Welcome to the beginning of this story. Please tell me what you think, both good and bad. Thank you and enjoy.


Early Spring, 987 A.M.

The sun crept lazily over the rolling foothills near the grand city of South Figaro. The forests were light and airy in this region, and there were none between here and the city. Birds began to sing in the trees, flowers opened their buds, and the woodland creatures began their morning routines. A bright morning had awakened to welcome the world.

But Duncan Ironhand had awakened long before the sun, and he was already deep into his morning meditation. Duncan was a tall, solidly built youth in his late teens. His brown hair was cut somewhat ragged and fell down close to his shoulders. He had a handsome, honest face, and his clear brown eyes were closed as he concentrated.

To any observer, he might have fallen asleep while kneeling, but Duncan was far from sleeping. His spirit was already expanding beyond the limits of his body, feeling the bounty of life that was all around him. His father, the great Blitz Master, had trained Duncan well, as the youth had prodigious talent in the martial arts, and had easily mastered the skills of the blitzes, those near-mystical techniques that harnessed the essence of life itself.

Cracking and creaking sounds made their way up the hill, and Duncan half-opened his eyes.

Another caravan, he knew instinctively. It was making its way to the city, unaware that the region had become dangerous.

Duncan's eagle-keen eyes swept over the valley, pinpointing the slow-moving caravan as they made their way through the morning fog.

There!

On the other side of one of the hills was what Duncan had been expecting. The Forest Knives. A minor group of bandits that had somehow acquired weapons and training better suited for professional warriors, they had become a force to reckon with in these parts south of the city. For nearly two months they had raided at will, but no longer.

Duncan had come into the area when they tried to make him one of their first victims. He had quickly turned the tables on them, and in the past two weeks had thwarted another three attempts by them to raid a caravan. Now it looked like he would get his chance to hit them a fourth time before he moved on.

Effortlessly, Duncan rose to his feet, packing what little he possessed. A small sword and utility tool hung on his back, a pair of knives on his hips. Over his hands went gloves that had lead dust packed into the knuckles, and plates of metal along the lengths of the fingers, but left the joints free. Duncan had punched through solid plate armor while wearing the metal knuckles without injuring himself.

His sleeping bag and morning rations quickly went into his backpack, along with other survival and personal belongings.

Duncan made his way down the hill for where he knew the Forest Knives would ambush the caravan. Idly, he wondered, should he go into South Figaro to get a shower and some real food before moving on?

I should send a letter by carrier pigeon to Mom while I'm in the city, he thought, she might be getting worried.


"Now these herbs are useful to help relieve general aches and pains that you might suffer from a day of normal work," the old woman was saying, "but you must remember that they must first be bruised and then steeped in hot water to have any effect."

Banon Teshar listened politely to the old healer, but managed to hide a sarcastic grin behind his trimmed beard. This had been the 22 year-old's first long distance merchant trip with his father, but they had been gone from South Figaro for nearly a year and Banon had truly begun to miss his home.

Banon was not a large man, he was slender but wiry, possessing decent strength from helping repair the wagons and fending off creatures of the wilderness for the whole journey. His blue eyes were crystal clear, but of a paler shade than his sister's.

Myra sat in the lead wagon with their father. She was only 15, but she was beautiful, with her blond hair and blue eyes like crystals. Banon knew that he was going to have some serious protecting as a big brother for her when they got back to South Figaro. He quietly swore to himself that he would break the arms of anyone who hurt his little sister.

He was abruptly smacked over the head.

"Ow!" he cried out with a grimace.

"You weren't paying attention," said the old healer.

She's got a pretty mean arm, Banon thought as he rubbed his head.

"Now listen to me," she said, ready to continue her lesson. She pointed to a small handful of flower stems and petals that she had picked up the previous day. "These flowers, when chewed into a paste, are essential for creating eyedrops to relieve temporary blindness. But you should always eat something beforehand, they taste terrible and affect your sense of taste for hours afterwards."

Banon nodded again, unable to keep a smug grin from showing. The woman was an herbalist and healer out of Zozo. She might tell the truth when it came to her profession, but otherwise… well, Banon had been with his father when he'd tried to negotiate with the merchant from Zozo. It hadn't been pretty.

To show the woman that he didn't believe her, Banon grabbed one of the flower petals and popped it in his mouth. The old healer simply watched him.

Banon's face started smug, then slid to curiosity, and then ended in disgust before he spat the flower petal out of his mouth.

"Uhhh, elch!" he managed to get out, his face looking sour.

Without a word, the old woman handed him a waterskin, which Banon gulped down greedily. It helped, but didn't quite wash away the aftertaste.

"Not everyone who comes from Zozo is a complete liar, young man," she admonished him,

"You have hands that are made to heal; to create tonics and potions, to heal with your words and your actions. But first you must learn to listen. You must learn to think, and remember to never assume anything."

Banon nodded slowly, trying to absorb the lesson. Then the wagon ahead of them suddenly exploded into flames.

"Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Nearly fifty men rushed out from their hiding places in the hills that surrounded them. They were all armed.

First they used their crossbows and mowed down several of the guards who were reaching for weapons. The raiders then dropped their long range weapons, drawing swords and knives for close combat.

