Chapter 1

Ree'al and Lormia walked through southern city of River Town.

The river no longer flowed by the city given its name. A great storm three years ago had deposited tons of sand in the river channel, sweeping away most of the town. The River changed course, now empting into to southern sea five miles to the east.

River Town was now Old River Town with hardly any meat left on her bones. New River Town, more and more often just referred to as River Town, had grown up around the new channel. Old River Town was like a great whale cast upon a beach. Return in a few years, most of the meat and sinew would be gone. The bones and smell would linger for decades.

Ree'al had remained sober for two days since he had met Lormia. More important to her, Ree'al had bathed, shaved, and dressed. She was of two minds about the warrior. She was certain that Tarsus and Ree'al were the two warriors of whom the Seer spoke. Yet she couldn't believe that she needed this man's help. Her demeanor had remained as acerbic as it had been when they first met.

Both Real and Lormia were about 1.68 centimeters tall, in their mid- twenties but Ree'al appeared to be the slightly taller of the two. Ree'al had the upright posture of a dancer or sword master. He seemed to glide across the ground. Lormia walked with the rolling walk of a natural athlete. It would have looked more normal had their gaits been switched.

Ree'al had red hair, tied in a warrior's knot. His freshly shaven right cheek bore a bright red scar from a not quite healed wound. The scar made his natural grin look even more like a sneer than it otherwise would have. The wound came from what should have been a killing blow but he tried to not dwell on the incident, too costly, too fresh a memory.

He had lost weight traveling to River City and more while he was drunk. Now at a gaunt at 60 kilos, his weight was less than Lormia's.

She was thin with an angular face, her blond hair in four braids that were secured on the top of her head. Her breasts were small and her hips narrow. She would have never been a bed-mate of choice for Darsonus. Again Ree'al felt the loss of his sword partner. Eight weeks since Dar's death and still everything reminded Ree'al of his absence. Ree'al had one friend in the world, now he was gone.

Ree'al carried two swords at his hip: the traditional dinja and shorter tanja. They were similar to the weapons with which he had practiced with for most of his life. The swords he carried were a magnificent present from Lady Apala.

Lormia carried a slim straight sword with an ornately inscribed hand-guard. Her sword was sharpened on both sides and was longer than Ree'al's dinja. Ree'al was not ready to dismiss it as a useless weapon, but he didn't trust it. He would not let her die with it, as he had let Darsonus die.

All other things being equal, a larger opponent could defeat a smaller opponent, but all other things were rarely equal.

All other things being equal, a man would defeat a woman, for the man would be stronger. Many a man had lost his life thinking that being a man was an overwhelming advantage.

Many a woman had lost her life thinking her technique was better than it was.

Ree'al wanted to ask about Lormia's training but her constant scowl brought out his grin. His grin made her scowl worse and they barely spoke to each other. Once out of sight of the town, Ree'al came to a stop. It was time to clear up a few matters and easier to do it without the town watching.

"Why have you stopped? Have you changed your mind?" Lormia asked. "Or did you just forget to buy enough ale to last until the next town?" Her scorn couldn't be more apparent.

"If I needed as much ale as I've had the last two weeks," Ree'al smiled. "We would need 20 porters. No, no more ale for at least a month. I have a request to ask of you, or should you decline my request, I have an order for you."

"You work for me, not the other way round," Lormia spoke with a warning look as her eyebrows lowered into a frown.

"Then why haven't you paid me?" Ree'al asked innocently.

"You said that you were ready to move on anyways, and I have paid for all the provisions including your food and your new clothing," Lormia said heatedly. "That means you work for me."

"I thought those were gifts. You know, one friend to another."

"You are not my friend. Those things are payment to you. You are not even my travel companion. Without my help you would have been set upon by bandits while lying in an alley in a drunken stupor."

"It is kind of you to care so about me," Ree'al gave a small bow. "But if all the money you have is what is in your money belt and pouch, then I'm carrying more money than you."

"You looked through my things?" Lormia was incensed.

"You don't have much to look through," Ree'al grinned. "And as incautious as you were with your possessions I didn't think you cared."

"If you touch my things again," Lormia said slowly. "I will kill you."

"No, you won't, because you can't. A wooden spoon would be as useful as the sword you are wearing. Where did you get it?"

