Breath Of Courage

Prologue

"Darkness will descend on the world, from this darkness will come a fearless Mixed Blood to purge the world."

Elder Mavro Triantafyllo stared at the bones that lay in the crackling fire before her, wisps of smoke rising into the air as a sense of dread crept over her body. "A prophecy. . ." No sooner had the words escaped her mouth did the door to her hut come open. "Elder Mavro, my wife!" Came the frantic voice of a man, who was holding up his wife, the young woman being in obvious pain, her stomach heavily swollen, as heavy breaths fell from her mouth.

Snapping her attention away from the fire and bones, she rushed over. "Come, move her by the fire and hold her up!" Said the Elder.

A loud wailing filled the hut several hours later as the old woman held a small bundle in her arms, taking the child over to a bowl of warm water to get her washed off. Looking the dark skinned newborn over for a moment, and taking note of the odd patterning of skin from under the left eye and down to the shoulder, as well as the vague shape of a dragon on the baby's back.

"A strong child, this one." The Elder spoke, as she finished cleaning the baby off, the dual colored child holding onto her finger in a surprisingly strong grasp for a newborn. Walking back, she passed the still wailing baby to her mother, Atsali. Atsali, who was tired and feeling weak from the birth, held her new daughter close to her chest, her husband Hantverkare by her side holding her hand. Briefly he released his grip to remove the stag pelt that sat upon his shoulders, passing it to his wife.

With a gentle smile, Atsali wrapped her daughter into the pelt carefully which seemed to help cease her crying as the baby opened her eyes to look around, the child's eyes coming as a shock to her parents, as she had one eye from each of them. A dark brown right eye, to match the eyes of Hantverkare, and a light blueish green left eye, like Atsali. Both new parents looked at one another.

"What shall we call her Atta?" Hearing her husband's question, Atsali looked at her daughter who stared back with bright, yet curious eyes, then she smiled. "Her name shows itself already. Born with a dragon on her back, her hair already as bright as a fire to show her bright and brave spirit, her name shall be Tharraloes, for her courage." Hantverkare smiled at the name, "My courageous daughter." He mumbled fondly, reaching to brush his thumb gently over the baby's cheek.

~~~~~~~

Sparks flew as metal on metal clashed, the blades made firece contact, scraping together in a struggle for power. Ihalig froze as his sword was knocked away and he found himself in the snow, the pointed blade of his opponent's sword placed directly at his throat.

"Looks like I win again!" Laughed his opponent's voice as Ihalig rolled his eyes and gently pushed the sword away from his throat. "You are too good for this, Eris." Tharraleos grinned at her nickname, placing her weapon back into its sheath, holding out her hand.

"I have to be, Elder Mavro will pick me to go on the next outing, I can feel it." She spoke, glancing to the side where the Elder stood watching the spars. Then she pulled her friend up to his feet, before leaving his side to go retrieve his prized sword from the snow, handling it with care. "That's what you said last time, right?" Ihalig questioned. "She never picks you for outings." He took the sword back once it was handed to him, checking the blade.

Tharraleos didn't give an answer, knowing her friend spoke the truth. But she couldn't give up, she just had to work harder! "Hey, i was thinking of heading to the library, since training is almost over, want to come with me?"

"No thanks, you know I'm not much for reading. I have to go speak with your father anyway, the blade has some knicks taken out." Ihalig replied.

A bit disappointed Ihalig didn't want to hang out, she nodded in response, turning her head when she heard the training instructor call that training was over. Walking she went to retrieve her rabbit skin pouch and place it across her body. Taking separate paths, Tharraleos made her way to the library, while Ihalig walked to Hantverkare's smithing forge. Once, Tharraleos had once overheard Elder Mavro speaking to herself, while she was passing by her hut a couple months before. It was something about a scroll located in a secret hidden section of the library, she hadn't meant to eavesdrop but the possibility of there being a section of the library she had yet to explore, had her keen interest, she had to find that section.

That was only half the reason she went to the library. The young fifteen year old was aware that there were a few villagers that were not from the mountain village she called home. The only one who would speak of their homeland, was her own mother, Atsali would tell wonderous stories of the myths of her people had once spoken of while she still lived in her homeland. The stories fueled the fiery girl's already curious nature, and she always wanted to know more about the world outside the stone of the mountains.

Walking inside the library, Tharraleos started to walk through the columns that held many scrolls. She was half looking for any give away to where the secret section of the library could be, half looking for anything that was to catch her interest.

Interest came in the form of a scroll buried among all the others, high up on the top. Reaching her finger tips grazed the aged paper, but with a quick hop, the scroll was in her hand, with a few other scrolls raining down on her. With a soft laugh, she looked at the scroll, noticing it was tied shut with a wide strip of silk cloth, color marked with a wax seal.

Tharraleos felt her curiosity bloom like a flower, as she moved to undo the scroll, her fingers barely tugging at the cloth and seal binding the scroll shut, when she heard the doors to the library being forced open. "THARRALEOS!" She recognized Ihalig's voice in an instant, and started to weave her way around the columns of scrolls, subconsciously placing the scroll in her hand, into her pouch.

"What's going on Ihalig? What's the urgency?" Tharraleos asked, feeling all the color drain from her face, as her blood turned to ice at her friend's response,

"It's your grandmother."