The Mage Emperor Dregin

Chapter 1

The traveler followed the road alone. His clothes, though plain, were of fine cut and elegant by material. Dark brazen hair flexed the ray of the sun to streamlines of gold spun threads. His eyes were a peculiar amber pair watching the road. The features of his face were weathered, not quite gaunt, and there was a simple glow in his not too pleasant face. No horse, no sword, no emblem, just his sack of food, some silver sewn to his cloak, and hidden knives for any unexpected danger accompanied him.

The sun had fallen down on the golden path of dry-stomped dirt. To either side, thrived hedges and wild grass dull green as murky autumn. Lily trails crawled weedy alongside. All the while, only the sound of a pair of boots echoed on the solitary field. He crunched gravel each time he stepped. His attention adverted to a slight movement in one of the bushes. He continued with caution, hand coordinated over the left flap of his cloak. Each pace became calculated, prepared to spring as he neared the so innocent bush. Something or someone was there; he could feel its presence somewhere in the peripheral edge of his mind. Now, he was only three paces away from the target. He stood and waited. Eternity. But patience was imbued in his veins long enough to contain him.

Out of the myrtle branches, the attacker shot forth. Years of training served the traveler well as he pivoted on one heel avoiding the full force of the offending plunge. It was human, not some odd creature of the wild, although the behavior proved otherwise. He swung his leg, but missed as the body ducked the wind of his kick. A fist smarted him on the side. Amazing, it inflicted pain on his tight muscles. He writhed around sweeping his foot across the ground aiming to trip his adversary. Again, his tact was countered, whoever it was jumping over the arc of his leg. The dark figure was visible by now being directly across from him. The limbs were especially swift thrusting forward with flashing steel. He met the ear-killing keel of the blade with his own in the nick of time. Naked steel countered steel for a while as the two fought on. A sharp pain pierced his arm. He kicked ruthlessly into the gut of his opponent, then mounted on his knee. Without a thought, he lunged forward grabbing that body and managed to pin his opponent to the ground, knife edge near the throat. Black hood fell back. Blue-silver eyes stared back at him, fully shocked. The hair was snowy and swept cleanly against the sides, contrasting the smooth tawny skin. The features were raw and severe, but there was a distinctive feminine touch to the face. She heaved in his moment of pause.

"Don't you dare move," he hissed. White lightning streaks flashed in her eyes as the jaw lines tightened against thinned flesh for cheeks. "I know how to use this petty steel,"he warned when she was about to start again. "Now," he began when she was still," to be honest, I'm no murderer, but I might as well be one if you insist." Pause. "Compromise, shall we? You stay clear and I'll be on my way."

She nodded slowly, though suspiciously. He stood, knife still steadied on her throat, releasing his hold over her. When he was about two paces from his captive, only then did he lower the blade. His arm still hurt, but it was minimal pain compared to the present danger if his mind strayed.

She rose, regarding him carefully. A starved warrior, lean muscled limbs, leathery palms, tight knotted hair in the back, strong broad bones, but all these qualities were hindered by the underlining of emaciation. She was a wild animal long without food for possibly days. He could feel his heartbeat skip at the sight of her, but he dared not admit fear, not at the moment. His heels stepped backward. He scanned around for his sack. There it was, thrown near the bush. Some dust clung to the fabric on the outside. The knife was placed between his teeth as he untied the sack. He took a dry loaf of bread out and offered it to her with an extended arm.

"I'm sure you want it," he said. Her eyes told him everything. They desperately wanted it, but were cynical of the offer. "It's not poisoned."

She came near slowly, studiously, making sure he wasn't up to some tricks. A very distrustful mind, he noted wryly, impatient that she took so long to even think for her stomach. Times had been hard in the recent years. The roads were no longer safe and mundane. Her long fingers curled around the bread and lifted it from his hand. She watched him as she bit a small piece first. He simply held his stance. She began to eat, but still carefully. He shrugged and gathered his things putting away the knife. His arm was insisting by now. He pulled out a piece of cloth, slipped it over the wound, and tied it with teeth and one hand. When he looked up, she had finished, expression hoping for more.