Tara Bainard

Within five years, Tara traveled more miles than she could count. She wasn't sure how many exactly. It had to be far enough away from the clutches of her family’s purse strings, which stretched for miles. No one had found her to date and no one would; she didn't have plans on ever returning. Her father did the unspeakable and that was why she ran. She had bigger plans than being sold in an auction, by her parents, to the highest bidder. They called it a debutante ball, but she knew better.

 

In those five years, she learned how to wield a sword better than most men did. She took on job after job as a sellsword, which meant she was a sword for hire. She felt no loyalties for anyone not earned by coin. Be it queen, king, knight, nobleman, or peasant; she didn't care. If they wanted her loyalty, they paid handsomely for it.

 

She learned how to survive and live off the land, becoming a great hunter. In the beginning, she wasn't a good fire starter. She had to learn to eat it raw or starve. It was tough, gritty, and a little too salty for her taste at first, but one does what one must for survival. She learned the skill in making fire.

 

Her attire was one of necessity. She found the outfit in one of those off-road stock houses that boasted about having magical artifacts. That was their big attraction, something enchanted, just to find nothing. She did find this maroon leather jumpsuit. It wasn’t the type of armor that the knights wore, protecting them from everything (other than an arrow), but it afforded her enough defense against most things. Besides, when a magic user cast spells, they tend not to work with armor, or they backfire. Besides, the leather was lighter, easier to move in, and it was hard to hit what you could not find.

 

Tired. She traveled for many miles, visited many kingdoms, met many people, but she was tired of traveling. At first, it was about getting as much distance between her and them. Maybe now it was time to settle down, at least for a while.

 

Pulling her horse to a stop, on the high mountainous cliff, overlooking the kingdom below, she looked out over the area. A dense forest behind her and a lonely road before her, leading down to civilization. The kingdom looked wealthy enough. It wasn't home, but it would work for however long she decided to stay.

“What say you, boy? Could this be home?” It was a habit, speaking to her horse. Usually, it was just him and her. A noise off to the right caused him to jerk to the left, then the right, before rearing straight up. Once he landed on all fours, he neighed, pawing at the ground.

 

Leaning down in the saddle, she stroked his neck, trying to calm him. “Whoa, boy,” talking softly in his ear. “What is it?” He could sense things that she could not. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds around her.

Movement. It wasn’t an animal because there were just two solid footsteps and then nothing at all. She was either being stalked, or someone was about to attack. Grabbing her longsword out of the sidesaddle sheath, her leg swung over the saddle, dropping to the ground in one fluid motion. Wearing leather made it very easy to move. It molded against her body, but there were pros and cons to her attire. Slapping the horse's behind, he quickly raced off to safety. He knew the deal and ran in zigzag patterns, just as she taught him until he disappeared into the woods.

Meanwhile, she rushed off in the opposite direction. Surely, the intruder would chase the rider versus the horse. Throwing herself behind the nearest tree, she pressed her back against it. Instantly calming; she barely took a breath. Holding her blade against her chest, she closed her eyes, forcing her other senses to take over.

 

She heard two squirrels quarreling with each other, birds, a few other animals, but she did not hear another sound from the possible threat. There wasn't a scent to be picked up other than nature. There was no way it was her family; she'd smell them coming with their Eau de Cologne. She had come too far for them to track her. She waited. One rule in fishing was to wait patiently for a nibble and then strike hard. The same applied in this situation.

 

Anything could happen in Brimstone and that is where she is now.

 

(Yes, she's mine. I am also Writing Diversity.)