid the pendant back into her pocket. Her footsteps echoed on the sawdust floor as she approached the booth. The man didn't look up, but his fingers tightened around his tankard. Katherine drew her father's sword—a whisper of steel that silenced the tavern. She planted its tip against the wooden bench between his thighs. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice colder than the pendant against her skin.

The mercenary lifted his head slowly, revealing eyes like chipped flint beneath his hood. A scar bisected his left eyebrow—a pale slash against weathered skin. He didn't flinch at the blade pressing against his leg. Instead, he took a deliberate sip of ale, foam clinging to his stubble. "You smell of smoke and grief, girl," he murmured. "Put that pig-sticker away before you cut yourself." Around them, chairs scraped as patrons edged toward the door.

Katherine's knuckles whitened on the sword's grip, her pulse roaring in her ears like distant thunder. The tavern's smells—sour ale, woodsmoke, unwashed bodies—suddenly felt suffocating. Sheba growled again, teeth bared at the man's boots. Katherine leaned forward, the blade's tip digging into the bench. "Where's the rest of your pack, viper?" she hissed. "And why did they slaughter farmers?"

The mercenary chuckled, a dry sound like stones tumbling. He set down his tankard with deliberate slowness, foam dripping onto the scarred wood. His hood shifted, revealing a jagged burn mark creeping up his neck. "Farmers?" he drawled. "Funny. That homestead was a nest for Crow's Eye informants. Your dear papa spilled secrets faster than his own blood." He tapped the serpent pendant hidden beneath Katherine's tunic with a calloused finger. "You're wearing his mistake."

Katherine's breath hitched—*informants?* The farm's quiet rhythms flooded her mind: her father's hushed conversations by the cider press, her mother's sudden trips to market "for extra yarn." Sheba snarled, hackles raised as Katherine pressed the sword deeper, splintering wood. "Liar," she spat, but doubt coiled cold in her gut. "Who hired you?"

The mercenary's eyes flicked to Thom, now frantically wiping tankards. "Names cost coin, girl." His hand darted toward his boot—Sheba lunged, teeth snapping air as he yanked a dagger. Steel shrieked as Katherine parried, sparks flying. Patrons scattered, overturning tables. "Run!" Thom bellowed, but Katherine was already pivoting, her father's training guiding her blade in a swift arc that sliced the mercenary's forearm. Blood spattered the sawdust, metallic and sharp.

Katherine felt the tavern floor tilt beneath her boots—rage and confusion warring in her chest as Sheba circled the wounded man, growl vibrating through her legs. The mercenary clutched his bleeding arm, hood falling back to reveal greasy braids and a cruel grin. "Crow's Eye pays well for traitors' heads," he hissed, dagger gleaming. "Your parents hid messages in oat sacks." Katherine's mind reeled: *Oats*. Pa always insisted on grinding them himself. Outside, Freya's frantic whinny pierced the chaos—hooves pounded as strangers approached.