The Prophecy of Tara

The Prophecy

of Tara

A Mystical Fantasy

R.L. Kiser

Copyright 2003-2013 R.L. Kiser All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author-publisher.

ISBN: 9781301397136

KiseSoft unInc.

Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are strictly from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About The Author

Click on any Chapter Title to return to the Table of Contents

Prologue

The Prophecy of Tara

Eons ago a great power arose to corrupt the world. It could not be destroyed by armies and so was split into pieces and scattered by a powerful sect of monks. Now it has arisen again, as foretold in a prophecy, and corrupted a powerful northern family. The monks cannot interfere so they've trained from childhood and tasked Tara, a vibrant young woman with special abilities to take special knowledge across hostile land to a wizard in the west.

Now flowering into womanhood she is strong, sexy, without guile, and possessed of martial fighting abilities beyond those of most men. And she is outgrowing her scanty lizardskin armor, which reveals a little too much. Her journey is filled with peril.

She is joined by a disparate group, a stranded star traveler with a laser sword, a noble giant from the north, an ancient warrior from the time before, and others. There are powerful forces that would see to her undoing, including an invincible Shadow Dancer.

This is the story of her intriguing journey and encounter with some of the most interesting and dangerous people on the planet.

CHAPTER ONE

The Prophecy of Tara

Even from a distance the figure exuded power. Strong, bronze arms and legs, an overall feeling of strength. Yet there was a sensual gentleness too, a feminine receptiveness. The strong jaw supported a smooth face with high, even cheekbones that held ice blue eyes sparkling with intelligence. The neck, corded when tense but soft when relaxed, disappeared into strong, layered shoulder muscles made strong by years of swinging a sword and drawing a bow that only strong men could bend. Her perfectly even breasts swelled beneath a scanty lizard skin bodice grown too small to contain her maturing womanhood. She would have to do something about that, including the thin pieces that ran down her sensuous back leaving her slender waist and muscled stomach bare to wrap around her hips and dip down between tight thighs and up over the muscular buttocks. It had become so small it covered very little back there, being more like a single piece up the middle.

Tara was fully a woman now in her twenty second year. She was tall for a woman of her day, 5’9". Since the age of sixteen when she started to develop a womanly shape she found being scantily clad not only helped her to move more freely but was a great distraction to her opponents. She was called beautiful but she was more than that. She was savagely gorgeous. With her mane of dark blonde hair framing her classic beauty and falling down her back she would catch any man’s eye.

But right now her hair was pulled back tight and braided into two plaits, each tipped with razor sharp war blades. Even a slight toss of the head from this savage beauty could be lethal when she was thusly attired for battle or travel. Tara stood atop a knoll with her back toward a tree so her silhouette wouldn't show, but pranced a little shifting from one foot to the other because the lizard skin armor she wore was climbing up her butt. She hoped she could add to the outfit without breaking its protection. The bottom piece and the bodice needed more. But she would have to find someone to do it since she was neither a seamstress nor an armorer.

Such thoughts occupied a portion of her mind while the other, ever alert, scanned the horizon, the valley below, and the road for signs of movement. Those rascals that tried to jump her two nights ago were surely still in pursuit, albeit limping. They wouldn't soon forget her. She only saw three, and those she marked with a kick or knife slash, but they usually traveled in groups of six or more. She had time to grab her weapons belt and cloak only. By leading them away from the camp then dashing back through at a fast run she was able to snatch up her powerful longbow and quiver of arrows but her pack and few scattered things were left behind. That's why she had only the scanty, tight fitting lizard skin armor to wear under her cloak. And her boots. They, too, were magically blessed by the old armorer.

She looked far down the road to her left the mile she could see before it wound around a bend. Nothing there. But she hadn't come by the road. Her path was through the highland moors and woods behind her. Just as it provided her with protective cover, so, too, did it provide that same stealthy invisibility to her pursuers.

Well, she thought to herself, no sense brooding over what I can't see. She looked forward on the road to her right, which disappeared over a hill. Some lazy, grey smoke in the distance indicated a village somewhere up ahead. Perhaps she could find a smithy or armorer there. But her other pieces of freshly tanned lizard skin were in her pack left with the bandits. Curses!

She moved silently down the hill into the widely spaced trees following the road. The sun was slowly sinking in front of her so she knew she was still traveling west. Along with the darkening afternoon would come the early autumn chill. She had only her lined soft leather cloak to keep her warm. She didn't dare make a fire. Thank the spirits the monks taught her how to generate a comfortable amount of body heat. She couldn't melt snow up to ten feet away like they could, but then, why would she need to? She could keep herself warm enough for a short period of time even though it did use up a lot of energy and left her ravenous.

