It was the year of the Fox, in the islands known as the Empire of Tigers, the ninth month, month of the owl also known as midwinter. The snow on the ground shone in the sunlight where it was not obscured by the large pillar of smoke rising from the burning village by the sea. The tall snow covered mountains looked silent and brooding, as if in judgment of the blazing village of some simple fisher folk. The only sounds that could be heard were the crackling of the fire and the occasional crash of falling timbers, as not a soul attempted to put out the destructive, uncontrollable fires.

The smell of blood and death clung to the little village like a fat bloated leech. Lying in the village street, in blood covered snow where they had been cut down and slaughtered, lay the mutilated remains of the villagers, the hopes and dreams of innocent, simple people snuffed out by a sword, axe, and spear.

A black speck on the horizon that was the raider ship responsible, fled from a warship flying the banner of a white tiger on a black background. Farther and farther from the shore of destruction the to-late rescuers pursued the reavers until they were out of sight and all that remained was the burning remains of a humble, innocent little fishing village.

Not a soul was alive in the village except one, a boy, age ten, but that wouldn't be for long in these quiet, watching mountains, not in the middle of winter with his shelter burning down around him and no food.

The boy who had seen his father, brother, and friends slain and his mother raped and killed, as he hid in his burning house like his mother had told him to. The vengeful flames licked at the roof where a burning cinder from a nearby house had landed. But although he was the only one in the village he wasn't the only one in the ravaged valley.

The village was almost completely on fire when a single figure hidden in a gray, wolf skin cloak came into view of the burning village around the side of a cliff on a road.

The figure in gray approached the stockade, dropping his cloak and light traveling pack he revealed a large powerful form, dressed in high black boots, gray wolf skin trousers, and a high-collared gray shirt. A black bandanna held the iron gray hair out of his vigilant blue eyes and revealed hard facial features, scarred by years of war and hardship. Around his waist a red black-tipped sash held two swords on his left hip, one long single edged, one short, double edged companion sword, and a dagger hung from the right. His left hand held onto the longsword's sheath, a natural position, ready to hold it in place while he drew with the blinding speed of the warrior born.

Alert eyes took in the devastation he had known so well before as he entered the shattered stockade. Blood, it seemed had been spread everywhere among the broken bodies. The warrior approached a house that had just caught fire looking, possibly for survivors or maybe unclaimed loot and came out coughing smoke as he entered the next building.

This house wasn't burning as much as the other one, he looked around the ravaged small main room and entered the kitchen, which was just as bad. Flour had been thrown about, along with other foodstuffs, which the raiders hadn't wanted. A cabinet, slightly ajar, hung on it's hinges to the left. Movement behind an overturned table caught his attention, a rat, survivor or raider that was accidentally left behind possibly. His hands were on his swords as he approached the table, passing by the cabinet. Suddenly, without warning a small figure erupted from the cabinet and a burst of light caught the gleam of a knife clutched in it's hand. Reflexively the warrior lashed with his fist at the assumed danger and sent the boy sprawling across the room. The warriors longsword was half way out of it's sheath by the time he got a look at his assailant, a scrawny youth, with brown, almost black hair, and fear in his eyes, a small butcher knife still grasped in his hand.

The boy scrambled to his feet and eyed the newcomer, his swords and gear, and then their eyes locked.

"Put down the knife boy, before you get hurt," the warrior said in Nekkars, tongue of the Empire. The raiders hadn't spoken it like that the boy thought.

The boy drew back a bit as if he could escape the blue piercing eyes of the warrior by doing so, but still he held the knife as if it were a sword.

"What do you plan to do with that knife you're holding, boy? You might hurt someone. You wouldn't want to do that now would you?" as he spoke the big man let go of his swords and held his palms out and open, unthreatening.

The boy remained silent, his green eyes seeming to glow with an internal fire, defiant, as smoke pushed into the room.

"Come boy, the house will burn down any minute, do you want to burn to death, put down the blade and follow me."

The boy heard some screaming as he climbed down out of the loft and went outside. His father held the wood axe in his hands as he faced four large bearded men wearing strangely made mail and carrying swords and axes. Their leader was a massive man, bigger than he had ever seen. His hair was red, like fire and his eyes were dangerous and feral. A great axe was held in his massive hand as he faced the boys father who looked small and harmless in comparison, and his father was one of the biggest men in the village.

