Gearn studied the giant, nodding. Five days had passed since Hispor had departed on his mission, and Gearn was well pleased with the result. The gladiator’s two-metre frame was padded with ridges and slabs of muscle. He had barely fitted through the door, his shoulders too wide for the portal, and his head brushed the stone roof. The giant’s brutal face showed the battle scars of many years in the arena, owning a flattened nose, missing teeth and a jagged, ugly scar that distorted his face, running through one eye, although the orb had survived unscathed.
His shaven head sported more scars, and his ears were ragged remnants. A gold ring dangled from one, drawing attention to the ropes of muscle that corded his neck. A chainmail breechclout was his only garb, exposing his mighty bronzed body to the envious stares of lesser men and the lustful gaze of women. His arms and legs bulged with muscles that writhed each time he moved. Sturdy gladiator’s boots reached his calves, laced with leather thongs, and polished steel bands encircled his wrists.
Gearn, annoyed at having to twist his neck, indicated a chair. “Sit down. Tell me your name.”
The giant lowered himself onto the chair, which creaked under his weight, and growled, “I’m Murdor, champion of the arena.”
“Did my apprentice explain the task to you?”
“Sure, you want me to kill some spindly little man.”
Gearn coughed, shooting Hispor a dark glance. “Well, almost. I need you to come with me across the Badlands, find this man and kill him. But he’s a great warrior, so you’ll need my help.”
“I’ll squash ’im with one fist.” His scarred hand clenched.
Gearn shuddered. “I’m sure you could, but I want to make absolutely certain. So I’ll give you magical protection, and before we leave I’ll make you even mightier than you already are.”
The gladiator smiled, the scar making his eye droop. “What about me payment?”
“What do you want?”
“Gold, women, a castle.” He shrugged. “All the things a man needs in life.”
“Naturally. That’s no problem. It will be waiting when we return.”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
Gearn turned to the bottle of potion he had prepared while Hispor had been away. Its effect would be permanent, and he hoped Murdor would retire from the arena after this journey. Once he had consumed the magical fluid, no man would be able to stand against him, including the warrior mage. When they caught up with the Queen and her foolish champion, he almost pitied the unfortunate man, and looked forward to the confrontation. His triumph was assured, he was certain, along with the King’s reward.
****
The Cyber Chronicles saga continues in Book II, Death Zone, followed by Book III, The Core, Book IV, Cyborg, Book V, Overlord, Book VI, Warrior Breed, Book VII, Sabre, Book VIII, Scorpion Lord, Book IX, Precipice, and many more as yet unwritten.
About the Author
T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and her family moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written over thirty novels and five screenplays. She used to work in the IT industry, but is now a full-time author. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art.
All illustrations and cover designs by the author.
Contact the author at
[email protected] Acknowledgements
Mike Baum and Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement, and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke, former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and Vanessa Finaughty, best friend and former business partner, for her support, encouragement and editing skills.
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