Chapter One:

On the plains of Sacae there lived a girl. Wait, that didn't happen. Let me start again.

Many ages ago, when this ancient planet was not quite so ancient and all manner of warriors, swordsman, amazons, Pegasus Riders and Soldiers walked across the surface of the world with varying intents of good and evil, when evil had cards and stars above shone brightly for all who knew where to look {up might be a good place}, there was a verdant grassland known to the nearby House of Ostia, as Sacae.

There, on the plains of Sacae, there lived a girl. Not a leather clad, ineffectual woman, who needed to be endlessly rescued and who cannot do a thing for herself. Nor a tough as nails vicious, horrible person who beats up people for no reason and demands they love her for nothing. She was a girl of eighteen, who had grown up in bandit infested territory, which meant that she knew how to survive, and duck, and-

'Social Activity!'

She had flowing long blue hair, that she tied up in a ponytail as was, and had been, her peoples style. She was also extremely athletic and so crossed near a miles worth of grass in what seemed an instant. Her destination was the cloak clad personage walked through the fields. The roundhouse kick as she approached the figure had been almost subconscious, and she had no idea why she initiated it other than the fact that she was really quite lonely and lived on her own. She halted as he landed with a crash.

Was this social activity? Probably not.

Then Lyn, for that was what she was called, beheld a body rolling in the dust that still drew breath and filled with hope and despair long withheld she dragged it back to her tent by the hair because his cloak was too pretty to tear, and nursed him back to health. She set out a stone tabled in the beating sun, and let it begin to get hot as she prepared water to boil.

Nights were freezing her upon the plains of Sacae, and it paid to have a heat source.

She noted that he had been carrying a spear with him, but could not for the life of her figure out where he had gotten it. It looked Ostian, but not quite Ostian. 'I wonder if it is some long lost weapon of legend.' She said to herself as she raised it. 'No!'

She stabbed it into the ground. 'Never kill a house guest.'

It would not actually be all that difficult, since his cloak seemed an extremely good defense. No, no, Lyn was not a bandit and murdering someone did not seem like a constructive form of social activity.

...

However as far as the Wandering Tactician knew he had been knocked unconscious rather abruptly without warning and found himself blurred between the lines of conciousness

and dream...

...

Lyn had decided she ought to go and get some air to calm down as the night began to wax upon the world and the moon rose. She stood up from where she was watching him sleep and walked out to gaze upon the stars. And then, because there had not been a caravan by here in quite some time, and she had realized she was incredibly lonely, she began to sing.

It was an ancient song, sung long ago on the eve of a battle where many Elves, Dwarves and Men were slain by arrow and sword, and she knew only the smallest fragments of it.

'The stars are far brighter, then gems without measure. The moon is far whiter than silvery treasure.'

Those words she spoke were all she could remember of the song, and now she turned and saw the Bandit, two in number, walking down from the hills. She remembered them well, for they had been down that way before and twice they had passed over her house and pillaged an outlying farmstead.

She was older now, older and stronger and as the echo of her song, strong and clear rolled through the hills strong and clear and made them halt and looked round for the source, she drew her sword and began to practice her stances, one foot before the other, grip careful.

Finally Lyn sheathed her blade and walked back into the tent and there noticed a parchment gripped in the travelers hand. Curious, she quickly wrested it from his fingers, and looked over it quickly and then he shifted in his sleep.

'Are you awake yet?' She asked as he stirred himself awake. 'I found you unconscious on the plains of Sacae. Would you share your story with me?' And then she kept on talking, and talking, and talking, until even she did not know exactly what she was saying because she hadn't spoken to anyone in months and finally she turned round and rushed out the door.

'Mark,' she said oddly, tasting the word. 'that is an odd name. But pay me no mind, it is a good name.' Who was she talking to?

Hmm, so she had now successfully broken out of the rut which her meaningless existence had become, albeit in a rather out of sorts way. So what now? She looked at the Bandits, who now stood apart, glaring at each other. Then suddenly they had begun to fight with each other. They would not be missed. She ran back into the tent. 'Mark, Bandits! Can you fight?' She looked down at the parchment, wondering if it said anything else.