She heard a slight movement off to her right and froze, turning her head so slowly the movement couldn't be detected. Her eyes locked on a large grey hare thirty feet away, long ears locked like radar in different directions, only its nose and whiskers twitching. So well blended with its surroundings was the hare most trained woodsmen would have missed it. Their eyes locked, the woodland creature studying her not with fear but trepidation, ready to bring its powerful hind legs into play at the slightest provocation. Silently to herself she said, 'Tis your lucky day, rodent. I can make no fire to cook nor to make of you a meal. The furry creature's large, brown eyes looked her up and down and with a wink disappeared into the thicket behind it soundlessly.

Still frozen in position, her senses heightened, her ears followed a sound deeper in the woods. Slowly pushing her feet beneath the fallen leaves so she made no sound she advanced toward the faint, distant sound. Whenever she would lose it for a time a closer shifting of fallen leaves and a slight glimpse of the big grey hare showed her the path until she would once again pick up the sounds. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was something familiar about the hare, the blending of grey and brown on the hind quarters, the black tips of its ears, the unusual size. Unconsciously she knew it appeared several times in her life, most recently just before that wild boar charged through her camp, and again two nights ago just before being jumped by that band of rapscallions. But her forebrain, being occupied by other, more pressing matters, rejected these thoughts as if directed to do so.

Silently she moved deeper into the woods until just before darkness fell completely she spotted a small clearing of six paces depth. To one side, where one large oak intruded upon the clearing, hung her pack from an extended branch of the oak. She settled on her haunches between a tree and a bush still hidden from view, closed and rubbed her tired eyes, and looked again. Yes, that was her pack. And it looked full. How was this possible?

She stared at the pack for a while letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. It was a clear night, the stars were starting to show themselves. It would be a while before moonrise. She could discern no movement anywhere near the clearing nor in the big oak. Surely this was meant to be a trap. She eased herself into a comfortable sitting position against the tree where she was well hidden, but could still see the clearing and the dark outline of her pack. This was the hardest part of being a hunter, the waiting. But she was good at it. The monks taught her how to recharge her energies while being completely motionless, relaxed, but fully alert. Not a trick very many knew of let alone could perform. While these rascals thought she was the hunted she had ever been the hunter.

Several hours passed with nothing more than a field mouse or the distant flap of a predator owls wings breaking the silence. The moon rose low on the horizon and was starting to wan. Laying herself silently on the ground she stretched the cramps from her tight muscles and decided to make something happen if anything was to happen. Ever so stealthily she made her way around to the tree closest to the big oak. As agile as a chipmunk she made her way up the tree to the second set of branches and slithering like a snake she crossed to the big oak and down onto the large branch holding her pack. Taking her longbow off her back she reached it forward and plucked her pack from the branch. Her arm bulged because of the awkward angle, the pack was heavy. Once in her hands she scampered to a higher branch to check the contents. While she could see very little in the dark her touch told her most of the contents were there, including the lizard skin she so desperately needed. And her travel breeches and tunic. Even the blanket and flint kit she left behind on the ground. Someone gathered her things and put them in her pack. But if this wasn't a trap, then what?

The moon, waning as it was, still shown some light into the clearing. She peered intently at the spot beneath where her pack hung but could detect nothing obvious. She climbed down the backside of the big oak, set her pack and bow against the tree and went in search of a large rock, which she found only a few paces away. Standing to the side of the tree she hefted the heavy rock to her shoulder and heaved it toward the spot underneath where her pack had been. The rock hit with a loud thud and for a moment nothing happened. She shrugged and turned to leave when a rope snapped taut from beneath the ground and started dragging toward the woods.

Suddenly there were voices, then shouting, and two men appeared from the direction in which the rope was traveling. She darted back around the tree, grabbed her pack and longbow and started to run. Out of the darkness a quarterstaff swung heavily, which caught her right in the midriff. Her forward motion took her into a roll over the thick quarterstaff and even with her breath knocked away her fighting instincts brought up the heavy longbow in an arc, in itself an effective staff when unstrung. Just before her back hit the ground she felt it connect solidly and heard a yelp. Her pack went flying out of her hands straight ahead hitting another man in the chest and knocking him down.

When she hit the ground she tucked the longbow close to her and rolled two additional times hoping she wouldn't smash into anything. She and her two attackers were far enough away from the clearing into the woods to be in deep darkness. The moon was low on the horizon and the faint starlight barely penetrated through the leafy branches. She laid there for a moment trying to catch her breath. Back toward the clearing she could hear men tromping around and cursing. To her right a few feet she heard a man grunt and push her pack away from him.

