Beginnings

It had not always been like this, his feet following the paths trodden by the forgotten, he had had a family once and the honour of a strong, if small, clan. For generations his family had served as the emperors master armourers, forging weapons of legendary quality for their master, it was widely whispered throughout the empire that the weapons were forged magically from the remnants of fallen stars.

As with all the heirs of his clan Shiga was instructed in the arts of Smithing from a early age, learning under the guidance of his late father the techniques required to produce swords that would not shatter or dull, swords that could cleave through steel and bone with equal ease. Upon his naming day Shiga produced a set of swords of such quality that even the greatest blades of his ancestors paled in comparison. He worked the steel with such skill and devotion that a part of his soul bonded with the sword being born through fire and earth and its steel suffered his touch alone.

The emperor upon hearing of this legendary sword demanded that it be yielded up to him. As the emperors hand closed on the long hilt he snatched it back with an oath, the palm of his hand burnt and blistered. His family had been hunted down like cattle ever since, forced to flee into the Highlands bordering the Empire to seek shelter amongst tribes that had finally blunted the Empires war of expansion.

So now he was the pilgrim, travelling the empty miles, searching for solace he could never find. Throughout the long years he had learned to use the two swords strapped to his side, his only family now as he cleaved his way through the assassins sent by his former Lord and wondered if all the blood in the world would ease the suffering he felt.

As Shiga grew in both strength and skill his reputation spread across the land, etched in bloody encounters with the empire. A quite, retiring man by nature Shiga neither suppressed, nor encouraged these rumours so through the lonely passage of years the legend grew.

The winter sun stood no more than a quarter of its path across the horizon, the pale light holding little warmth. Tilting his hat a little farther down his brow, Shiga trudged on through the light covering of snow that carpeted the road he followed, although in all honesty the road was little more than dirt, packed hard over the centuries by the incessant flow of merchant caravans and the tread of booted feet. The road held few these days, small caravans of poorer merchants, clutching their threadbare cloaks about themselves trying to keep out the deep winter cold. High overhead the shrill cry of a hawk pierced the still air as it wheeled about searching the snow covered landscape looking for a meal. Glancing up at the hawk Shiga shifted the small sack he carried over one shoulder making it more comfortable and gathered his white cloak about himself more closely.


He had been travelling for several days through the backcountry, the steady fall of snow his only companion on the road. Stopping just before the sun reached its zenith Shiga lowered his sack and absently rubbed his shoulder. ‘Some wounds never heal’ he muttered to himself, remembering the stringy little warrior that had driven the spear into him from behind. The victory had been short lived as Shiga had spun and disembowelled him a heartbeat later.

Try as he might he could still not pinpoint the exact moment he had turned from hunted to hunter, driven from village to village as groups of men sent from the empire sought his life, and more importantly, his swords. As the years passed and his bloody education progressed the fear had slowly leached away, leaving him with a cold determination to survive. So now he wondered, like a blossom caught in an updraft, going from town to town searching for signs that at least some of his clan had escaped the emperors cleansing. Finishing a light meal of dried fish Shiga once more took up his sack and pushed on down the path.

By late afternoon low cloud had blown in from the west heavy with the promise of snow. The road had gradually inclined as the open grassland gave way to small foothills and thickets of dark bamboo and oak.

Glancing at the sky and cursing quietly under his breath he left the road and made his way to the top of the closest hill for signs of his destination. To the east the land gradually gave way to mountains that clove into the sky like teeth, further north lay a village surrounded by wooden walls erected above a dike. Tightening his belt sash he strode off toward the distant village as the first flakes of snow drifted lazily from the sky.

It was dark by the time Shiga stood before the wooden gates, a loan sentry stood before an iron brazier, hands outstretched trying to catch the warmth before the wind whipped it away.

Keeping to the shadows Shiga approached the man. “Greetings friend, can a weary traveller seek some respite from the weather on this bitter night?”

Startled the sentry whipped around, the butt end of the spear he was carrying knocking over the brazier and sending sparks dancing in the wind. Cursing again he raised the spear and spat “A fine time to go creeping up on a man stranger, give a man a heart attack!” Peering closer he looked at Shiga, a grin splitting his face. “Aye its you, crazy bastard! You lucky I didn’t poke you with my friend here.” He said hefting the spear.

“You forget Gweffyrr that I know you for the clumsy fool you are. How many times must I tell you not to look into the firelight at night for it dulls the vision.” Replied Shiga dryly as he took Gweffyrr’s hand.

“Get inside with ye, Gwen will be glad to see ye.” Said Gweffyrr grinning.


It had been several seasons since he had last been through Leighton. It was a small settlement nestled at the base of the Cassius mountains, a chain that extended for miles east and met the sea in a knife edge a mile east of the village.

Passing beyond the gates Shiga stopped and breathed in the cold night air, the village consisted of long log structures sealed with fired mud, the pitched thatch roofs heavy with snow. Starting down the narrow road that split the village he headed toward the welcome glow of Gweffs hearth.

As Shiga rapped lightly on the iron bound door a handsome woman in her middle years answered, her dark shoulder length hair caught up in a bun at the nap of her neck. Seeing Shiga before her she half raised a hand to her lips before throwing her arms around him.

“Oh dear heart, there where rumours you had fallen.” She said with a half sob relief.

“There are always such rumours Gwen, I don’t fall as easily as some would wish.” He said gently removing her arms and stepping inside. Untying his hat he sat it on a table by the hearth. Placing his sack against the far wall he extended his hands toward the flames.

“The merchants had brought tidings of war to the south, a terrible business.”

Turning from the fire Shiga removed his long sword from his belt and leant it against the table. “It was no war Gwen; the empire simply rode in and slaughtered the southern tribes. It was only a matter of time Fearghail was the first to fall, the settlement razed to the ground. Long has the Emperor had his gaze fixed on the silver mines of the Badgers.”

“Such waste, do they still march?” She asked, her hands smoothing the dark woollen dress over her hips.

“Such things can wait till Gweff returns” Shiga replied refusing to meet her eyes.

“Its good to have you back Shi, you’ve been gone too long. There’s a wash basin in the back room to freshen yourself.”

Nodding in thanks he walked down the hall and into the back room.

After washing he redressed, replacing his short sword and went to leave when he caught his reflection in burnished iron mirror above the basin. Cold dark eyes stared back at him, his face bronzed and chapped by the wind his long hair tied in a warriors knot above his head. The copper colour of his skin and almond shaped eyes showing him to be every inch the Empire warrior. Unconsciously his hand sought out the hilt of his sword as turned from the mirror and headed toward the sound of Gweffs return.