Taylan's Tale Chapter 1

Our story starts as most stories start, in a place of humble beginnings, with a hero who doesn’t yet know he’s a hero, and on a day that seems like any other. Our hero, Taylan, is skillfully maneuvering through the thick undergrowth of the woods on the trail of a small herd of deer. The day is hot, but the shades of the trees’ around him limit the sweat that shines across his chests and arms. He doesn’t know it yet, but this hunt will develop into more than just a search for food.

As he ducks under the low branches of a towering pine, the obstacle-strewn ground opens revealing a small clearing. The forest continues over the small hill that is blocking the view of the stream he hears gurgling merrily only a short distance away. Walking the soft steps of a seasoned hunter Taylan circles the hillock maintaining a close watch on the bordering forest, waiting for the rustling that signals hidden prey. He suddenly stops and sniffs the air.

The smell of wood smoke reaches his nostrils and he begins to worry whether the trail he was following was leading him around to one of the many logging camps around the area. Rechecking the map in his head, he should be at least a half day’s walk from even the closest camp.

Thinking to himself, he mumbled, “Who could be out here?” Imagining everything from a traveling band of gold-loving gypsies to a hoard of angry orgs, he crept closer to answer his suspicions.

Getting closer to the top of the rise Taylan slips into the denser cover of the forest and lowers himself to the ground. Moving on both hands and feet he crests the hill and begins to move closer to the smell of smoke. As he gets closer to the source of the smell he also picks up on the sound of horses and the rough voices of a group of men. The thick cover of the trees and the years of hunting made it an easy task to move to a position only a few yards from the source of both sounds and smells without being noticed.

As he peered through the foliage out into the open grassy landscape he caught a glimpse of what looked to be a group of bandits beside the stream he heard earlier. Looking around their campsite he noted the two campfires burning and the carcass of an animal cooking slowly over one of them; a pot hung over the other and was slowly stirred by the men as the mood struck them. Beside this fire, a group of men were sitting around sharpening knives and swords, debating heatedly over, what Taylan assumed, to be the spoils of their latest raid.

“What do you mean you should be first?” growled the fattest of the men gathered, jumping to his feet with a jiggle of rage. “I was the one who had to do all the goddamn carrying.”

Leaning to the men next to him, he began to argue his point only to be met with a snicker from the two men opposite him.

“What’s so funny, eh? Got something to get off yer chests?” he bellowed angrily.

Taylan pulled his eyes away from the large angry face and focused on the faces of the men across the fire. It was the man with the long sickle-shaped scar who began the retort.

“You should have been the one to carry her anyway.”

At this Taylan’s ears perked up and his eyes began to scan across the campsite again. On this second look he noticed a small tent with a pair of dirty arms sticking out, and at the wrists a pair of shackles staked to the ground.

“What do you mean, ‘I should have been the one to carry her’, huh?” The fat man thundered. “That bitch should’ve been dragged behind the horse till she decided she could walk again.”

“You really are an idiot. Aren’t you, Margot?” said the scarred-man’s one-eyed companion. “If she would’ve been dragged the last few miles none of us would get the chance to enjoy the spoils of our conquest.”

At that point of logic the fat man began to blubber, “Well…uh…well…”

“Plus, you could use the extra exercise, More-gut,” the scarred man threw in quickly to the rough laughter of the other men.

As his face flushed red, Margot sat down and grumbled into his bearded-chin, “You’re lucky we’ve got the same ma, or I’d add to your collection of scars, Skitzbar.”

At that the men began to laugh harder, which made Margot’s face become all the redder.

“Why don’t we play some barraphat to decide who gets to go first?” chuckled one of the men around the fire to the affirmations of the others.

At this point, Taylan, who already began moving along the edge of forest toward the tent, noticed the other two men leaning with swords drawn against a tall oak just a few feet from the forests’ edge. Assuming that these two were the guards of the girl in tent Taylan removed the bow from the pack on his back and began to quietly scope out his target. As he looped one end of his bowstring around the end of the bow, he noticed one of the men sheath his sword and walk away into the woods about 20 yards to the right of his location, presumably to relieve himself of the drink both him and his partner were sipping on during their watch. Upon stringing the bow, he drew out a fresh arrow and notched it onto the string taking careful aim down the shaft.

“First, is you,” Taylan whispered as he loosed the feathered-end from his hand.

As the arrow whistled quietly through the air toward its mark, the man with only a moment to live looked right toward the source of his demise and the arrow buried itself into his throat right below the chin knocking him against the tree behind him.

Grimacing at the sight of his kill, he lowered his bow slowly to his side. After a brief moment of contemplation, the thought occurred to him that he just killed a man he had nothing to do with in cold-blood. This would have bothered him more at any other time, but Taylan was already on the move toward the other guard with his hunting knife raised and ready, and he did not seem hindered the thoughts racing across his mind.

Knowing his target was only a short while away, Taylan allowed himself a moment to secure his bow and check the tie on his pack, a habit he picked up long ago after a mishap that left him lost in the wilderness without bedroll or rations for two days back a few autumns ago. After making sure he straps were secure, he jogged ahead toward what would be his second kill of the day. As he got closer to where the guard’s tracks ended he listened for even the slightest rustle or snap of a branch, but not a solitary clue offered itself to his ears.

He relaxed himself by inhaling the warm, sweet air of the forest and flexing the hand holding onto his knife. As he released the tension out of his body, he could feel a one-ness forming with the forest around him. Used to this sensation which he had always felt ever since he could remember, he focused completely on the forest and the sounds of the world rushed to him. Just as soon as he was starting to lose himself in concentrating on the music of nature, something unnatural and threatening slipped into the overture and twisted the sweet sound.

The rasp of a scabbard was followed by an explosion of leaves and snapping twigs. It seemed the guard noticed his tail and decided to turn the tables on him. With his sword raised, the bandit rushed at Taylan only to be deflected to the side by a well-timed spin to the left followed by a quick stab at his now open flank. As the knife buried itself into the man, he froze and dropped his sword from his hands. He turned to look at his second victim of the day and Taylan’s eyes shot open wide in shock at the look of pure hatred in the face of the man whose side he just slashed.

Drawing a dagger from one of the folds in his clothes, the man screamed, “I’m gonna kill you, you bastard!”

“I’ve heard that before,” Taylan replied calmly, regaining his composure, and as he brought the blade back through the arc it followed before, he added, “and it always ends the same.”

The hunting knife was buried, just below the armpit and between two ribs, right to the hilt. He flinched and fell to the ground, eyes open and staring vacantly out at the light of the afternoon sun.

Sliding the knife from the bandit’s side, he sighed, “It always ends the same. I live. You don’t.”

As the blood of the man soaked into the ground, Taylan began the short, quiet walk back to his next battle field.