He said, Baros! Baros, did you get the bitch? She has a hunk of my leg. Baros?!

Baros must have been the one she felled, the one with the quarterstaff. There was no reply. She silently slid a double edged fighting knife from her weapons belt and waited for a sound from the man on her right to guide her killing hand. He grunted as he tried to rise. In one smooth movement she came up off her back, around onto her knees, and lashed out with the knife extended. A solid contact followed by a gurgling sound told her she was successful. She bumped into her pack, pulled it along with her as she felt for the downed Baros. She wasn't a cold blooded killer, but he tried to kill her and one of the first lessons she learned was to never leave an enemy alive behind you. In a matter of seconds there was an additional blood stain on her knife.

Her first instinct was to turn and run, but her head was still slightly addled from the heavy blow and she stumbled back out into the clearing. Seven men were milling around with weapons drawn. One shouted and ran toward her, two more followed. She flung her pack at the oncoming bandit, but he deftly dodged it and came on in a run. Instead of standing or retreating she rushed him. He wasn't ready for what happened next. She closed the short distance between them in the blink of an eye and laid a solid thwack across his shins with her heavy bow. That brought instant tears to his eyes and cut his legs out from under him. He sprawled forward plowing into the ground.

She let go of the bow. Before it dropped an inch she instantly had two throwing knives from her weapons belt in her hands and flung them expertly at the other two men. One caught a big brute in the side of his neck taking him down. The other fellow turned slightly and caught the steel shaft in his upper arm at the shoulder. Two others raised their swords and started for her across the small clearing. Having no sword she drew two long knives and took a defensive stance. Something hit her hard in the head and she crumpled to the ground.

Through a haze she saw feet scuffling, arms flailing, and heard a buzzing in her head that became more an external humming. There were shouts and cries all about her. Following her natural instincts she tucked and rolled away from where all the scuffling activity was and sat straight in a defensive, meditative position to try and clear her head. She knew she was in trouble, possibly seriously outnumbered, but not once did it occur to her, not even with her brains addled into a half conscious state, that she was defeated. That was something that happened only to her opponents, never to her.

Even though some of the images were difficult to understand her eye managed to focus on a muscular man in strange clothing wielding a bright orange blade. The humming sound came from the blade. How strange. She concentrated what part of her consciousness she could find on that blade. It was a thick, round handle of metal from which protruded a silvery strand three feet long. Surrounding the strand was a bright orange light, bright enough that staring at it for any length of time hurt the eyes. She was distracted by movement off to her right. The man she felled by smacking his shins was crawling toward her with a knife in his hand and malice in his eyes. Without thinking she reached out, seized her longbow and brought it down sharply across the man’s wrist with a crack causing him to let go the knife. She brought the bow down hard on the back of the man’s neck and rolled over on it effectively pinning him to the ground. Her still muddled thoughts went back to the strangely dressed man with the strange orange blade.

His movements were like a dance, smooth and fluid, no wasted motion. A large bandit charged him, his sword coming down in a fast arc. The man extended his right leg toward the charging man and drew his body up after it coming chest to chest with the bandit. At the same time he brought the blade in a two handed stance up close and vertical, out and down to his right as he pivoted his body away from and around the charging bandit to the left. The result was the orange blade cleanly and effortlessly sliced through the bandit's sword arm at the elbow cauterizing the wound as it went. There was no blood. The man's movement away left no resistance to the bandit’s forward motion and he charged unchecked into the orange blade, now held in the strange man's extended right hand, which severed his torso from left hip to right thigh. The upper half of the bandit’s body toppled to the ground as the hips and legs wobbled forward another step and fell. Still there was no blood.

She saw all this as if each step were being played out in slow motion. The stark, white bone of the severed hip, the meat inside, the skin healing over it as if heated by a hot iron. How strange.

There were two other men down by the stranger with their arms lying severed and lifeless close to the prone bodies. One of them had the shaft of her throwing knife sticking up from his shoulder. The remaining three stopped their headlong rush wide-eyed and retreated back into the woods. The man stood straight with the blade vertical in front of him.

He touched something on the thick handle. The blade dimmed and disappeared with a zzzit along with the humming.

Her eyes went to his strange manner of dress. A smooth, shiny form fitting top with a round collar around the throat. The trousers, the same dark grey as the shirt, were of a similar but thicker material, pleated, and hung straight down to touch upon shiny black boots. There was a sharp crease running down the front and back of each leg and a medium thick shiny leather belt ran through loops at his slender waist. His jaw was strong and square, the handsome face smooth shaven with the upper lip sporting a small black mustache. The eyes were dark brown and intelligent, the skin tanned, the hair dark and swept back becoming a little too long around the ears and neck as if it were normally well tended but was neglected recently. His shoulders and chest were wide and muscular, she could see some of the contours in the shadows cast by starlight. She shook her head. It was amazing how well she could see in the faint starlight.

