It Begins

“Fighters! Fighters wanted!” The caller was an older man dressed in the robes of a desert nomad with a fine scimitar at his belt, the gleam of gold on his fingers, and the glitter of jewels in his ears.

“You, lad, you look like a strong young fellow. How about signing on with me? I have a caravan headed out tomorrow, going east along the Road of Kings. We’ll travel through Corinthia and Zamora, and then on to Agrhapur on the shores of the Inland Sea. You’ll see the sights. Come home with a pocket full of gold coins and stories to tell your grandchildren."

The old man looked tough enough, but the huge warrior who strode along a pace or two behind him with skin as black as coal looked as if he could take on a squadron or troopers single-handedly with a fair chance of winning the bout. The bodyguard scowled at anyone in the marketplace who came within a pace or two of his charge, and if the trespasser should miss the warning somehow, the Shemite extended a thick knobby club to push him away.

“No, no, Jubal!” cried the old man. “This heroic fellow is going to sign up with us, aren’t you young man? I’ll pay you ten gold lions right now, and fifty more when we arrive in Agrhrapur.”

He lifted a leather purse that jingled with the dull tone of heavy coins.

“Are you a fighter? Or a ranger? Perhaps a barbarian?” He looked the young man over carefully.