Chapter 1 - Appearances

Another new book idea.  Not sure the name yet, or even if this will be the first chapter.  Most likely it will be a later one, but I had to start somewhere.  Early bronze age style fantasy, however, I might just turn it around and make it a post apocalyptic age.  Whatever will work as the story progresses.

As always, there is a hero type, but he's not what he seems, nor are his companions.  And there is always a price to be paid for power.




"Master!  There are traders at the gate!"  A guard called out from his post.  A window opened in the great stone keep.

"I'll inform him right away.  Make sure to relate our laws!"  A female voice called out.

"Understood, Steward."  He motioned for the gate to be raised, and watched as a wagon drawn by a mule was led into the courtyard.  He growled slightly when some of the other guards drew their swords.  "What are you doing, you fools?"  He called out.

"They're....they're....ferals!"  The guard shook his head in disgust.

"You know our laws!  If you don't put your sword away, the Master will run you through!"  The guards looked reluctant.  "I apologize for my companion's actions.  The Master has only three laws.  If you attack, you will be attacked.  The only food he accepts are fairly hunted, grown, or traded goods.  And treat others fairly."

The being in front of him lowered its eyes.  He had no way to know it if was male or female as the gender was hidden by loose robes.  Their massive maw, however, led many normal humans to attack them on sight.  Large sharp teeth, dead black eyes, long forked tongue, and a sunken nose told him all he needed to know.  These beings used to be human long ago, but were somehow twisted into this hideous reminder of what happens when you tinker with the Creator's designs.

Whether it was magical, or done through some other means, that information was no longer available.

"Un..der...stood."  The being spoke with a clear voice, but struggled to form the words.  Their own language was more based upon body, facial, and eye movements, along with different clicks and hisses.  It was a complicated language, but he was told it revealed more about emotional state then a simple spoken language.

"The Master does not accept cow, lamb, or other domestic meats.  Only fairly hunted meat."

"Yesss.  Have.  No stand kills."  The guard cocked his head, then smiled.

"Ah, I understand.  The Master will be pleased.  And here he comes now."  The Master was an imposing figure, but wore strange clothing at all times.  Hoods, a lower face mask, armored gauntlets, and plated chain mail greaves and cuirass.  He was always in armor.  He was also half a head taller then anyone the guard personally knew, and indescribably fast.

"We....sss....heard...."  The Master waved his hand, and the being closed its mouth.  Another simple finger twist and wrap around made it nod.

"Any meat you wish to sell will be paid for, as long as it is hunted fairly."  His voice was loud, but there was a strangeness to it.  A background echo, as it were.  The being got down on its knees.

"Stand, Jakta Luhta."  The guard frowned.

Men of the Swamplands?  Were these creatures actually men?

"I know your people, and their hearts.  You are welcome to trade here, and to buy property, if that is your wish."  The guard's eyes betrayed his surprise.

"Master?  Without knowing them, or their intentions?"  His employer turned towards him.

"I know him, and his people.  I can read their intentions from their movements.  As I can read yours and the other guards.  Remind them to never pull their swords without a threat first."  He nodded quickly.

"Understood, Master"  He watched one of the most dangerous men he has ever known walk away without checking on the cargo available, or warning them to be cautious with their new guests.  Instead, he gave the newcomers permission to enter, and leave at their discretion.

He turned to look at the one who spoke to his master, and saw him gesture to one of his companions.  A curious set of signals, followed by a quick excited nod.  His companion raced out the gate, and returned a few minutes later with another of his race.  They were carrying a stretcher, and on it was a badly wounded human woman.

"MASTER!"  To the guard, it was obvious why they didn't bring her in until they knew the situation.  They would have been attacked, and as he watched his fellows pull their swords, he knew that blood would be spilled in the next few minutes.

The roar from the keep told him that his Master had heard the steel sliding from its leather sheathe.

He turned his back to the men of the Swamp, and pulled his sword, standing between them, their charge, and his comrades.  An old proverb ran through his mind as his friends turned on him in anger.

Don't judge a man by the dirt on his cheeks, or under his fingernails.  Judge him by the dirt on his tongue.

"Because appearances can be deceiving!"  He saw a shadow approach as swift as a ray of light, but look like death itself.  Death black eyes, razor sharp teeth, wickedly long claws, and familiar chain mail armor stirred the dust into a storm as he passed.

His Master was angry.