Prologue: A Girl From the Plains



The young man strode steadily on his way. He was of about medium height, and his long legs helped him to make good time across the plains. The sun beat upon his pale-green cloaked back, and his grey eyes half closed as he gazed about. It was not the light that narrowed them.

He was being followed.

The traveller gripped his staff tighter and continued walking.

“Here, you!” called one of his trackers. The green cloaked man turned and faced the two muscled men with axes.

“What do you want?” he asked, his cloak swirling behind him.

“You're passing through our land. You gotta pay to cross!”

“I didn't see the borders of your land. If it is your land,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m only passing through. I’ll be gone soon.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Well, I have no money. Others like you stole it.”

“That’s really no excuse! Now you have to fight us!”

“I cannot.”

“Well, then, we’ll kill you and dump your body somewhere where it can’t be found. Let’s go!”

The traveller flipped his cloak back from his right shoulder and brandished his staff. Although he said he could not fight, he held his own against the two brigands. He rapped the knuckles of one, and made him drop his axe and howl with pain, and caught the other a hefty blow to the ribs. But for all that he was determined, steady, and quick, he was fighting a losing battle. As he battered at one, the other crept behind him unnoticed.

It was all over in an instant.

The young man felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, and a sudden weightlessness. The last thing he sensed was the sound of urgent shouting.



“Watch out!” yelled one bandit. “It’s her!”

“Run!” yelled his friend, panicking. They both ran off.

A girl had come out of a house to the south and was running towards the battle site. When she got there, she almost tripped over the man sprawled unconscious on the ground.

“Oh, no,” she murmured, checking his pulse. She picked him up and draped him over her shoulder. Staggering under the load, she turned towards the house.



“Hello? Are you waking up? Can you hear me?” A woman was calling, distantly.

The young man opened his eyes, with effort.

He was in a low bed, in a round one-roomed house. A young girl seemed to be preparing some food; there was no one else in the house. He blinked and tried to focus on the girl.

She was very beautiful. Her long, dark green hair was tied in a ponytail on the top of her head and reached almost to her knees. Her bangs brushed over her forehead and framed her pretty, triangular face. She had enormous blue eyes, a small nose, and a cheerful smile. She was very slender, her blue dress tied with a wide brown sash at her waist. The dress had red and yellow stripes at the edges, and slits on the sides almost up to the sash. Under the dress, she was wearing a black turtleneck shirt. She had tall, tight, brown boots on her feet. All her moves were graceful and precise.

The traveller sat up slowly, unable to take his eyes from her. He knew what he looked like: slender, with neat brown hair, not cropped short nor yet very long; large, melancholy, light grey eyes, a firm jaw, and sturdy shoulders. His green cloak was hanging on the wall, but he wore a plain brown tunic with yellow edges, brown pants, and dark brown boots which were beside the bed. The boots had rather weathered strips of cloth tied around them to cover the holes. His wide belt had one simple leather pouch hanging from it.

He felt like an idiot.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” said the girl. “My name’s Lyn. I found you unconscious on the plains. Who are you?”

“My name’s Ceniro." He pronounced it as kehneero. "I’m a travelling tactician, so right now I was just wandering through Sacae looking for people who, well, need tactical advice. I’m from Lycia, though.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ceniro,” said Lyn cheerfully, handing him a mug of soup. “You need food; you're as thin as a rake. Your stomach was rumbling even in your sleep." She smiled at his embarrassment. "My mother’s from Lycia. My father was the leader of this Lorca tribe…” A shadow crossed Lyn’s face. Then, she cocked her head.

“What’s that noise?” she asked softly. Ceniro listened, and heard distant shouting.

“Stay here, please,” Lyn said, and slipped out of the house. A moment later she was back.

“Bandits!” she cried. “I think I can handle them,” she went on, pulling on a pair of black gloves and buckling a sword to her side. Ceniro rubbed his head, stuffed his feet into his boots, and grabbed at his cloak.

“I can help you, I think,” he said.

“Are you sure?” inquired Lyn anxiously. “You had a bad knock on the head.”

“I’ll be all right. The only thing is, I’m better at directing large groups of fighters than I am at one… You could probably figure out this battle easily.”

Halfway out the door, Lyn paused. “Just how old are you, Ceniro? You must be very experienced if you’ve commanded large groups…”

“I’m nineteen. I don’t have any experience, but my teacher said I was better than he was and kicked me out. He and I played war games, you see.”

“Goodness, I’m only eighteen…” said Lyn, heading for the trees in the garden outside. Ceniro followed her hastily.

“Did I offend you?”

“No, not at all. I just thought we should get moving. Stay behind me, and I’ll protect you.” She drew her sword. “All right, my tactician friend, what’s the best course?”

“Well, I think we should take on one at a time. Let’s move over there, to the west.” Lyn nodded and set out. Curiously, only the bandit Ceniro targeted moved toward them; the other stood in front of another round house to the north.

"Lyn," asked Ceniro, "did you know that swords are excellent against these axe-wielding bandits? If you were a knight on horseback with a lance, now, I'd be worried."

"Oh, that's interesting," commented Lyn. "I always wondered why all the honest people use swords instead of axes."

She struck first, wounding the bandit deeply across the leg. He growled, and swung his axe, catching Lyn’s left arm a glancing blow. Lyn gasped in pain and stabbed her enemy through the heart. Blood fled from Ceniro's face.

“I can fix it,” Lyn told an anxious Ceniro, hovering over her like a worried hen. She quickly tied it up with a bandage and a vulnerary and set off again. “Let’s finish the other one by the ger.”

“What's a –“

“You don’t know what a ger is? Well, it’s that round building over there. Many nomads live in them, but that one, I happen to know, is deserted…”

Lyn and Ceniro ran towards the ger and the bandit in front of it. When they were closer, he howled his warcry at them.

“Yahoooo! You think you can stand up to Batta the Beast? I own this land now! No silly girls or penniless  travellers are gonna take it from me!” Lyn pressed her lips together and went at it.

Two minutes later, Batta the Beast was dead. Ceniro was now a delicate shade of pale green.

“Let’s go home, Ceniro,” said Lyn wearily.

"Yes, let's," agreed Ceniro. "But first..." He ran away to Lyn's outhouse and vomited.


Contents    Next