'Enough!' said Mark 'I will no longer be thrown around and ignored like some common chess piece to be supplanted with ease after due consideration. I organize Knights and send them to die, I have built six farms and a barracks by myself and nearly lost my life thanks to ungrateful Lords. I have been sent to die a dozen times and been victorious every time.

I, milady, am a tactician, and I outgambit more people without even trying than even are aware I exist.'

'So you are a tactician.' She said thoughtfully. 'Okay that sounds good. Follow me and help when you can.'

Then she dragged him out into the fields. 'I'm going to kill the bandits. I want you to watch. That tree might be a good place.' Her anger at having been alone for fourteen months was poured into that voice and she halted.

'I go with you, milady.' said Mark, hefting his spear.

Then there was a chill breeze that rushed through her hair as she drew her sword and closed her eyes. She flourished twice, in near salute to some unknown watcher of spiritual nature. Then she rushed through the grass like a wind amid the dust. Her sword gleamed in the night as the foremost bandit rushed her. She passed him by, or so it seemed, but added an extra step to her movement that left him bleeding horribly and falling dead as she halted.

By that time Mark was already rushing after her, and so had a perfect view of Lyn as she halted before the Bandit, who brandished. 'Who do you think you are?! You think you can stand up to Batta the-'

Mark threw the spear and caught him through the chest from the side. He fell back, and rose once more to strike at Lyn, who stepped aside and beheaded him before dragging out the spear and hurling it to Mark who caught it. Silence, and Lyn knelt down to wipe her blade down on the grass as was her peoples custom.

Then a completely different sort of Bandit rushed out of nowhere, screaming and hollering and wearing a tan trench coat. His clumsy punching attempt passed Lyn by and there were two ringing strikes as he halted and fell to his knees, his face falling off in the process.

'Oh thats not right...' said Mark a he stepped back.

Yet his axe passed by Lyndis, who struck twice and stepped past him. She half turned, and the Bandit fell to his knees, before his face fell off. Lyn winced slightly. 'Maybe I overdid it.'

Then she looked up and saw Mark, fighting with a swordsman, his spear gripped in hand. Their weapons met, and Mark shoved his enemy away with superior footwork. The swordsman stepped back, then kicked off the ground, roaring aloud as he raised his shortsword upwards in a manner designed to show off his cheese grinding abs-

Mark fell to one knee and let him impale himself on his spear, before tossing him over his shoulder and removing it. 'Works every time. I learned from the best.'

'I killed two.' She said.

'Granted.'

There was a long pause as Lyndis reflected this would some day make an excellent wedding proposal. Except not really.

'This looks like the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.' She decided, and just like that they began to walk, without further reflection. It was as they passed under the shadow of two great black rocks that she decided she ought to at least informally bridge the gap. Oh sure her tent meant nothing to her, but it was the principle of the thing. 'Mark, you obviously have some experience in the ways of war. Will you let me travel with you?'

'Do you always begin conversations this way?'

'…I'm sorry,' she said 'its just that I've been on my own for so long.' She felt tears coming to her, and blinked them back. 'I-I'm sorry, I must get stronger.' For its own sake. That was what had kept her alive.

'A meaningless effort.' said Mark 'The strongest man in the world may accomplish nothing if they do not use that strength. You want to learn. That is… encouraging I suppose.'

'You aren't much older than me.' She said 'You are my age.'

'Yes.' He admitted. 'I am.'

There was further silence as Mark and she climbed a large hill, and she began to get ahead of him.

'Yes, certainly. Just as long as-' He halted 'Don't you have a family?'

'You… want me to get permission from my parents?' He'd obviously realized he had hit a nerve. 'My Father and mother died six months ago. My people, the Lorca, they don't… I'm the last of my tribe.'

'You are from a Nomad clan?' asked Mark in surprise. 'But your skin is as fair as mine.' Lyn looked up, annoyed suddenly and wondering if he was a racist. 'Uh… not to be impolite or anything, but you look more as one who was born in the south.' Silence, Lyn looked out and tried to appear mysterious. This was true. 'You know what, forget it.'

