At first, Twitter seemed so simple. You follow someone, they follow you back and you’re able to see each other’s posts. It seemed harmless enough. I began the habit of following back most of the people who followed me. I figured, “This person might like what I write and buy a book.” Lately though I’ve been getting a lot of follows from young women. I was glad because that was an audience I wasn’t sure I was reaching. My happiness was short-lived. I started getting direct messages asking personal questions. Was I looking for love? Was I married? Was I interested in getting married? What kinds of girls did I like? Some wanted a serious relationship and others wanted…something less serious. I used to get these once in a while but now they’re coming every day in increasing numbers. Did I get on some sort of list? Maybe I followed the wrong person back and everyone is copying their friends list. One thing’s for sure; these women aren’t interested in books! I am happily married with three children, two dogs and a cat who doesn’t like me. Now I’m afraid to follow people back on Twitter. From some of the guys I’m getting sent scams. “The government will pay you $40,000 to write a book. I got mine. I can get you in touch with the guy to get you yours.” Or then there’s “I’m a Marine on a peacekeeping mission and I need you to wire me some money.” Maybe I’m paranoid but it all seems fishy to me. It’s getting to the point where I don’t know who to follow back. I guess I’ll go with my gut and hope this cycles off.
Linvin ducked low and ran with speed and stealth. His goal was to reach the place where the search parties would join before they arrived. He made good time and reached his goal just ahead of the torches. Then he laid down flat on the ground close to the plants and covered himself with dried leaves from the stalks. Next he had to calm his breathing. It was a tactic he’d been taught as a scout during his youth in Valia. By the time the searchers came together, Linvin was camouflaged and silent.
A bright light shined over him and he thought for a moment he’d been discovered. Through his disguise he saw a Mandrean Goblin Soldier walk so close he nearly stepped on Linvin’s head. The soldier, however, had his eyes to the front where the others were gathering and paid no attention to the pile on leaves at his feet.
Several rows over all the soldiers were coming together and trampling down a grand area of corn to make room for their numbers. More and more goblins arrived until Linvin could no longer keep count.
When their number had all gathered in a circle, one called out. “Has anyone found anything?” A chorus of voices began to clamor in response. Though it was difficult for Linvin to pick out any particular voice he could hear all the answers were in the negative. After a few moments the first voice yelled, “Silence. We have been following some fresh tacks headed south. They could be the escaped prisoners we seek or they could be some farmers out trying to protect their corn from animals feeding overnight. Regardless, that is our best lead right now. So that is the path we will follow.”
“This is madness,” one of the goblins called to him. “Even if the tracks are from them, they could be right next to us and we would never see them. We should go back to the barracks and try fresh in the morning.”
“Perhaps that is how you do things in your Company,” the first voice said. “In mine, we follow the trail until it goes cold.” An argument ensued and the bickering spread to all the goblins.
Linvin’s opportunity had arrived. He waited for the goblins to begin shoving one another and then made his move. Emerging from his pile of leaves, Linvin crouched and watched the action not more than five rows away. He spied a window through the rows where he had a clear view of the action. Then he looked to the right and found another. Removing a stone from his pocket, he took great care in aiming. He flicked the rock through the air with a snap from his wrist. It passed through the corn and hit a goblin on his fingers holding a torch. The goblin shouted in pain and dropped the flaming stick. His cry went unnoticed among those fighting around his position.
When the flame contacted the dry stalks, however, the fuel combusted quickly and began to spread. Linvin wasted no time picking a target on the other side and again struck the hand holding the torch. As before, the flame hit the ground and ignited the overlapping kindling. With his work done, Linvin stayed low and ran for the hedgerow. He did not look back until he reached cover. When he finally turned to view his handiwork, he smiled with satisfaction. The fire had become substantial before the mass of soldiers realized they had fires on both sides that were spreading. With the flames leaping from one row to the next it was impossible for the goblins to try to contain. They broke ranks in terror and ran in every direction. Some had unknowingly caught fire and were spreading it across the field as they ran.
