Tartessa

Introduction

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In the year 1537, in an ancient and rugged country known as Tartessa, a young king has returned home from war victorious. His army fought and defeated villainous invaders from the neighboring territory of Sesconcia. Over the course of four years, they managed to drive the enemy far to the north, advancing the Tartessan border farther than ever before.

Many proud and honorable men laid down their lives defending their kingdom and a way of life they loved. The king felt a personal responsibility for every Tartessan soldier lost. But one casualty in particular hit very close to home—his own father.

It was a death unfitting such a great man. His life was not lost on the battlefield, but rather to a group of rogue Sescons who infiltrated his camp during the night and put a knife to his throat. In that one violent moment, our hero was thrust from prince to king.

He is well prepared and infinitely deserving of the crown—that was never a question. But while his heart is heavy from the murder of his father, there is another darkness that hangs over his life. If not corrected, it threatens to steal his joy forever.

Chapter 1

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He was a warrior. His mind was focused, existing only in the present moment, as he rehearsed a fighting style passed down through generations of gifted men. His weapon moved in unison with him as he expertly directed its path and force. King Nathan’s custom broadsword whipped through the cool air—whoosh!

Barechested, his body was lean and hard, in its prime. His movements were precise and deliberate. His mental preparation was every bit as important as the physical. Discipline was his ally—pivot left and advance. Repetition was key—lunge and strike.

In the hands of this master, the art of self-defense took on a graceful elegance. Every movement was practiced until it became automatic. His reaction to any physical threat became instinctual. Nothing was left to chance.

The king ran through a series of solo drills, focusing on his footwork. He constantly varied his combinations to account for the endless possible scenarios that can occur during a fight. He pushed himself, striving for both speed and accuracy.

Nathan gripped his tremendous sword with both hands and raised it in front of him, coming to a standstill in the high ward position. His chest rose and fell gently with each breath. The sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin. His mind was quiet, void of distraction, as he mentally ran through another drill.

Control the tempo of the battle. Stay on the offensive. Watch for every opportunity. Identify your opponent’s weakness. Keep him off balance—change direction. Never hesitate. Thrust and kill.

He stepped back, shifting his weight onto his right foot as he drew his weapon over to his right shoulder. In one smooth motion, he raised his elbows and tilted the blade horizontally, pulling the hilt of his sword right alongside his temple. Its tip pointed straight forward.

The king paused briefly in this ready position before launching into a series of strikes. His actions were natural and fluid as he extended the sword forward in a powerful jab, and then with a quick rotation of his wrists, he sliced diagonally and downward. That was followed by reversing the direction and cutting upward on the diagonal—always protecting the midline of his body.

Stepping through and advancing, he kept the attacks coming. He directed his blade through a series of X cut patterns—first high, then low. Finally, in one sweeping motion, he spun around to face any attackers at his flank and finished with a powerful horizontal cut.

Again, he said out loud, not satisfied with his turn.

Nathan swung his sword in a horizontal figure-eight pattern, keeping his shoulder loose. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he turned to face the opposite direction, backhanding his weapon parallel to the floor and straight into an imaginary opponent.

His loyal chamberlain managed to enter the room at that precise moment and the king’s muscular arm halted the sword inches from the man’s chest.

Simon! How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me?

Forgive the intrusion, my lord. Simon’s eyes were wide as he stared down the length of polished steel, thankful that Nathan was able to exercise such exact control over the weapon. I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice. I only came to check on you. You’ve been so melancholy lately.

The king couldn’t deny he had been a recluse as of late, pouring himself into his training. He exhaled and relaxed his stance. I have no joy in my heart, Simon. What kind of a man am I if I’m not free to love?

But sir, today is the day of the Sabbath. It’s been a generous harvest and the courtyard is filled with merchants. I’m sure the lady Jaida will be coming to the marketplace.

Ah, Jaida. He loved the sound of her name. King Nathan relished her image in his imagination. He sheathed his weapon and moved to the castle window, extending his arms in front of him to rest his palms high on either side of the frame. His weight shifted onto one foot as he scanned the courtyard three stories below, hoping for a glimpse of her. But the grounds were conspicuously void of any young women.

Simon hated seeing him this way. Perhaps you could use a bite to eat, he suggested. Can I bring you something from the kitchen? I believe they just pulled a batch of pumpkin bread out of the oven.

