Chapter 2: Steadysteel

He had just left the millers. "Thanks Steadysteel!" The friendly call followed him floating on the air, as he walked down the road. Dirk grinned he loved helping people. Since he had arrived at outlook pleasant four years ago he had been able to make a real difference. He had found in himself great reservoirs of strength and endurance which had made Giro a happy man indeed. He had worked for his good friend for his first year without really doing anything else.

Happy just for room and board he had never pressed for recognition or increased money. However he had soon shown a gift for working wood and later metal. Giro had been surprised that he had continued with him and after his first year in Outlook had almost demanded that Dirk look to himself. "Build yourself a house and start a living!" He had almost shouted. "Dirk you could take up any of a dozen trades any man in this village would take you on. You're worth your own weight in flour!"

He had built his own small one roomed cabin on the edge of the village but was rarely home. Everyone wanted the cheery Illianer to spend time in their homes as their guest. He was known as the best of guests, never outstaying his welcome and always looking to perform some small service wherever he could. Indeed if it had not been for Giro he would be a pauper, that according to Giro at least. "Keep giving away your work as gifts and helping people out for free and you'll soon have nothing left!" his first friend had scolded him.

Yet Dirk did not fear that. No one in Outlook Pleasant would ever let him starve. They were the best people in the world. After they had gotten to know him many had discovered he knew little of himself for he was not a man of secrets. The fact he had come with so little seemed to free him to love and serve and though he had been perceived as odd from the outset it had won him the undying love and respect of every man and woman of the village. Despite his being from Illian, something everyone else told him was clear from his look and especially his accent. Here in Altara a country apparently close to Illian they knew people from there very well. But Outlook Pleasant was a sleepy village and they rarely got much news from the outside. The couple of times anyone from Illian had passed thorough he had listened to them speak and recognised what the villagers had meant. Still nothing rang a bell when they spoke of their home; it had not felt like home to him.

He no longer felt any real desire to know who he had been. His life here was ideal. He was able to work and serve. He had good friends and a good reputation. His past that he had forged for himself these past four years would serve him well enough. Lots of the local women thought him an excellent match for his daughters and he wasn't above some interest in them either. Yes he could live here forever. He even had a career now. Two years ago he had tried his hand at Tanning leather and found himself to possess a surprising knack for it. He had in fact quickly out paced the man who had supposed to have been his Master the local tanner Janus. He had almost made himself a real enemy for the first time in his life. At least he thought it was the first time. But this had been avoided by him agreeing to work away from Janus and as his 'apprentice' to send him a tithe of his profits. He had been given a family name by the villagers of Steadysteel. This had been in part for his forging but really it had come from the day when he had fought off three brigands who had attacked one of the outlying farmsteads.

The cry had gone up and he with his quick legs had been first to arrive on the scene. His hands had moved as if they knew what to do and instead of a blind flurry to his surprise he had disarmed one of the brigands within moments. He could still remember it.

The man had tried to stab him and he had easily stepped past the 'clumsy' lunge. He had seized the man's wrist and then struck it soundly with the edge of his other flattened hand. With a yelp the man had released the blade. Dirk in the same movement had crouched and collected it. He had then proceeded to cut across the back of the man's leg leaving him howling on the floor but alive.

Anxious to avenge their friend and escape with their loot the other two had charged him together. They were hoping to overwhelm him with numbers before he could ready a defence. Dirk remembered thinking that they would have been better advised to either approach slowly from two opposite sides or flee. He faced them and as they neared leapt moving his whole body left. One of them could no longer strike him without hitting his ally the other, no master of the sword was off balanced by Dirk's manoeuvre but tried to change the direction of his lunging sword. Dirk had almost shaken his head. These men should not be trying to fight him they were not good enough. He did not know how he knew, but he knew. They could not win this fight. He had disarmed the first and wounded him. The last had not remained on his feet for more than twenty seconds after. Moments later as the other villagers had arrived they came to a scene of three disarmed and wounded, but not killed outlaws. The event had fixed their likeable odd job man forever in their minds as a man of trust and honour.

Recently there had been rumours of wars and strange foreigners landing in massive ships. They enslaved people and forced them to swear allegiance to some distant Empress. On the other hand there were as many stories on men and women who could channel led by some kind of Dragon that was apparently doing the same thing in the north and east. So everyone was swearing allegiance to someone and no one it seemed of their own free will. This had all felt very wrong to him. Due to his prowess with the blade some of the villagers had assumed he would leave and go to Illian and help defend it. He had got the distinct impression that some of the villagers thought he was a lord of some kind who was hiding his identity like in a gleeman's tale. They had seemed for a while to be in daily anticipation of him upping his roots and returning with a blast of trumpets and a battle cry to Illian to face down this Dragon or the Dark One himself. Dirk smiled at that. The only people he wanted to defend and fight for were these people, his people.