“Glorious.” Anvar commented.
“They do not even know what happened,” Linvin said as he took to his saddle. “Now is our moment. Burst onto the road and ride east with all the speed these horses have left.”
“Won’t the goblins see us?” Bander asked.
Linvin took his place in the lead and answered. “No. When it is dark and you stare at a bright flame your vision becomes restricted for a short time. You lose the ability to see in the darkness. Make sure not to look at the blaze. While they run from the flames, we will ride invisibly out of danger. Now, go as fast as you can.”
I think the heat is getting to me. Here in Nebraska we’ve been in the 90s for over a week now and there’s no sign of it letting up. I stay in the air conditioning as much as I can but you have to go outside at some point. A good number of you in the United States and Canada are experiencing the same heat wave I am. The meteorologists say it all has something to do with the jet stream. To be honest, until I reached high school I thought the jet stream referred to either the path jet planes took or those stainless-steel travel trailers (Airstreams). Turns out I was way off base. The jet stream travels from west to east and dictates who gets cool air and who gets hot air. It just depends on what side of it you are on. Right now, it’s starting really far to the southwest and then soars up the Rockies and into Canada before continuing east. I talked to my sister in Toronto, Ontario and she confirmed the heat was miserable there as well. Now I’m having this craving for ice cream every single day. I don’t know why. I don’t usually eat ice cream. It’s like the heat has triggered some gene in my body to greatly desire ice cream. Soft serve is particularly appealing. I’ve tried to curb the craving by eating yogurt or cottage cheese. It’s just not the same. Oh, well. It could be worse. There are hazardous things to your health I could want. For now, I will fight this obsession but give in to it occasionally.
As the men made a tight circle around the general, one brought his face right before Linvin’s and said, “We are the ones who took this nation from a bunch of farmers and fishermen to the foremost trading nation in the world. We are the envy of the world. So don’t think a victory such as yours gives you the right to come in here and insult us, General. Heroes come and go, but noblemen always remain.”
Linvin’s first thought was to thrash the fat bureaucrat to near death, but he showed restraint in his muscles that did not carry over to his lips.
“You are skilled businessmen, to be sure. However, your ears are so accustomed to listening for the sound of dropping coins that they do not recognize common sense. For years I have told you that the army was too small. For years I have warned that a serious invasion was on the horizon, yet my warnings and petitions to raise a larger army were ignored. We had a tremendous amount of time to prepare over the years, yet the army actually shrank.”
“No one wanted to join the army!” yelled one of the men. “Why take time from the monetary pursuits to become a soldier? There’s little profit in it.”
“And who would join the army?” asked another. “Between the merchant ships, navy, and farms, we hardly have enough people to do the work. We cannot afford to waste manpower in the army.”
“Waste!” Linvin yelled. “What waste would have befallen this country if I had failed? Every man, woman and child would have been slaughtered. Homes and fields would be burned. Any survivors would have become slaves. Now you call preventing such a thing a waste of manpower?”
“You argue against yourself,” a nobleman said. “You proved us right. All this time you have asked for more men and yet you had ample forces to complete your task. You are an anomaly, my good general.”
“And how many men fell, who would have lived, if there had been reinforcements?” Linvin asked. “How many more would have lived if they had not had to fight 3 days without rest? How many would have lived if we could have permitted the enemy to withdraw, rather than risking everything to destroy them utterly. The number is not known. What is known is that there would still be an army protecting this country instead of the few who still breathe.”
“Quiet your tongue!” snapped a nobleman. “You say too much! You see everything as black and white when there is an obvious gray area. Even if reinforcements were available, you have no idea of the cost associated with their hire and training. Those are costs, boy, that you do not see but we must live with. Think about that the next time you forget your place!”
The king hung his head and covered his eyes. A line had been crossed and the other side would be ugly.
