The Scramble [Complete]

[PepsiWhirda]

From afar, Whirda watched the proceedings with equal parts mirth and confusion, and more than a touch of triumph. While the rest of her party, Eighteen included, chose to remain at the fountain, squabbling and lurching around like a bunch of headless chickens, she had covered the distance to the vine-covered gate in just over an hour, aided by the summoned wind and her already prodigious speed. Now they were beset on all sides by unknown assailants, associates of the observers, no doubt. It all went exactly as she'd predicted.

Let them be captured, as far as Whirda was concerned. These things always went the same way. Whenever a group of individually talented warriors were brought together, to be unified under a single banner or fight for a single cause, there was an ulterior motive attached. Without exception, there was an outside force condescending to play puppet master, someone who thought themselves smarter. Often, someone who was smarter, as far as Whirda was concerned. She held no illusions of great intellect, only sharply honed instinct, which had served her well in escaping the hodgepodge of outside forces now swarming her friends.

To their credit, from what little Whirda could see, they were not fighting. The swarm of movement that would accompany a battle was instead replaced by stationary specks on the horizon. From the gate just to the east, much closer, Whirda had watched, crouched low to avoid notice, the summoned horses and their riders, wearing the banner of an unknown kingdom. Too many for her to count, riding with military precision. From the other side of the fountain, she saw the dark blurs of an unknown force zip along the ground, quicker but more haphazard, their mode of transport unknown to her, but too indistinct for speculation.

Whirda turned to face the gate, portal, whatever it was. It looked like two hulking trees had been bent to meet at the middle and stripped of branches, forming a clean, bark-covered arch. Vines girdled the trunks, wending their way between and around each other as if to embrace everything they touched. Inside the gate, there was only a silvery swirl, like a pool of mercury rippling outward in reaction to a thrown stone. Through it wafted a heavy scent, fetid and vegetal, drawing her in, in to adventure, in to exploration, in to the blind, consuming frenzy of combat.

It was the only way she could forget.