CHAPTER ONE

KALAR THE MASTER SWORDSMAN

Kalar sheathed the heavy, two handed sword with the flourish of an expert, pinching forefinger and thumb around the blade as he slid it snugly into the tight fitting and badly worn loop of animal hide attached to the belt that clinched his muscular torso. He raised the fingers of his left hand and slipped them into his mouth, sucking thoughtfully at the blood stained nails as he stared down at the corpse of Regsal Tor. The wide-open eyes expressed a mixture of pain and surprise, as if Kalar's death stroke had been an imposition. The sword had carved its way through Regsal Tor's neck, severing the jugular vein as it sliced down into the sternum, and Tor's head rested, like that of a disjointed puppet, on his blood stained left shoulder.

The fight had been fierce and honourable, if a little one sided. Kalar's sword had been forged by a Master craftsman in the forgotten land of Lithgard. The metal folded five thousand times and beaten with loving hands. It was, without doubt, an ominous weapon in the hands of a Master like Kalar. Regsal Tor had no such weapon. His was the two handed axe handed down to him by his father and his father before him. For Regsal Tor the comparison was non-competitive. His faith in the trusty curve of the axe blade had been sadly misplaced and that fact was evident in the expression radiating from his lifeless eyes.

It had been an awesome blow, without doubt. Any sword stroke that cut through flesh, bone and sinew with such finesse deserved recognition, but strangely Kalar shook his head in disgust as he surveyed the corpse.

The stroke had been inaccurate!

Had Kalar performed as he wished, the head of Regsal Tor would be split in two, rather than clumsily resting on one shoulder. It was an unforgivable mistake and Kalar pinched his bottom lip between finger and thumb as a gesture of contempt for his own inadequacy.

Had Regsal Tor been a more accomplished opponent the stroke would surely have been accurate. An experienced combatant would never have tried to avoid Kalar's sword by moving his head to one side. Better the recognised defence of blocking the stroke with the axe shaft. Had this been the case the awesome might of Kalar's sword would surely have sliced through the hard wood shaft and embedded itself cleanly in the centre of Regsal Tor's skull.

That slightly twisted justification seemed to ease the anger that glowed in Kalar's eyes as he reached down and hoisted the battle-axe above his head. Holding it easily in his right hand he punched the air;

"So shall perish all the enemies of Kalar!" he shouted as he drew his arm back and hurled the axe across the clearing. It thudded heavily into the trunk of a worn oak tree, only inches from Fasnor's cheek. She stared at it for a moment and then turned her attention to the man who had thrown it. A big man. In fact, the biggest man she had ever seen. There had been no doubt in her mind that this man would be the victor when he had first appeared in the clearing. The strength radiated from his body like the light from the Jewel of the Fathers. The clearly defined arch of his muscles against the dark texture of his skin was a warning to his enemies that they should beware. Those same contours begged the caress of a woman's hand and Fasnor felt a flush suffusing her cheeks as she watched him. He stared across the clearing at her for a moment before turning once more to the body of Regsal Tor. With one fluid movement he reached down and scooped the body up into his arms as if it were no more than the corpse of a crow. Flipping it over his right shoulder he walked toward her, pausing with legs spread wide to stare down at her helpless form. She looked back into the pale grey eyes but said nothing.

With no more than a slight grunt to display the effort, he hoisted the body upward and draped it over a low hanging branch, spraying Fasnor with warm blood as he did so. Satisfied with his labour he dropped to a crouch before her and shrugged.

"It will keep the dogs of death away from the body," he said with a simple logic. "It was a shame he was not a more worthy opponent."

"He was a pig," Fasnor said softly and Kalar nodded.

"Most men are pigs. Just as most women are swine," he muttered thoughtfully as he reached forward and wiped a smear of blood from her cheek. "There is little to choose between us." He indicated the thongs tied tightly around her waist and knotted behind the trunk of the tree. "Perhaps this man was more of a pig than most?" He touched her arm and craned his neck slightly to discover that her wrists were securely tied behind her. He nudged the knots curiously and shook his head. "He has you trussed like a swine. Surely there must be a reason for that?"

"I have told you the reason. He was Regsal Tor and he was a pig."

He nodded slowly, not really comprehending and once more allowing the fingers of his right hand to rest against his bottom lip. "That is hardly an explanation for one who has surely saved your life," he said quietly and he sucked gently at his fore finger.

Fasnor stared at him oddly.

"Why do you do that?" she queried and he frowned. "Why do you suck your fingers in such a way? You are like a baby!"

He quickly dropped his hand and for a moment she was afraid he would reach out and strike her. He frowned heavily and raised the fingers once more, holding them out in front of her.

"That is the blood of my enemy. His blood gives me his courage."

"He is dead. You were his master. What can you expect to gain from the blood of such a man?"

"He fought with courage. That he lost is of no consequence. His courage is his legacy to me."