Linvin was pushed too far. His eyes caught fire when hearing his new title. In one quick movement, he grabbed the man by the throat with a single hand and lifted him off his feet. Linvin drew him close with ease.
“Now listen to me, you pompous, arrogant sack of flesh,” Linvin said in a firm monotone. “Your life exists under the freedom I provide. Your words dictate that I remove that freedom.” Linvin’s hand began to squeeze.
“That is enough!” the king ordered. “Linvin, release him at once.”
The spectacle revolved around the combatants on the sand. A young man of great stature stood in the center of the circle. Standing taller than Mandrean, sweat rolled down his chiseled bare chest. Holding a wooden sword with both hands, he gasped for air to accommodate his excessive exertion.
On either side of the boy were Imperial Guards who also bore no armor. They were identifiable by their uniforms. Similar swords were in their hands. The one directly before the boy jerked to the side and then lunged at him. Spinning out of the way, the boy was struck in the arm by an attack from the soldier behind.
“Sloppy,” yelled the old man. “Acreas you must anticipate the attack. See it before it comes.”
Acreas rubbed his bicep where the strike had fallen and yelled back. “Master, he was behind me. How can I see something if my head is turned the other way?”
“I cannot see anything in that circle but I knew it was coming,” the old man scolded. “Seeing is not only with your eyes. True sight is in the mind. Use that sight and you will be victorious. Ignore it and you will die.”
Angered but undeterred, Acreas re-engaged his opponents. He struck at one and forced him on his heels. Then he turned around and parried a low strike from the second man. While he was successful at blocking the sword, Acreas failed to realize the intention of the attack was merely to leave his body defenseless. The soldier immediately punched him in the face and sent the towering youngling to the ground. Before Acreas could collect himself, the soldier stabbed his sword into the sand by the boy’s head. “Kill,” the soldier cried.
Acreas stared at the victor with furious anger. For his part, the soldier looked unimpressed. He held out his hand to help his victim to his feet. The boy took his hand and regained his footing. As soon as the soldier turned around, however, Acreas struck the pommel of his sword into the back of the man’s head. The blow staggered the soldier but did little more than earn his wrath.
Slapping the sword out of the way, the soldier again connected his fist with Acreas’ face. For his part, the boy returned the attack and the two were quickly wrestling on the ground. The other soldier took a drink from a bucket of water and happily watched the entertainment.
The old man struck his cane on the ground. “Enough,” he yelled. Both men respected the statement and separated. “Acreas, you allowed pride to motivate your attack. That is never wise. Then you attacked him in a dishonorable way. That is never acceptable.”
“Well there is more than one way to fight, Master,” Acreas snipped.
“Yes,” said the master. “There is the right way and the wrong way. You are clearly demonstrating the wrong way.”
“It works for me,” said Acreas.
“If that is true, my student, then why are you the one with all the bruises. You do not use your mind and you fight with no honor.”
“Honor?” scoffed the pupil. “Where is the honor in fighting two against one?”
The master shook his head. “I am not training you to fight duals. I am training you to reach your potential as an elite warrior. Such men rarely see odds stacked in their favor.”
“There was no honor in his punching me in the face?” noted Acreas. “I see no difference in our actions yet you do not chastise him.”
“He struck you in the midst of battle,” the Master answered. “You attacked him after the match was decided. Only a coward would do such a thing. I do not train cowards. You will change your ways or your training will end.”