Banon grabbed the old woman and roughly shoved her down. "Stay here!" he ordered as he grabbed his own sword. Banon didn't know what good he could do, but he had to get to Myra.

He ran into two of the bandits before he'd even made it halfway to the first wagon where his father and sister were huddling together while three guards were making a brave stand.

The first bandit cut high, and Banon was able to duck the blow, then threw himself forward, impaling the man. But the other bandit was faster and better, leaving a nasty cut across Banon's left arm. The young man spun around so that he could keep his eyes both on the bandit and his sister. Banon swallowed nervously. Two of the guards were already dead, and the third was already getting overwhelmed.

Banon parried another set of attacks from the bandit, and saw two more coming for him. But before he could do anything else, the bandit suddenly arched his back in pain. A young boy, hardly older than Myra stood behind the bandit. The boy landed a punch and a kick that knocked the older man to the ground and left him unmoving.

"Get outta here, kid," ordered Banon, "Save yourself."

The boy tossed Banon a lopsided grin, then charged into the thick of the fray. Banon was left with his jaw hanging open. Never in his life had he seen someone move like this kid; with a perfect combination of grace and power. Faster than Banon ever would have imagined it, the boy had fought his way through nearly ten of the bandits.

Banon felt a surge of hope. They might all survive this after all.


Duncan raced for the first wagon, and watched as the last guard fell protecting the young girl and the older man, probably her father.

Two men got in his way. It was the last thing they ever did.

Duncan focused momentarily, finding the life source of both men. In his mind's eye, a small part of each of their bodies began to glow. Duncan launched himself forward, moving so fast there was no way the bandits could possibly have followed him. He landed five, ten, twenty blows all in those small targets on each man, for those were the spots from which their life sprang.

Both men were dead before they fell to the ground.

Looking towards the wagon, Duncan saw that two of the bandits had made it there and were threatening the man and girl. Reaching back, Duncan grabbed one of his knives and let it fly. The knife landed in the throat of the bandit harassing the girl; there was so much power behind the throw that he was knocked completely off his feet.

The second bandit raised his sword to strike down the old man. Duncan focused again, harnessing the energy of life and concentrating it in his hands. A ball of pure energy formed between them, and then he fired the aurabolt. The beam of white light struck the bandit head-on, disintegrating most of his upper body.

"Ancients save us, it's that damn kid!" cried one of the bandits.

"Don't just stand there, kill 'im!" ordered another.

Duncan ran forward and leapt into the air, soaring over the second wagon. On his way down he threw out his leg, crushing the skull of one of the bandits. One of the caravan guards was fighting his way towards Duncan, displaying some impressive swordsmanship. Duncan shook his head, swords were too cumbersome and unwieldy for him. No, better to stick with the weapons that nature gifted him with.

Two more bandits came at him, but Duncan grabbed one of them, leaping high into the air, soaring backwards as he brought the bandit down head-first. Duncan rose to his feet, slowly and deliberately, and beckoned the second man onwards.

"To hell with this," muttered the bandit as he turned and ran away as fast as he could.

One by one, confronted by the caravan guards and the unequalled mastery of combat of Duncan, the rest of the bandits followed the same course of their comrade and fled the field of battle.

Duncan watched the bandits flee. Only about a dozen of them had survived this counter. He didn't worry about them, the power of the Forest Knives had most likely been irrevocably broken today. Oh well, there were always bandits around somewhere to fight and hone his skills.

He turned slightly as the older man from the first wagon approached him. The young and very attractive blond girl came behind him. She was very pale, some blood had spattered onto her lovely face. She was being supported by the guy that had told Duncan to get out of the fight. He was definitely a relative, probably a brother.

"Thank you for your help, young man," said the older man, "We are completely in your debt for helping to save my caravan. I am Varron Teshar. What can I give you as a reward?"

Duncan shook his head. "Sir, I have no need of any reward. It was my pleasure to be of service."

"Who are you, boy?"

"My name is Duncan Ironhand," he answered proudly.

He could hear gasps from some of the caravan guards behind him. His father had remained much more contemplative and solitary than many of Duncan's ancestors, but there was no doubt that the martial arts skill of his family was notorious across the world.

Varron's eyes widened. "Master Ironhand…"

"No, please," said Duncan, shaking his head, "I am not the master of my family's secrets. Until then, I'm just plain Duncan. Maybe someday I could be called Master Duncan, but never Master Ironhand."

"All right then… Duncan," said Varron, "but I must still reward you with something. You saved the lives of myself and my family, Banon and Myra here. If nothing else, I beg you to come with us to South Figaro. Please, at least let me demonstrate some hospitality."

Duncan looked to the man's son, Banon, who was smiling in a friendly manner, and his daughter, Myra, who also was favoring him with a kind smile. Ancients she was lovely.

He nodded. "Okay. I don't know how long I may stay in South Figaro, but I would be honored to join you in the city."

Varron smiled, then turned to his guards, ordering for the dead to be loaded onto a spare wagon, to be brought back with full honors to their families. A half-hour later, the caravan was once again on its way.

Duncan walked beside the first wagon the rest of the way, while the guards kept a much more careful eye on the surrounding area. Duncan would occasionally steal glances up at the wagon, and noticed that Myra's eyes never left him.

Well now, this could definitely become an interesting trip.