"It was my husband's," she replied.

"Well that explains why he's dead, doesn't it?" Ree'al replied with all the sarcasm he could put in the words.

Her sword was out and swinging for Ree'al before she thought of what she was doing. Ree'al dodged immediately, anticipating just that response to his taunt. Lormia attacked again but ended off balance as she reached to strike a Ree'al who somehow remained just outside of her range. He used her momentary lack of balance to move in, and strike her lightly on her left leg and then her left arm.

She realized that he was much better than her husband and even better than her instructor. Taking power from her contained rage she determined to outperform this clown by sheer willpower, yet as she swiftly moved to counter-attack he effortlessly tapped both her right leg and arm. The next instant her feet were swept out from under her, the tip of his dinja was pressing into her neck and he was down on one knee beside her.

"Do you not know your limitations? You seem stunned. This was just a necessary test," he said. "Your training is not complete and you need to be well aware of your skill compares to others. You need to learn that quickly or you will die. Those that hunt me are at least as good as I am, probably better. You would be nothing to them."

"I was a poor trainer to the last student I took," Ree'al continued, "and it was his life I was celebrating when you found me. This is what I require from you: A promise that you will take no part in honor fights that involve me until our mission is finished."

"If I am challenged," she said quietly, a sword at one's throat is often a quieting, if not calming, experience. "I will fight."

"I'll go no further until you swear to me. You need me, I don't need you. Tarsus told you that I'd take you Amamorn.

He was almost certainly lying or has fallen into his dotage.

In any event he didn't say it had to be this year nor even next year, did he?" Ree'al smiled down at her.

"I'd be considered honor-less if I didn't accept a challenge," hate filled her eyes as she spoke. None of the men of her town had had anything near the agility and speed he had shown.

"So? You're not Sulvaran. Those are not honor marks on your sword. What do you care?"

"My people follow the way of the sword," Lormia spoke with pride as she knocked away Ree'al's tanja with her hand. "As for honor marks, if that scribbling on your sword is an honor mark then I am in no need of one. I hold my honor in my heart. I don't brag about it to the world."

"Scribbling? What scribbling?" Ree'al asked.

A glance at his tanja stunned him. The faint markings found by Lady Apala had risen and were now clearly visible.

"What is this?" Ignoring Lormia, Ree'al pulled his dinja from its scabbard. The writing on it was the same. He rubbed them, feeling the script, in a lowered voice he asked of no one, "What is going on?"

"What is wrong with you?" Lormia had scrambled up from the ground. Her sword held at her side, she was very curious as to what had given him such pause coming closer to look.

"What is wrong with me?" Ree'al repeated. "You don't have enough fingers and toes to count all that is wrong with me. But this", he held the writings so she could better view them, "this is impossible."

"Why are honor marks so surprising to you? Sulvarans strut around like roosters with their honor marks," she said disdainfully.

"There were honor marks on the blades. I removed them. This 'scribbling' wasn't on the swords when I removed those honor marks. Those honor marks are in my pack. I go to Amamorn to return them to the temple. Not because a seer told you to go."

"If you removed them, how can they be there now," Lormia asked?

Her question returned Ree'al to the present. "You don't understand?" he asked. "And I thought I explained so clearly," his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Bastard!" she said to him. "Forget about it because I really don't care. We are wasting time, let's get going."

"I am most certainly not a bastard. Please leave the king and queen out of this," Ree'al smiled. "As to the swords I don't know what I'm to do."

"Is the moon full?" Lormia asked. "Are you some kind of lunatic who's been staring in the sky to long? I think you just didn't pay that much attention to them then, if they are new, and didn't notice."

"Am I a lunatic? Some have thought so, and that's a comforting thought," Ree'al considered. "But no. No, I think I still hang onto my sanity by a thin yet sturdy thread. I don't suppose you would care to inspect the swords closely, just to see what they feel like, would you?"

"A Sulvaran warrior who is afraid of swords," Lormia laughed. "The irony."

"Please?"

"The great Ree'al begs," Lormia laughed again. "Now I'm losing my sanity. Give them to me."

Under Ree'al's stare she firmly took the dinja by the grip, looked at it, swung it several times and shrugged. "I don't know what you expected but it is just a sword," she said as she handed it over. "What's it feel like to you?"