After months of waiting, I finally received back my manuscript for book 3, “Mandrean Revenge”. All I can say is I am humbled. The editor was harsh and I either forgot how to write or am at the mercy of an overzealous editor. I am far from perfect. An editor is something I need for perspective. But I can’t help but remember this book has been published once and the corrections were only a tenth of what my editor wants changed/removed. The removal of certain parts could fundamentally change the story. In the end, however, I have no choice but to put on my big boy pants and make the corrections listed. The wound is still tender so I will wait for tomorrow to begin my corrections/deletions. I hold no grudge against the editor. That person is just doing what they think is right. I have had a worse editor. That person actually asked if I knew what I was talking about. At least this is just mainly red lines on the screen. As I said at the start, I am humbled. When this is over I will have my book. Surely, I can suck up my pride and follow instructions. One thing is certain. The book’s about to get shorter. To once again quote Steven Tyler, “These are our babies, here.” Well according to my wife, there is significant pain involved with bringing one into the world. To a lesser degree the same can be said about books. When it’s delivered, however, it all seems worth it.
People will ask me what my favorite song is. In truth, I don’t have one. It’s a lot like asking you what your favorite food is. It changes with your tastes at the current time. I like different songs when I’m happy, sad, angry, depressed, driving during the day, driving during the night, with my wife, with my kids, and so on. Songs can affect your mood as well. For example, if I’m in a really awesome mood I don’t want to hear Phil Collin’s “In the Air Tonight.” It’s a great song but a total buzz-kill. Likewise; if I’m down I might want to listen to Bob Marley’s “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.” It’s hard to be in a bad mood when listening to reggae. In general, though, I think we, as humans, like to match the mood of our music to our mood at the moment. Whatever the fire is that’s burning within us at a particular time; we like to feed it more of the same. If your happy, some Beach Boys never hurt. If someone does you wrong, “In the Air Tonight” is sounding pretty good. Music plays a big part in many of our lives. That’s great. Just don’t let it control your life. You choose your mental state. Don’t let music choose it for you.
It was at that moment of uncertainty that Linvin and his cavalry attacked from the rear along the entire line. The goblins were so preoccupied with the happenings in front of them that they paid no heed to the cavalry in the rear forming a line along the length of their formation. Bewildered goblins never saw the strikes coming that cut them down. The phalanx was so tightly packed that Linvin’s troops could not miss.
Linvin struck like thunder with his long sword. He slashed to his right and then his left, dropping goblins with each stroke. As quickly as he could swing his sword, he would kill another.
Linvin was not alone in his success. His cavalry cut deep swaths into the rear goblin ranks. The cavalry maintained their line and did not get too far ahead of each other in order to avoid being surrounded.
The discipline observed among the goblins seemed to bleed away in the chaos. Indecision took center stage. Due to the close formation, they could not turn to fight without dropping their pikes, but without their pikes, they would be at a great disadvantage to the horsemen. It led to carnage on an unprecedented scale, courtesy of Linvin’s cavalry.
Indecision gave way to panic as the majority of what was once a phalanx dropped their spears and drew their melee weapons. Rather than continue to be attacked from behind, they chose to turn and fight as best they could.
The change in tactics could not have come at a better time at the shield-wall. The front line had collapsed and Sculla’s men were on the verge of being routed. With most of the pikes discarded, there was at last a moment to hasten fresh troops to the line and reform the wall. Personally taking the lead, Sculla ordered an advance. They marched with their wall intact to the front of the goblin line and engaged.
The cavalry was meeting with more fierce resistance with the change of weapons. Their progress slowed and they began to take losses.
Linvin was striking more swords then armor as his enemy rallied. At least one goblin had kept his spear. He struck Linvin’s horse with a killing blow. The steed stood on its hind legs and then fell to its side.
Linvin was thrown to the ground with his sword and shield flying from his hands. His helmet fell forward, covering his eyes. With a swipe of his forearm he knocked the helmet off.
A goblin stood above Linvin with his sword in hand. He was ready to strike. Linvin propped his arm in front of him and braced for the blow. Nothing happened. Linvin looked again and saw a blade erupt from the goblin’s chest before he felt to the ground. Left standing behind the body was an astonished Fardar.