'Done and done.' She decided, and then they walked onward. 'I'm sorry, I've been so lonely of late.'

Thus they passed beneath the towering slopes and into the wild, uncharted lands that no man has made a map of, nor ever will. Before them stood a great valley, green and brown in some places, and dark in others. The sky was blue, and the sun rose on the horizon with fiery countenance, and all the trees seemed alight with its brilliance.

And though they had no idea why, their spirits lifted and smiles came to their faces as they walked down the slope. Then suddenly Lyndis spoke:

'The Apprentice Tactician Mark, and the young Swordfighter Lyn. A strange pair on an even stranger journey!' She called aloud, feeling absurd, and not knowing how to continue.

Mark picked up the slack. 'To prepare for the long road ahead, they go to Bulcae, the commercial center of Sacae.' He gave her a sideways glance. 'Unbeknownst to Lyn, she will discover something that will alter her life forever.'

She gave him and odd look, and on they walked letting the unspoken question pass them by until a later time as they came then to the edge of a great and terrible forest. Just looking at it made ones heart lower itself, and they began to become terribly downtrodden.

'You know,' said Mark suddenly. 'I think there is a way around this forest. We'd have to trek through Orc infested territory but-'

'Lets take it.' Agreed Lyn.

Evidently someone, or something was not at all happy about this decision. It started to rain and pour with chilly water, and though the eaves of the forest continued to provide some measure of protection, it only got darker, and eyes gazed out at them at times, fleeting away before they could react.

The storm clouds seemed to grow darker as well, and soon Lyn was shivering and Mark had to give her his cloak. It continued to pour.

Finally they reached a great cliff that loomed above them as if about to crush them.

'I refuse to let these stupid rain gods beat us.' said Mark flatly.

Then, as if directed by some Sorcerer, a giant rock rolled down the mountain toward them, and they parted just in time for it to smash into the tree, bounce off and nearly brain Mark as he ducked beneath it. Then stepped aside again as it came to a rest by the tree.

Lyn chopped it in half with her sword. 'Evidently the Rain Gods have an Alliance with the Mountain Gods.' She said as it fell in two. 'We need to build a fire.'

'Already on it.' said Mark, who began to gather sticks, and pile them on top of the rock. Setting fire to them was a difficult task indeed, but Mark possessed a certain power with the everyday sort of magic that anyone can wield if they just know where to find it and how to use it.

Lyn had no idea how he did it, but he managed to build a fire, and there they rested until a new day dawned-

And it started pouring. Again.

'This is intolerable!' Shouted Lyn as they reached the Mountains. 'If we do not get struck by lightning we shall be tossed around by giant stone thingys and find the floor beneath us opening to swallow us up.'

'Lyn,' said Mark 'what the hell are you babbling about? Are you cold?'

She realized she was, and wondered if she was hallucinating. 'Rub your chest. Your arms will take care of themselves.'

She tried it, and realized it worked like a charm. Mark remained silent for a long few moments, and they wondered if one should say something.

'My boots are too tight.' said Mark suddenly.

'Excuse me?' said Lyn.

'It was something my Father once said, when I was very young. He was lying in his room, and he was crying. I asked him what was so wrong that he should cry.

He only said: 'My shoes are too tight. But it does not matter. Because I have forgotten how to dance.'

'I don't understand.'

Mark suddenly looked terribly old in a young mans body. His face was bitter and solemn as he stared into the darkening wood. 'Nor should I. But I do, Lyndis. I do.'

The night passed miserably, as the weather cleared and finally the dawn rose above them, lightening their depression as they stood and dosed the fire with water from the river.

Suddenly something occurred to Lyn. 'How do you know that name? I don't believe I told you mine.'

'Lucky guess I suppose.' He said. 'May I call you Lyn.'

'Yes of course.'

They began then their journey into the darkness of the wood, and as the shadows loomed above them and threatened to consume them Lyn said: 'If its any conciliation Mark, I never got a chance to learn to dance either.'

It was.

And for the first time, Mark smiled.