The Tahri Blades: The Sword of Kortazel

Introduction

The brown-cloaked figure dashed through the wood, still hearing his chasers not far behind. He was running to a four foot ledge when he jumped, grabbed a branch and swung himself into an oak tree over the ledge. He climbed into the leaves and pressed his bark-colored attire against the trunk, wishing that he had not left his hatchet at the cabin. It would not be a proper weapon against his pursuers, but it was better than his weaponless hands.

Armed men stomped underneath the tree. They mumbled and walked down the forest trail. The brown-cloaked man eased down and began running the other way. He quickly heard shouting and saw the men following behind.

Running as fast as he could, the cloaked man halted in his tracks, seeing in a tree just in the fork in the trail was a man in a green shirt and bandanna with chain-mail sleeves aiming a bow over the road.

Then the tree-bound figure released an arrow and the first of the pursuers fell to the ground with a yelp of surprise.

"Run you fool! Run for your life!" shouted the archer.

Running again, the brown-cloaked man saw the archer jump from the tree armed with an iron sword before rounding a corner and losing sight of the stranger.

At length, the stranger came walking down the path as if he were on his way to a Sunday picnic.

The cloaked man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Who in the blue hell are you?"

The strange warrior sheathed the sword. "Myelecor Fireson." He stated simply.

The cloaked man did not ease his suspicion. "Well, Myelecor, what business do you have in my branch of the wood?"

"Pun not withstanding, I was hired to keep your neck in one piece. Those men were likewise hired to sever it."

"You're a mercenary?"

"It pays well enough. You have a name, good sir?" Said Myelecor, having not yet dropped the cheery expression and tone he had arrived with.

The man said nothing.

Myelecor waited a few more seconds and then said "If you don't tell me, I'll have to make one up."

Not wanting an insulting name given to him, the man finally said "Jack."

The mercenary did not seem convinced. "Hold on there, old boy. There're a lot of Jacks in this part of the land. You got a last name?"

"Jack is my last name."

"Well then do you have first name?"

Jack glared at him. "I don't think you need to know. I am quite sure I am older than you, so you don't need to know."

"Age doesn't constitute experience. I'd bet I know far more than you do."

Jack laughed scornfully. "Ha! You? You couldn't be old enough to shave! You're what, thirteen, fourteen?"

"Fifteen!" hissed Myelecor.

"Oh great, he's fifteen." Grumbled Jack.

Myelecor glared stiffly into the eyes of Jack. "Don't make me regret taking this job. I'm being paid half price to save your carcass. I just might think leaving you to fend for yourself might be more gratifying than my ridiculous salary."

Jack fumed at the impudence of the youth, but remained silent.

At length, Myelecor Fireson gazed back on the road. "I would suggest we move on before the main group finds us."

"Main group?"

Myelecor stood straight up, listening carefully. "That was just a scouting party. Who the devil are you to have this many after you?"

Jack suddenly grinned proudly. "I own one of the largest gold mines in the country. I found the vein while looking for coal last winter, and found the riches surrounding me in a massive cave."

Before further could be said, an arrow thumped into the road between them.

"Time to go!" shouted Myelecor, taking off running, with Jack following closely.