It was 61 years ago today. 61 years ago, my parents both said “I do” before witnesses and God. Sadly, neither of them lived to see this day. But I have no doubt in my mind that they would still be together. They would take a drive on their anniversary to the same drive -in diner they went to when they were dating. My father was never one for fancy restaurants. He was never much of a romantic either. On the night of their wedding they reached the hotel and he started emptying his pockets. Out came electrical component after component. He said, “I can’t believe I have 3 days off to start work on our new Hi-Fi set. You can hold the pieces while I work.” How they ended up with so many children, I’ll never know. My mother was the only woman I’ve known who would get mad when her husband bought her flowers. She always said, “It’s a waste of money. They’re just going to die in a few days anyway. And one rose means just as much as 12.” That one ember of romanticism in dad was snuffed out. When he proposed it was typical Dad. He sat on the sofa next to my mother and pulled out a ring box. Handing it to here he simply said, “Here.” She opened it up to see a college class ring from his school. Mom asked, “What does this mean?” Dad was tongue-tied and did not speak for several minutes. Then he said, “Well; do you want to get married or not?” As it turns out, my father didn’t ride the bus to class at the University of Toronto all winter and had only a light jacket against the frigid wind blowing off Lake Ontario. He did that so he could save and buy the best ring he could afford; his class ring. Mom didn’t know the story behind it but to her it may as well have been the Hope Diamond. She eagerly accepted and the rest, as they say, is history. They shared an unbreakable love which only mortality could separate. I’m coming up on my 26th year anniversary and hope know my love will always be there for me.
Suddenly there was a crack from a whip causing Linvin to drop the knife and grab his hand in order to try to stop the bleeding from the fresh wound. In a moment, Hugon stood before their cage.
“Don’t try to grow brains in here, Boy. There is no escape from my dungeon. Even a stupid half-breed like you should be able to figure that out.”
Linvin clenched the bars with his bloody fist and stared Hugon in the eyes. “Your time is coming, Ogre. When I find my way out of here you will wish you had killed me.”
Linvin believed Hugon was ready to respond but apparently noticed something cold and piercing in Linvin’s eyes. The half-elf’s expression seemed to terrify him. Linvin could tell in Hugon’s cowardly heart he felt the sincerity of the prisoner’s words and despaired. In what Linvin viewed as a clear attempt to hide his weakness he punched Linvin in the face with all his strength. Linvin held onto the bars in order to retain his balance. It was a crushing blow. Other than a wince, however, Linvin retained the same expression.
Stepping back, Hugon readied his whip. “I’ll teach you not to look at me.”
Linvin calmly stepped away from the bars and sat in the middle of the cell with his legs crossed. Hugon cracked the whip but it only caught on the bars.
“Trouble?” Linvin asked sarcastically. “You know if you grew a brain out there you might have realized the bars were too narrow for the whip to penetrate. I guess the joke is on you.”
Hugon’s fury made his body shake. “You will die for this,” he said under his breath. “Magician or no Magician.”
Linvin stood and laughed at the giant. “You are incapable of killing me, you pathetic blob of dough. You and your entire breed are utterly worthless. Do shuffle back to your little desk like a good slave.”
The Jailor had heard enough. Hugon reached for his keys and sifted through them quickly to find the right one.
Meanwhile Bander and Rander caught on to Linvin’s ploy and moved to the two sides of the cage.
Hugon found the key and headed for the door. Just as he reached it the loud sound of armor was heard coming up the stairs. It was the guards returning with the slaves. Seeing them enter, Hugon put the keys away and said, “The day will come when that pint-sized sorcerer won’t need you any longer. Then I’ll peel the flesh from your broken bones so slowly that you’ll wish I would just end it, Boy.”
“Until that day,” Linvin responded. “Do try to show us a little more courtesy. I would hate for Necromancer to incinerate you before we meet again.”
The Great Goblin turned and headed down the stairs. The ploy had been successful, but only in making Hugon more determined to kill Linvin.
Fantasy fiction is my passion. This series embodies my love for a good story and action. You will find it to be many things, but not boring! Read what you love and love what you read...