My new book is available on Amazon.com and will be available on other on-line book outlets soon. Bottom line? It's a love-adventure fantasy set in a far-distant future or a far-distant past. Here's a brief summary:
In Book I, The Face in Amber, our young heroine, Sonoria, discovers that her life in the wonderous high Stratus Valley is a lie and she is, in fact, a slave, rasing horses for a distant master race. She escapes the valley with a band of Thrangs, half-wild young barbarians, and soon discovers that she is much more than a young woman who has escaped a certain death; she is a "small god," whose destiny it is to keep the world and the universe running as it should.
The single requirement that her fierce nature cannot abide, however, is that she must surrender herself completely to a dark-natured young man named Dag-gar. Despite her deep love for him, she denies this destiny thereby upsetting the apple cart of Time and releasing terrible forces upon the Earth.
Book II, The Mirrors of Castaway Time, begins after this denial of love has caused the swirling whirlpools of Time to create a montrous man called The Oracule who, with his Horde of millions of warriors, has set about to destroy all life on Earth. In this excerpt, The Oracule has captured Sonoria and offers to allow her to live if she will bear his children. But first, she must defeat one of his warriors in mortal combat:
“You see,” he said, “It is obvious. We need new blood. We are stagnant and ugly. With this great warrior-goddess we shall start a new race of people!’
He moved up closer to her until he, too, was reflected in the mirror. He looked himself up and down and then looked at Sonoria. “Ah, yes!” he said and he ran his hands over her body. “A new race of people. And I, your Oracule, shall be the progenitor of the future, the great father of a grand progeny!”
Then he stopped. “But why be hasty? First, some entertainment. Why not?”
He clapped his hands. The carpet door parted and in strode a powerfully built man dressed in leather armor, carrying a short sword in his hand and wearing a dagger at his side. Part of his nose was missing, revealing an oozing, black cavity; his face was filthy, his bare arms covered with scars.
“This is Quem,” the Oracule said. “Quem the hero, Quem the legend, Quem the Ruthless One. He has taken many heads, eaten the brains and hearts of many great warriors that he has killed in combat, and has never, in fact, been bested in armed competition. This is my proposition, my gamble, my bet, my wager—and he, I might add, has freely accepted the challenge—that if he defeats the golden goddess and eats her raw, still-beating heart right here, right now, he becomes a general, sits at my right hand, and has his choice of the choicest concubines. This is true, yes?”
The Oracule looked at Quem. If the warrior understood, he did not indicate it by so much as a twitch.
The Oracule went on: “The only rule in this competition is that there are no rules.” He looked at Sonora again. “Are you ready, my goddess?” He blew her a kiss.
Sonoria did not move, did not change her expression. This seemed to please The Oracule. “Good then. Any time you wish, you may begin.”
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