"Like the most perfect blade ever made."

"What does it mean?"

"It means you can't fight honor fights. At least you must agree that you will not seek to fight any Sulvarans who come looking for me."

"What?" Confusion showed on her face.

"I just changed the topic back to where it belongs. My late sword partner insisted on challenging one of the two men who came after me. He was killed because I hadn't prepared him.

I won't let that happen again. My challengers may well be better than I am. You wouldn't last 5 seconds with one of them."

"I'm not afraid. If I die, it was meant to be," Lormia stoically spoke.

"Wonderful speech," Ree'al clapped his hand together.

"Original too. Let me ask you a question, do you love me?"

"Don't be absurd!"

"Do you like me?"

"As I said!"

"Would you like to be away from me?"

"Yes!"

"Then why on earth should you become involved in an honor fight on my part?" Ree'al waited patiently for her answer.

"I shouldn't," she finally spoke.

"Great! Now can you swear that you won't?"

"I so swear," said Lormia.

"That wasn't so hard after all," Ree'al said as he carefully sheathed his swords. "I will be practicing for an hour in the morning and in the evening. We will also run much of the time." Ree'al said. "You're welcome to join me when I train."

"I'm not your student," she replied angrily.

"Of course not. You're far too good a warrior to learn anything from me. I was hoping I could watch you and learn some secrets," Ree'al said dryly.

Lormia stomped off, with Ree'al following but a hundred yards behind. He wanted to think even if he didn't like where his thoughts were taking him. Ginjarem warrior he might have been, but in his heart he had never really believed. He didn't believe in magic or luck. He accepted that he had brought dishonor on himself. He chose to do what he did. No God made him throw his tanja. Panic and lack of acceptance, those were the reasons for his actions. One, a trait he was supposed to lack and the other a trait he should have in large portion.

Now his tanja had broken a ginja, a storm had arisen at just the right time to save him, a black smith was a Sword Master and a Match Master, a temple to Ginjarem lay to the north, and now this, whatever it was, with his swords. He pulled the ginja from its scabbard and looked at the writing, clearly shining gold against a red background. Gold and red, no clan had those colors, at least none that he could think of.

"Father," he might have asked as a child, "what do I do if I've lost my honor but my sword insists in having honor marks?"

What answer would that have brought? He laughed out loud then quickly sobered. He would never know because his father was dead to him. The past was gone. He couldn't part with the two swords, his time with Lady Apala was too dear. He'd cover the honor marks and see what Ginjarem had in store for him, if there really were Gods.

Over the next month of travel through salt pines above the high tide line, Lormia and Ree'al reached an unspoken truce.

They settled into a camp site routine that seemed natural and surreal at the same time. They shared the work and they kept talk to a minimum. Lormia did not practice with Ree'al nor would she practice at all if he was watching. Ree'al could feel his power and quickness returning but without a partner, his timing and distance would certainly be off.

They traveled along Marshland Road which ran through the kingdom of Phulvii. It was an incredibly rich land full of food, especially crabs, eels, snails and other delicacies.

Fish were as plentiful as sparrows. It was a paradise in the winter but in the summer the marshlands were full of death due to black fever, break bone fever, and other unnamed but just as dibilitating diseases. So the roads through the Marshlands were used during the winter but not during the summer.

Fishing villages grew up in the winter only to be washed away by the summer storms. Permanent towns were to the east, in the piedmont, the rolling hills before the Cresthaven Mountains. Vagaries of ocean currents left the piedmont and the mountains with just enough rain to raise grain crops but not enough to support the massive clouds of mosquitoes that rose from the marshes in summer.

The first fishing village they came upon didn't even have a name. Make-shift sheds were scattered about; so poorly made they might collapse even before winter was over. A tavern and a trade store were the only true buildings. Drying racks for fish were everywhere.

Men and women were making money any way they could. The travelers would need to watch each other's back while they were here. Ree'al negotiated for a room for the night, a single ten by ten shed. To say that Lormia was unhappy with the arrangement was a gross understatement.

"Why didn't you get two rooms," she angrily asked him.

"Safety in numbers and all that," Ree'al said. "There'd be many attempts to relieve a lone guest of his belongings, doing unspeakable things to a female guest. We need to stay together to protect each other."