She shook her head and shrugged against her bonds.

"You are a fool," she said definitely. "You are a simple fool who lives in the world of old women's tales."

Kalar cocked his head to one side and grinned at her. The action transformed his face into that of a happy youth gleefully accepting his first weapon and Fasnor could not resist a smile of her own.

"You are the fool, I think," he said and chucked her gently under the chin. "You are tied and I am free. Your release depends on my good heart and you sit there insulting me." He paused and then nodded slowly. "Yes. I think you are the fool."

Fasnor shrugged once more. "The choice is yours. Had you not come along I would have remained tied until Regsal Tor decided to release me anyway. I care little either way."

"You could die here."

"Yes."

"Does that worry you?"

"No."

"Now I know you're a fool. Only a fool would have such little value for life."

Kalar stood up and stretched his arms above his head. He yawned mightily and then scratched vigorously at some unseen itch below the loincloth he wore around his waist. Fasnor watched him for a moment and then bowed her head to study the ever increasing pool of blood at her feet. Regsal Tor was still making his presence felt, hooked as he was over the low branch, his fatal wound dripped a continuous flow of red onto the ground below and Fasnor found herself hypnotised by the steadily increasing circle.

"The dogs are here already," Kalar muttered with a slight shudder of disgust. He pointed to the edge of the clearing only fifty or so yards away and Fasnor raised her head to see the nervous skipping of a lone jackal, obviously keen to trace the scent of blood in the air. The animal paced back and forth, unsure what to do, his nostrils sniffed the air curiously and his tail curled under his rear. "He lacks the courage to come forward while we are here. A scavenger. He is a spineless coward." Kalar picked up a rock and hurled it in the direction of the nervous animal. It yelped, ran a few yards and then returned to its pacing. Muzzle high and ears laid flat along the back of its head it looked exactly what it was; "A four legged vulture!" Kalar muttered angrily.

"He is a survivor," Fasnor said softly. "He survives the best he knows how. You should not condemn him for that."

"I condemn anything that lacks courage."

"Then you are the fool, not I. Your eyes are narrow and your mind is blocked. Better you had not come along this way at all. You are no better than he." She jerked her head upward to indicate the body of Regsal Tor and Kalar grinned once more.

"You, I would never condemn," he said. "The dogs could learn much about courage from you. Even though you may be a fool," he added.

She was silent for a long period while she watched the frustrated antics of the jackal and Kalar watched her. He nodded approval as he studied the fine line of her cheekbone, slightly distorted by the blood smear down one side. He liked her eyes, soft, blue and strangely distant. Most of all he was impressed by the contours of her body; the sweeping curve of her breasts against the silky robe promised much pleasure hidden beneath and he was tempted to lean forward and pull the material aside. He resisted the temptation as she turned her head and looked at him.

"The dogs gather," she said indicating that three more jackals had joined their companion.

He glanced across the clearing and shrugged.

"They build courage with numbers but they will not come any closer while we are here."

"Unlike you - the lone warrior?"

He nodded but did not reply and she returned her attention to the animals.

The ropes were obviously causing her great discomfort. The one encircling her waist was clearly much too tight and he could see the outline of pinched flesh through the diaphanous material of her robe. Both breasts were clearly restricted by the second rope that banded across her chest, exaggerating the size of her nipples by forcing them outward like small grapes. Kalar sub-consciously licked his lips and swallowed as he felt a gentle, but insistent stirring in his groin.

"Who are you?" she said suddenly and he realised that she had detected his unbidden twitch of lust. For a moment he was unable to speak. The fact that she had caught him looking so avariciously at her body had somehow put him at a momentary disadvantage.

"Kalar," he said, quickly clamping his knees together. "I am Kalar of Lithgard." He reached down and unsheathed the sword in one practised sweep. "And this is the sword of Kwalon, Master sword maker."

Fasnor frowned.

"The forgotten land?" she said softly. "You are from the forgotten land?"

"I have not forgotten it!"

"I thought it no longer existed! The messengers carried word that Lithgard was razed to the ground by the hordes of Chantor! That everyone was massacred! Did the messages lie?"

Kalar re-sheathed the sword and shook his head. For a moment she detected the anger and the sadness in his eyes as he looked beyond the prowling jackals at the distant horizon.

"The messages were true. All but Kalar perished," He frowned and her heart went out to him. The pain of loss was clear in his eyes as he turned back and stared at her. "You heard correctly. The dog Chantor slaughtered every living thing." He paused. "Even the chickens were beheaded and left in the pens before the horde set fire to the city. There is nothing left ... except me!"

She bowed her head and sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What is done cannot be undone. Sorrow will not correct the wrong Chantor has committed on the people of Lithgard." He gripped the handle of the sword once more but left it embedded in its sheath. "Only my sword will bring justice. Chantor will hear its song, and I will be singing with it."

She pulled vainly at the ropes binding her wrists.

"Will you release me please?"