"Drop axe, or men, I kill you!" said the stranger in strangely spoken Nekkars. "Put axe down you, family, live. Not, die. We treasure want, not kill." the stranger said approaching the boy's father.

No one else that the boy could see from his vantage point was in the street. "Give me your word of honor," said his father.

"Done," said the man still walking toward the boy's father. The boy's father made as if to put the axe down, but before it made contact with ground the stranger, in the blink of an eye, stepped forward and split his skull. The boy's father fell to the ground, lifeless as the big man laughed and looked up at the boy. Their eyes locked and the stranger's smile widened as he looked past the boy to see his mother, his older brother died trying in vain to keep the stranger away while she fled. His brother was disemboweled by one of the swordsmen and when he kept screaming, his guts hanging out, the leader split his skull too almost as an afterthought.

The boy saw it all, too horrified to move but his mother grabbed him and they fled deeper into the house where she hid him in the loft while she tried to lead the reavers away. A crack in the wall allowed him to see the rest as the raiders dragged her outside.

When they were gone he dared to come down out of the loft and look around in a daze. When he was in the kitchen he heard the front door creak open, it had been ajar, and he partially came out of his shock. Instinctively he grabbed a knife and climbed into a cabinet.

Finally the boy spoke almost a whisper, "Take it from me."

The man in gray stood back and eyed the youth, and in the blink of an eye had his longsword drawn and held the tip a foot from the boys eyes. "Put the blade down, right know or you might get hurt." The boy hadn't even seen the sword move, one moment the warrior was motionless, the next a sword point was a foot from his eyes. The sword was long and barely curved, unlike the tip which was composed of strait lines. The man intended to intimidate the youth into compliance, his threat was an empty one, but the boy didn't know that.

To the man's surprise the boy hit the sword, knocking it aside, breaking the thin knife, and then he rushed the warrior with the shattered remains of the blade.

Caught by surprise the warrior's reflexes once again took over and he lashed out with the pommel, hitting the boy in the head and sending him flying. The boy landed in some broken pottery and lay still.

Cursing, the man in gray sheathed his sword and approached the still form. Carefully and gently he picked up the youth and carried him outside and lay him down in a clean patch of snow. Then he went in to look for some clothing. When he came out he carried a bag stuffed with cloths and putting the boy over one shoulder and the bag over the other the man in gray returned to his discarded cloak and pack.

By now the rest of the village had caught fire and there was little sense in returning to look for survivors. The man in gray looked the boy over. It appeared he was only unconscious, and not seriously hurt but he wouldn't know for sure until he woke up. The man in gray went back to the village and rescued some wood to build a small fire near the side of the mountain, out of the biting wind and away from the carnage, and especially from what the carnage might bring from it's dark mountain lair at night.

By the time night had fallen, the two moons, The Lady and The Guardian, had made their appearance. The Lady was pregnant, ready to give birth to a new month and the Guardian was so pale it was almost invisible. The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly on the two. It was as the Guardian was rising higher in the night sky from the east that the youth awoke. The man in gray lay wrapped in his cloak by the fire. The boy sat up, looked around in a daze and then drew the cloak he had been wrapped in about him and huddled next to the fires warmth and watched the man, whom he thought was asleep.

The man in gray's face was turned away from the youth as he lay on his side looking out at the still burning village, his swords lay next to him in easy reach. "What is it boy?" the man said without looking up at the surprised youth.

"What are you going to do with me. . . sir?"

"I don't know, what should I do with you, boy?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders even though the man couldn't see him and stared into the fire. The boy thought. If he is a raider than he would be dead. The boy had nothing to lose. "My name isn't boy, it's Corsan, I'm Dorak's son."

"Dorak is dead, and so is Corsan, he died too. He died like Dorak."

"No I didn't, I'm right here, my name is Corsan."

"No longer boy, your village died and your life has changed so much that you can never go back to it. You will have a new name for a new life."

"What new life? What is going to become of me?" the boy asked almost pleading.

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