Chapter 1

 

 

He would never be a swordsman, everyone knew that and delighted in reminding him. According to his Tal’Shin heritage, he should have been perfectly suited for this occupation. The Tal’Shin were traditionally a race of tall, lithe men and women, whose agility and speed made them legendary swordsmen. Taruk did not fit this description at all. He was an immense, powerful man. He stood at least a head above every other member of his village and his muscles made him at least twice as wide. His large hands fumbled with the small hilts of the slender swords. His connecting slashes were enough to disable even the strongest of fighters, but he was so slow that his opponents could merely step aside to miss them. He was by no means a bad fighter, his brute strength and brawling skills were a match for many; however, to members of his race his style of fighting was crude and not respected.

Stories and legends described his type perfect, the bodyguard, the sidekick, the one who saved the hero countless times, but in the end was overlooked when it came time for glory. The hero would live a life of honor, his name would be remembered for centuries, and he always got the girl. This was what society fed its masses, and this is what everyone, including Taruk, believed. Our story begins with a visitor, a visitor who is to change Taruk’s life forever.

Taruk slammed the hammer down onto the hot metal below him, sending a spray of sparks into the air, raising the hammer again he struck the metal, repeating this action over and over again, manipulating its shape with the powerful slams. The villagers certainly didn’t mind his strength when it was shaping their steel. After successfully completing a set of horseshoes, he opted to take a break. "If there’s one thing I can’t stand about this job," he thought to himself as he raised his head to wipe the streams of sweat pouring down his face. "It’s the damnable heat." As he raised his arm, his eye caught a figure leaning on a staff nearby, watching him silently. He stood frozen, mid-wipe, gaping.

She had to be one of the most beautiful women his eyes had ever graced. She stood watching him with eyes dark as midnight against lily-white skin. Strands of thick, wispy black hair straying over their unblinking gaze, and curled softly down her tall, thin body. She seemed to be garbed in shadows that poured down her body and pooled on the floor at her feet, though beneath this shadowy cape, a gown of diaphanous white silk could been seen. The staff she leaned upon was made of black ironwood, carved to appear like thorn studded vines, twisting and wrapping around each other. At its peak rested an opaque, white crystal rose, white and black lightning dancing within it. An ominous air of sorcery, intelligence, drowning sorrow, overwhelming happiness, and power surrounded her, the various elements crashing and swirling against each other in total chaos. Her gaze was both good humored and stern at the same time, and he felt himself shrinking beneath it.

Finally, he turned and placed his tools on a bench behind him, spending unneeded amounts of time arranging them in just the right, unnecessary way. The whole time he worked he could feel her eyes burning into him, watching his every move. Finally, he turned and approached her. Each step closer thudded in his ears. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was not an unattractive man, his features were pleasing, his eyes a merry blue and his hair a rich, thick brown. He didn’t feel he had any reason to be frightened of her, if she tried anything with that staff he could probably simply break it in two. After what seemed an eternity he reached her, and stared at her a moment, his throat too parched to speak. How rude and simple she must think him! Finally he spoke and asked, "Is there anything I can help you with?" For a moment she just stood there, unmoving. In fact, he could not recall her moving since he had first noticed her standing there, watching him.

Finally, she broke into a huge grin and clapped him on the back, then proceeded to walk to his bench, fiddling with tools and looking in boxes. He stood there, blinking and watched her progress, he asked again, "So, is there anything I can help you with?"

She spun towards him, a flurry of fabric and curls, clapping her hands together and beaming at him, then shouted in a lively voice, "That’s twice!" Startled, he stepped back as she rushed toward him, peering at him and looking at him up and down. "My premonition was correct," she spoke happily with an accent Taruk could not identify, still looking at him. "You are very strong. Not just physically of course, anybody could tell by simply looking upon you," she said while giving his arm muscles a little squeeze.

By this point he was already profusely embarrassed and at that he turned bright red and babbled his thanks like a fool. She stopped suddenly, giving him a long, measuring look. "Oh dear, am I upsetting you?" she asked. "I mustn’t do that, no, you deserve an explanation." She stopped and sat down, only there was no chair where she sat, she simply hovered in the air, rocking gently as the fabric of her clothing brushed the ground gently. She glanced at him and patted the air beside her. Not knowing quite what to do, he simply complied and sat.

"Now," she started. "Where shall I begin?"

"For starters," he said. "It might be nice to know why you’re here." Saying something so declarative seemed to take all the courage he could muster and he finished quickly, looking sheepishly at the pleased smile that had spread on her delicate features.

"Well, well," she rambled. "A declarative sentence, how perfectly wonderful." Pausing, she glanced at him, and then nodded and declared, "You are certainly the man I seek."

He blinked and questioned, "Why would you seek me? I am a simple, clumsy blacksmith who can do nothing right and honorable."

She scrunched her face up and peered at him. "Why would you think that?" she inquired, giving him a puzzled look.

"Why I am not lithe and can barely handle a sword. My large hands are only good for destruction without grace," he repeated the words that had been told to him so many times throughout his life. When he finished, he could not even bring himself to look at her from shame.

"Why that couldn’t be farther from the truth, whoever has been feeding you such garbage deserves a quick whipping," though she spoke with a slight hint of disgust, she made sure to make her voice considerably compassionate and talked with frankness. "Destruction never has grace, no matter whose hands are doing the deed. Not everything you would consider destruction truly is, our actions are defined by our motives not our personas. Besides, your hands created those horseshoes, those blades. Even the simplest fool could see that those accomplishments are not destruction, but entirely the opposite. I strongly suspect you are not a fool, simply the people who have filled your head with this nonsense are."

"The teachers and leaders are not fools! They certainly know a lot more than I do. I’ve only just met you and can not make fair judgment, but its possible they know more than you as well," Taruk quickly defended his loyalties.

The woman stared at him with a look of extreme pity and then sighed, rising. "Perhaps I was wrong then, you are not the man I seek." She strode toward the door, stopping before it, and turned toward him again. Her intense black eyes burrowed into him and challenged all he believed. "I say this not because I have any doubt in your skill. You are the one I seek but the ignorance you have been fed chains you to this life. Which I have no time to cure in my present situation. Your mind has been easily controlled, more than likely since birth because you have a very strong mind. Know this Taruk. I have seen many people and traveled in many lands. You stand out among all those people, you are truly gifted and I’m not the only one who knows it." With that she gave a quick wave and exited the forge, leaving him in a cloud of confusion. He had to know who knew his talent. There was something in his words that drove him insane to know the answer.

He rushed for the door, hoping he could overtake her. It didn’t take long because he nearly sent them both into the horse trough as he ran into her outside the door. The woman cried out in surprise as she fell, but smiled as she rose.

His face was bright red and he backed toward the door, apologizing quickly for his rudeness and bidding her a good journey.

"Taruk," she said again. "I am not the only one who knows it."

He felt it again, her words commanded him to ask. "Who..who else knows it?" he asked after a moments pause. She smiled with delight and bowed before him, "I am Seline D’Fortuna and you are Taruk Semantic, unless I have made a huge mistake.