Relan was wearing a new pair of boots. In fact, this was his first ever pair of boots of any kind. Up until this point he had worn only sandals or wooden shoes. And those had been hand-me-downs. In one way or another, it seemed that everything in Relan’s life had been a hand-me-down. That’s the way it was when you were the youngest of seven on a cold-water farm hidden away in the fog-shrouded mountains of Robrecht. There was plenty of work and nothing else.

But if they could see him now?

Over a linen tunic, he wore a shirt of shining chain mail. It wasn’t the best mail that Boltac had, but it was the best-looking. Around his neck, a cloak made of hammered felt was clasped with a chain of silver. On his hip, the sword Boltac had given him swung from a wide leather sword belt. On his opposite hip was a dirk with its handle worked into the shape of a screaming eagle. Pants of the finest, softest deer skin he had ever encountered were tucked into the black boots, which had high cuffs and silver buckles. This is how a Hero should look, he thought.

Oh, they had laughed at him on the farm–well, his older brothers and sisters had, Ma and Pa had been too tired. They took the news of his departure as they took all news, good or bad, with the tired stare of someone who has seen the worst that the seasons and the ways of man have had to offer. From long habit, they tried not to get excited one way or the other.

“You’ll be back,” his eldest brother had said, in imitation of the hard, bitter speech of his father. But then his stern face softened, and he added, “And you’ll be welcome. If you conquer the world, littlest brother, be sure to save us a piece.” A last smile and a wink and Relan had been on his way. He knew that none of his family expected ever to see him again. One way or another, when someone left the high valley, they never seemed to come back.

But if they could see him now! Mail glinting in the sunlight, hair blowing in the wind and the heels of these magnificent boots ringing off the cobbles. Announcing to all the world that he who walked in these boots was not a man to be trifled with.

Yes, he would go back. Just as soon as he was finished, he would go back home and show them. All of them. His sullen family, the joyless villagers. He would go back like something out of the sagas the strange wandering minstrels sang in a vain attempt to cheer the flat, simple people of the land. But he would wait until he had something more than a new suit of clothes to show for his Adventures.

The farther Relan walked through the city, the more troubled his mood became. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs of the last night’s carnage. Blood spilled on the cobblestones, bodies lying in the streets. Loved ones gathering corpses. Families fleeing for the gates with possessions hastily piled in wagons. And fear on every face.

The music of his strides against the stones took on a sour note. He wondered if he should have done more last night. But the memory of what he had done, the creature and the killing of it, sent a shiver of fear up his spine. He hadn’t had time to think. Hadn’t had time to be afraid. But now that he had time, he was afraid, and worse. He was honest enough with himself to remember shaking afterwards. And the thought of going out into the night to face more of those snarling, tusked creatures on wolves–it turned his blood to water once again.

He should have done more to help. A real Hero would have fought all night. Would have fought until the enemy was driven from the city. But Relan had not. Why?

Perhaps because it wasn’t his city? At least not yet. He had only been in Robrecht a week. And it hadn’t been a pleasant week. Sleeping in a makeshift tent in a muddy ditch in the shadow of the south wall had been rugged enough. But the people were worse. Unfriendly, mean, shrewd, hard dealers one and all. None had the time to make a penniless Farm Boy feel welcome. For all the wonderful things he had heard about the cities, he couldn’t understand why everyone was so excited about them.

He had almost given up. Then he had met Sabriella. She had appeared to him in the muck and the mire of Robrecht’s agricultural market. Relan was on the verge of giving up. He had come to the farmers’ stalls to look for work. He was a strong lad and knew how to work hard. But as he stood there, hungry, exhausted, covered in filth, somehow he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.

It would mean defeat. It would mean giving up and eventually going back to the farm in the tiny valley. It would mean that his brothers and sisters were right to laugh. And, worst of all, it would mean that the best he could hope to get from life would be that hard, beaten look that was the battered inheritance his parents had saved up for him.

“You seem troubled,” a voice said.

Relan turned, and gasped. “What are you?” He was taken aback by a vision of perfumed breasts, full, lovely, and contoured under sacred robes.

“I am a Priestess, a loyal handmaiden of the Temple of Dar, but how could you not know that?”

“I, uh, am… uh…”

“You are a traveler!” she exclaimed, saving him from his awkward stammering. “A wanderer, a seeker of Adventure!”

“Yes,” he said, because he would have said yes to anything this perfect, breathless woman said. She smiled, and Relan felt himself go weak in the knees. There was a gap between her front teeth that her tongue darted into and away from. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Dar commands us to serve all travelers and seekers,” she said. “Tell me your name.”

“Uh, Relan…?” he said, still bewildered.

“Well is it or isn’t it?”

“What?”

She laughed brightly, in a way that was as far from mocking as the bright sunshine is from the rain. “Very well, Relan. I am Sabriella. I am pleased to meet you,” she said with a curtsey. Then she slipped her hands around his arm and guided him from the marketplace.

“My, you are very strong,” she exclaimed, accidentally telling the truth.

She guided him along Robrecht’s streets until they were walking beside the nicest part of the river. The great keep loomed off to their right and almost managed, in the afternoon light, to look regal. Sabriella talked with him gently and gave him the gift of listening well and laughing often at his awkward stories. In no time at all, Relan was completely at ease with the radiant creature on his arm.

“Oh, but you must be famished!” she said, and dragged him into a small cookshop. The owner greeted her warmly, and they were soon seated. To her great delight, Relan had three bowls of stew. Best of all, the owner wouldn’t take payment. Which was good, because Relan was completely broke.

They went back out in the street and walked for a time that felt to Relan like both an instant and an eternity. The sun cast longer and longer shadows through the narrow streets and alleys until finally they heard the tolling of the temple bell.

“But I must return,” Sabriella exclaimed, “I had not noticed the hours passing so quickly in your company. I have only been granted parole for the day, and the streets are not safe for such as I after dark.”

“I will walk you to the temple and keep you safe,” Relan said with all the sincerity there was in the world.

“You must not! I cannot be seen with you. And you cannot be seen with me. I know that to one so experienced in Adventure, the hardship of a dungeon and the Temple’s Questioner mean nothing, but I am a much frailer creature.”

“But, I don’t think–”

She placed a finger on his lips. “You are so strong, so handsome, so brave. I know that if I were in trouble–in danger, I mean–you would come for me. That you would save me. Just like a Hero. My Hero.”

He nodded like the idiot he was. And was going to follow her anyway, but then she paralyzed him with a kiss.

Of course, he had been kissed before. But the simple, sullen, load-bearing creatures of his village hardly seemed the same species as the delightful girl that pressed her painted lips to his. Such a kiss! He felt his feet break into a sweat. He closed his eyes and saw colors that he never imagined existed. It was the kind of kiss that would make a more experienced man ask some pretty hard questions about the purity of the Virgin Priestesses of Dar.

“Promise me you will meet me here tomorrow. Dar has inflamed me with love for you, and you cannot deny the Goddess her divine purpose. Say it! Say you will meet me.”

He swallowed hard and said, “I will.”

And then she ran off around the corner. As her sandaled feet slapped the cobblestones, Relan caught flashes of her milk white thighs beneath her flapping robe.

When she was out of sight, he rubbed his lips and smiled to himself. This was the start of it then. The grand Adventure of his life that he left the village to find.

Then the screaming started.