Suddenly, lightning struck from an open sky! It hit the earth with a resounding explosion that almost threw him from his feet despite the fact it had been no where near him. Cries rose up around the village and people were running from their homes looking for the source of the commotion. Almost as if his previous thoughts had summoned them trumpet blasts sounded and then he began to hear the shouts. Dirk began to run. Soon he was on the small rise at the end of the village next to Giro's fence, still sturdy and strong after four years of use.

He saw them. Indistinct and hazy they might be, but at the same time, they were massive and intimidating: armies. He recognised them instantly. He had seen armies before. He had heard them. He heard them now, the screams, the tramping feet of men on the move, the whinnies and cries of horses charging and dying. Ringing through the dark twilight air he heard them; the clash of good steel and the hail of commands barked from hoarse throats. Amidst it all lightning crashed. That was the One Power. No one could stand against that. But something was wrong; no one used that power to kill. Lots of the villiagers believed otherwise but he knew deep down that the power healed but it didn't kill, at least not like this.

"Get the women and children back!" Dirk shouted. "This do be no place for their like!" Giro was standing at his shoulder already wheezing. The man could still work from sun up to sun down without a break but sprinting was no longer something he could do with impunity he had passed his fiftieth naming day. "Do what Steadysteel says!" he bellowed but his voice was cut off by his lack of breath. "Greg boy go crack us out some fighting tools. Janus get those women back in the village. No one is to leave the village."

"Someone has to find out what's going on!" shouted out the smith Rorke. "True enough!" replied Giro. "I'll be about it…"

"You'll be doing no such thing" cut in Dirk forcefully. "I'll be that man Giro. You do have a wife and children and we will not be risking you." Giro was also no match for a soldier with a sword, nor was he able to run or spot like Dirk. Everyone knew that but there was no need to point it out. His friend nodded and gave him a look along with his pat on the arm that as clear as any words told Dirk he had better take a care with his life.

Dirk was off his sword swinging at his side on his other the balancing dirk. One gift of trust from which he had chosen his new name and the other was the weapon he had taken and used for which he had gained his other. He always wore them except while working. Another of his roles in the village had been a sort of unofficial peace keeper though he had rarely been needed. It was lucky though, lucky for times like today.

Soon the battle was around him though he avoided coming too close to the actual melee. The heat was awful as the lightning had set fires among the crops. What was going on what were these Aes Sedai (as Chanellers were called) doing?

He felt angry that these people were just trampling over this land as if it had no more purpose than to be their battle ground. He drew his sword and held it ready in his hand. But he did not want to kill, he had never killed. Still that strength and quiet confidence, that had allowed him to stay calm in every crisis of his short, four year, life, told him that he could. Yes he could kill he knew he could.

The battle ranged on and someone shouted "The Bees, The Bees and Illian! Forward the Companions!" he heard similar cries for the Dragon and some strange shouts in a language he did not understand. Finally he was crawling through a bush on top of a small rise that dropped away about two paces making a small over hang. In the little hollow below was a small group of solders. They were dressed in a way Dirk had never seen with overlapping plates and strange almost horned helmets. The way their armour moved sliding in and under the other plates was almost beetle-like. Their helmets framed their eyes and made them seem larger than they truly were adding to the overgrown insect appearance of the fighting force.

Most of the soldiers seemed to be resting but one was speaking rapidly in a foreign tongue to a woman with a hard flat face in a red dress. The dress was split and panelled and on each of the panels was etched a stylised lightning bolt. The man though apparently the officer by his plumes and stance was speaking deferentially to the woman. The symbols on her clothes and his deference suggested she was making the lightning. But something seemed wrong. He had never met a Chaneller, a so called Aes Sedai, but something about this one was wrong. Though he did not know what, he could not remember. For the first time in over a year he really wanted to remember what he had known in his past life. What if his lack of memory led to these people hurting Outlook Pleasant? What if it led to a death? Like Janus? Or Giro? Or Mya?

She was talking agitatedly and then angrily with the soldier. Though he seemed to respect and even slightly fear the woman he stood in front of the soldier did not back down. The woman raised her hands and let them fall in frustration. It was only in doing this that Dirk noticed the bracelet on her wrist. It shone as it caught the beginnings of the waxing moon. Attached to it was a silvery cord as if made from a moonbeam itself. And the cord was attached to a woman. One who had been knelt calmly at the lightning-woman's feet. She had her head downcast and wore a dull grey dress. Around her neck was a silvery collar and it was attached to the leash of silver that was attached to the first woman's wrist. This girl was a slave. He felt a sudden surge of anger. He was going to do something about this. He could not leave her there!