He looked down at her, a slight smile played across strong lips. He held out a hand toward her. Big hands, strong hands, but not heavily calloused. How could these be the hands of a great warrior? She took his hand and he helped her up. She winced at the pain in her head.

Near her feet the bandit on the ground groaned as the pressure from the heavy bow on his neck was released. In a quick, fluid movement the man kneeled on the bandits upper back making sure he would stay pinned to the ground. He looked up at her, put his hand, thumb under fingers, to his mouth and flapped them indicating speech, then pointed at the bandit. She understood. He wanted to know if she wished to question the man. She slowly shook her head no. It would have hurt too much to move her head any faster. The man put his left hand under the bandits jaw, the right on the back of his head. Pushing the right hand forward and bringing the left hand swiftly up he swiveled the bandits neck ninety degrees until it snapped. He looked back into the darkness from whence she stumbled into the clearing with a question on his face. She drew an extended index finger across her throat to indicate dead. Unselfconsciously she hooked a thumb in the crotch of her scanty outfit down by her thigh and pulled down while squirming her butt and hips. He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face.

It's too tight, she said. He said nothing, just continued to look. Her eyes narrowed as pain shot through her head and her hand went to the side of her head, which was matted with blood from the knife butt that felled her earlier. He quickly took her by the hand and led her to the west past the big oak. She scooped up her pack as they went.

Just a short way through the woods down in a gully abutted to a small hill he led her to a large tent made of a thin but strong material. Once inside he closed the flap and there was a light with no flame. More strangeness. There were several boxes of different sizes, hard, but smooth. Not made of wood. One of them was open and padded and there were moveable shelves containing strange objects and bottles and strange recesses with small rectangles of dark glass and little round things and buttons. He guided her onto a padded cot and opened one of the boxes and took out a white box with a big red cross on it. From the box he pulled some strands of material and some smelly liquid in a soft bottle, poured some of the liquid on the strands and proceeded to cleanse her head wound. Surprisingly enough after a few seconds the stinging of the wound went away. He rubbed some thin white cream on the wound and gave her two little powdery buttons to swallow and some water from a shiny container in a cup made of paper. How strange.

He indicated she was to swallow the little white buttons with the water and had her lay back in the comfortable chair like a bed. She was reluctant to close her eyes, but he stepped up to help her with his strange sword and tended her wounds. If he wanted to harm her he would have done so long before now. She leaned back, closed her eyes and began the alert relaxation she learned years ago from the monks. In a few minutes the throbbing in her head began to subside.

Several hundred miles away a thin, bald monk raised his head from meditation causing a break in the soft chanting. The other monks beside him raised their heads and saw his smile. She is well, then? asked one.

It is the prophecy, he replied.

The traveler from the stars?

She has found him? inquired another.

He has found her, replied the first.

Chapter Two

The Prophecy of Tara

Cold, dark eyes stared out the high window into the grey, gloomy day watching a string of naked slaves, their arms trussed behind their backs, trudge through the frozen mud. The women would be separated once they reached the crudely built log and mud housing halls. Some would be taken away to another hall, some brought here into the lower parts of the castle and used as pleasure girls for the soldiers and engineers extending the castle and building the wall. Some would be taken as washer women, some to work in the kitchens. Maybe one or two, if they were young and strong and pretty enough, would end up being trained as castle staff. Those not deemed worthy of any of that would end up living and working with the men at hard labor cutting and carrying stone for the wall. Most of those would end up as part of the wall itself.

The cold, dark eyes belonging to Mistress Rowena turned slowly to stare across the room at a set of long, dark nails belonging to her brother Roland that drummed incessantly on the polished wood of the large mahogany desk. The man sitting at the desk felt her eyes on him and looked up ceasing his drumming. Slowly she glided away from the window towards the large fireplace behind the desk.

How can you be sure she has the knowledge? rasped her icy voice.

I'm sure, he replied calmly.

But she can... The cold, hard stare from his large, dark eyes froze her in mid-sentence. A stare that froze the hearts of many a political opponent.

I mean, she said as she looked away, how can you be sure she's the only one? Or that she's not just a decoy?

