The Invincible Man
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
They climbed a ladder up through attic and roof to an archery walk behind the timber battlement, and stood on a plank floor, a chest-high wall behind, and a shed roof above. Rain fell out of low dark clouds, pattering on the tile roof above and that of the gatehouse behind. They looked out the crenels between thick square timbers, down at the road into Sevva, at ranks of rebels standing in the rain. A'ly'la scanned them, and the count of them assembled in her mind, and yes, there were a thousand, even more. In their front, mounted on a stout gray horse caparisoned in leather armor sat a formidable athlete of a man, dressed in dark green cloth trimmed in black, and a short sword belted at his side. Danger buzzed. She felt with her Mind, and there was no Mind to the man in green, as if he were not there. Like RuvnYar’s strange bodyguard. Danger! Her danger sense warned it. Derotql leaned out through a crenel and shouted down, "I am Captain Lord Derotql!" The man in green stared up, and let his stout horse turn and prance. He yelled, "I am Zromok." His horse pranced and he reined it in. He called again, "I am Zromok." He wheeled his mount around to face the rebels, and raised his fist. A massed cheer burst from the rebels, a massed chant. "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" the thousand rebels roared, 'til Zromok lowered his fist and they fell silent, and he turned his mount again to face the gatehouse. He bawled out to Derotql. "I am family to the great Duke you have slain, a cousin to him as you say. I ask my honor of it. By law common to all civil folk, I stand as champion to the slain, and dare the slayer. So I challenge you, you Captain Lord Derotql, as you call yourself. Be you not a coward, come you down and let us fight a duel of honor 'til one of us be dead." "No!" A'ly'la breathed fiercely into Derotql’s ear. Derotql shook her off and whispered back, "It is honor he calls upon, so I must!" She sought for words, and chose his own to use on him, and hissed, "The King gave us one task to do. We are to rescue Torqua. 'Til that is done, you are not free to fight for honor." Derotql stared back at her, his face harsh in the conflict by which she hobbled him. He looked down, bleakly mute, on Zromok and his thousand men. The rebel stared back up, and roared, "What answer ye? Be ye afraid of me?" A'ly'la yelled down at him, "Brave speaks he with a thousand spears to fight for him!" "Oho!" this Zromok shouted back, and wheeled his mount and faced his men again. He bellowed, "The mighty Captain Lord Derotql is afraid of you. Draw back half a legg and give him way. Then we shall see his courage to face one man who stands alone!" There was a moment while the mounted rebels among the host gave their commands, and the thousand fayons turned and trudged away in the rain, streaming west along the road from Sevva. It took a while to count five hundred strides, as the rebels marched them off. Derotql muttered to A'ly'la, "If so they draw away, then I may fight him." This strange Zromok troubled her. Why did he dare the deadliest warrior of the Mithrin King, yet wore no armor? She recalled RuvnYar’s bodyguard, another man in green, whom RuvnYar thought was steel. Two strange men with minds shielded from scry, a magic of godly power. Then she recalled the green-clad berserkers in the ambush on the King. The rebel host, 500 steps away, turned and grounded their pikes and stood to watch. They were a safely distance off. Urgently, to forestall Derotql, A'ly'la whispered in his ear, "There is something not right here. He sets a trap for you. I sense it." "What trap?" Derotql muttered back, impatient with her. She pleaded, "Let me query him and see." Giving Derotql no time to say no, she leaned out and called down to this strange man. "You say you are Zromok! Your Duke cried out to you to come and save him, yet Captain Lord Derotql gave him fair fight to save himself." "Who are you?" Zromok shouted back. "Does the mighty Captain Lord –– ?" She drowned his words with her piercing cry. "Zromok! Zromok!" By intuition, she yelled at him, "You man of steel!" This Zromok gaped and stopped his shout and stared up at her. She cried out to him, "Were you your great Duke’s bodyguard? And failed to save his life, you man of steel? Did you fail to save your Duke, you man of steel?" He sidled his horse closer under her, and called up harshly. "Who are you?" She meant to lure him closer yet, so she could throw a dagger at him. Was he truly made of steel? She used that lure that seemed to work on him, and cried again, "You man of steel!" He stopped, still staring up at her, and croaked, "You are a witch!" Abruptly, he wheeled his mount about and spurred it. In a breath, he was out of reach. There he pulled up, turned and stared at her again. His voice rose in a shout, in the lazy rain, "Captain Lord Derotql! In your fear, you hide behind the witchery here!" And turned and cantered back to his thousand men and led them away. Derotql breathed out in a gust, "By damn!" Puzzled, he asked, "What was that about?" A'ly'la sighed, "I do not know." She had wanted to throw a dagger at Zromok. A good sharp dagger, to see if he was made of steel. A thrill of danger ran down her back. There was a mystery here that threatened them, in those berserkers in the ambush on the King, unharmed by saber cuts, and in bodyguards like men of steel. She shook her head and said, "I do not know."
Qrairner led them down the ladder, back into the gatehouse, showing a deference to A'ly'la like that he showed to Urtha. That pointed to danger, too. A magic that was not hers was at work here. A witch who held a thousand rebels off was surely deadly. The question was, what game did Urtha play?
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
A dead witch haunts A'ly'la’s mind, the ghost of her former forgotten self. They are both assassins, at war over which one of them will live in their body. Passing through Mithris and the Land of Domes on the way back to the ghostly one’s birthplace, they get omens of dangers, including a Talisman of Vengeance, a flaxen girl, a menace of trees, and an Invincible Man. In the Land of Domes, A'ly'la falls in love with its callow, angry King Darr’b. He was put there to rule after being cheated out of the throne of Mithris by his mother and her second husband, Azhn, the sinister Barban King. Azhn is A'ly'la’s father by his adoption of her as soulmate to his daughter. A'ly'la defeats the ghost inside her, but Darr’b and she are besieged in his castle by rebels. She and Lord Derotql, a holy assassin who protects King Darr’b, fight the rebels. The witch Urtha greets them, men in green accost them, a vindictive Mage haunts them, and the King’s Uncle, Lord Madness, is killed by the Bear God. A'ly'la uses the magic of the ghost inside her to fight the rebel leader, a man armed by the Gods to be Invincible. His holy destiny will destroy her. Friends and foes abound. To survive, A'ly'la has to solve the mystery of the Invincible Man, and discover how to defeat the undefeatable. To do so, she has to solve the mystery of herself.
About the Author
I was born and live in the U.S. Midwest, am married and have four children. I am a scientist (chemistry and behavior), university professor, and serve in elected public office. Formative to my novels, I am an eclectic reader (philosophy, science, religion, literature) and have played Advanced Dungeons and Dragons for years. My fantasy novels are set in a medieval world in a fictitious universe. The novels assume dualism, with body and soul as different forms of existence, and awareness (the soul) as part of an unreal universe parallel to the real. As in our known universe, physicality constitutes the real. Existences that are not physical are unreal. Thus, awarenesses, and the meanings carried by languages, are unreal; that is, though embodied in physical forms, they have no physicality. A complete theory of existence must incorporate them, but such theory has hardly advanced beyond Descartes’ "Cogito, ergo sum." To illustrate, my book is my awareness, reaching out to yours. You and I and the book are embodied in the physical (the real). Yet, no physical analysis would reveal the meaning (the unreal) which the book transfers from the unreal-me to the unreal-you. The unreal of the book survives our deaths. But does our own unreal?