No thank you, Simon. I’ll eat later. Their conversation trailed off as Nathan stared intently from his shadowy vantage point. He was a mix of tightly controlled emotions covering a storm of passion that needed to be expressed. Perhaps the solitary burden placed on his shoulders was too great even for this formidable young man.

Simon busied himself by straightening up the room and tried to make light of the situation. The preparations for the royal banquet are going very well. Can you think of anyone we’ve forgotten to invite?

The king did not answer him, as his eyes were now fixed on the one woman who tugged at his heart. Jaida wore a simple peasant dress, laced up snugly in the back. She was carrying a bundle of flowers under one arm and selecting fresh apples to purchase with the other. Nathan loved the elegant way she moved.

Her wavy hair was the color of autumn leaves. It was loosely bound in a ribbon and flowed down to the small of her back. Nathan’s eyes lingered at her slender waist and then traced the gentle curves of her hips. He savored every detail like a man completely infatuated.

The fellow selling the apples was obviously taken with her as well, as was evident from his jubilant expression. Even the slightest smile from Jaida typically inspired an ear-to-ear grin from any man on the receiving end of it. The king knew watching her from afar like this would never satisfy him.

Simon joined him at the window. She is beautiful, isn’t she?

Indeed. Nathan folded his arms across his chest. And every man lucky enough to lay eyes on her sees it. I fear I may lose her if I keep her waiting any longer.

It’s been weeks since you’ve returned home. Simon’s tone was sympathetic.

Yes. There was so much Nathan wanted to tell her—so much he needed to explain. Without shifting his gaze, he asked, Simon, will you arrange a meeting for me with Carmella?

The witch, my lord?

Please, she’s more like an advisor or a fortune teller.

She eats lizards, sir.

Nathan sighed. She’s a little odd, I’ll give you that. But I have an idea and I need her help.

But I’m your helper. Can’t I help you?

There are just some times when you need to talk to a witch. Uh . . . I mean advisor.

Must I? I don’t like the way she looks at me with that one eye drifting off. He made an animated gesture with his hand.

Simon, bring her to me.

Yes, my lord. Simon reluctantly left the room, muttering under his breath. He had been in the employ of the royal family for two generations. He served Nathan’s father, King Vincent, close to thirty years before his death.

Nathan was an only child and Simon had practically raised him after his mother took ill and passed when the prince was just five years old. As such, he enjoyed a certain informality with this young man who now occupied the thrown. But he knew when it was time to stop pushing. After all, he was the servant.

It was late in the day when Simon returned with the news. My lord, Carmella says an appointment has just opened up, but she would prefer you come to her, as she does her best work on her own turf, surrounded by her own personal effects. I’m certain she’s referring to creepy stuff like human skulls, or various other body parts.

Good work, Simon. Let’s go.

The king wore a hooded cloak to disguise himself while on the street. The two men entered the witch’s den through a heavy oak door, and then a second door made from strings of beads hanging closely together. The room was illuminated by a single candle placed on a small table. The air was heavy with the scent of smoldering incense. It almost covered an underlying moldy stench.

As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they were greeted by a husky, female voice. You are the son of the late King Vincent, ruler of Tartessa, and all that lies beyond Tarsus to the north.

I am. And you must be Carmella, whose wisdom and insight is held in the highest regard.

Please, you need not flatter me. Her voice was thick with a wet, raspy quality.

Ahem! Simon cleared his throat, hoping she would do the same.

She didn’t, and continued on sounding a bit like a clogged pipe. Come closer and remove your hood.

Nathan took a step forward and pulled back his hood. It fell to his shoulders.

Straightening as much as the hump in her back would allow, the witch studied his face with her one good eye. You have matured. You resemble your father—same good looks. I had his ear, you know. He consulted me often.

Yes, he spoke well of you. I was hoping to establish that same kind of trust so that you might advise me as well.

She held up her crooked index finger. It is imperative that you respect the craft. If you open your mind as he did, I will be able to guide you.

Nathan assured her, I am willing.

Carmella nodded. Very well, then. What are the answers you seek?

I am at a loss, for a curse has been placed on my life. If I fall in love with a woman, ruin and eventually death shall come to her and her entire family. Am I destined to go through this life alone?

Hmm . . . a troubling situation indeed. I understand why you’ve come. I’ve sensed your distress for some time. I also know you long for the fair maiden Jaida. Your father hoped you two might end up together.  

He told you that?

As I said, your father consulted me often. He divulged many things to me. She paused briefly, allowing a gratified smile to touch her lips. "Tell me when you first became aware that this curse had been