Again, calmly, but in a voice so cold it would freeze a ray of sunshine he said, How I know is not your concern! Then in a softer voice he continued, There are many things in play here of which you have no knowledge. The time it would take to impart that knowledge, the amount, the training... He trailed off, reached out and took her cold, bony hand in his.

Dear sister, I don't want to quarrel. It's just that I haven't time to teach you what's taken me years of study. Years of knowledge that can't possibly be compressed into a few hours.

Dear brother, she smiled, I don't mean to cause you undue stress. It's just that the one with the knowledge could cause us to fail, could bring about our ruin. I want to be right, so much is riding on our decisions.

My decision, he said coldly. Leave these things to me. You run the household and help me get this place reinforced. His voice warmed again. Have you found the, uh, young ladies to your satisfaction? We can get plenty more, you know.

Yes, yes, they're fine. There must be dozens I haven't seen yet. Her eyes got a far-away look as she recalled how only recently she took such pleasure in the young girls, the nubile young bodies, the innocence, the screams, the fear in their eyes, the total submission, and finally the hopelessness as their lives faded away. Sometimes two a night. Not even her whips with the sharp bladed tips nor the boots with the sharp pointed toes and heels nor the way she liked to squeeze and pinch and mash different parts of the body, not even the suffocation techniques that brought these young women their first, most certainly their last, and many in between body shuddering orgasms could take her mind from current affairs. And she was so good at it. She once took a pretty young woman of twenty winters for a day and a half from one near death suffocation and subsequent orgasm to another until her final, body wracking, shuddering last gasp. She lay all that night with the poor dead thing. She was special. But now this wretched warrior woman threatened to ruin it all.

The power is mine and mine alone. His voice brought her back to the present. Every day I grow stronger with it. Every day I learn more.

But time is against us. We must find this wretched disciple of those horrible little monks and ...

You can't expect a power that ruled the world for millennia and more to be absorbed and understood overnight, nor even in decades. Now go, sister dearest, and see to supper. I grow hungry and I have still yet more work to do ere I rest, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed her.

There came the staccato tapping of her heels as she left the thick rug onto the marble floor. She swept through the door and down the long hallway. As she passed one of the cleaning maids doing the dusting she grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the stone wall twice, rapidly, then tossed her into the wall across the hall where the body slumped slowly to the floor leaving a bloody stain on the wall. An evil smile crossed Rowena's face as she brushed her hands back and forth thinking, Ah, I feel better now. What wine should we have with dinner?

Chapter THREE

The Prophecy of Tara

Tara awoke with a start, but years of training kept her from moving more than a twitch. Through partially closed eyelids she slowly looked around. She remembered the tent from the night before, and the stranger. She sensed his presence sitting across from her on one of the strange boxes. There was subdued daylight filtering through the tent walls. She turned her head toward him and opened her eyes fully. Her head stopped, there was pressure against her temple and ear. Slowly she raised her left hand to feel some strange device lain over her head. It was thin and smooth, but again not made of wood. The stranger had something similar laid over his head and there was a long, black cord leading from it to a small black box with buttons and tiny red lights. She soon discovered a similar cord led from her device to the box.

The handsome stranger opened his eyes and smiled at her. Haltingly in her language he said, Good morning. I trust you slept well? Your wound was... he looked up as if searching for words, shrugged and continued, not bad. Does your head hurt?

She shook her head no. Gingerly she removed the device from her head with two hands, looked from it to him curiously, and said, Is this magic?

He chuckled, shaking his head no as he removed his own device and said two words she did not understand. Science. Technology. It’s, uh... art you don't yet understand. It allows me to 'see' your language as you think it.

She pushed the device hurriedly away from her and glared at it. You can see my thoughts?

No, no. His warm smile was disarming. It allows me to see your words as you think about what you say. It does not intrude on your private thoughts.

But... her brow wrinkled in confusion. What kind of magic allows such things? Her big, round, ice blue eyes were filled with curiosity.

It is a machine. I come from a land of machines. All different types. Too many machines, really. It's called technology.

There was that strange word again. And she had seen machines before. There was the mill wheel for grinding grains powered by the falling water of a stream. There were big war machines that flung huge stones at castle walls, and ballista, which were very large crossbows. And she supposed carts and wagons could be called machines. But never one so small with little red lights and pieces that fit over your head that let you 'see' words.

And your bright sword. That orange glow. That too is a machine?

He pulled the thick handle from nowhere. It had some buttons and dials, but was mostly for the hand to grip. This is a laser sword, carried by most of the guardsmen of my world, though most of them are gone now. This one was pressed into my hand and given over to me by a very brave warrior just before I left. It will work for only me. His face was covered with a far-away look.

She looked down for a moment and then spoke softly.