The twins of Parros had been completely forgotten. Indeed, the twins themselves had forgotten to escape and instead stood frozen with fear, watching the strange struggle unfold before them. Side by side, they held hands, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. Just days before, they had witnessed a battle on a much greater scale—the hellish pandemonium that had led to their exile in this backwater province. Then, too, they had stood watching, holding hands as they did now; but even the defense of Parros, bitterly fought against the Gohran invaders, could not compare to the bizarre conflict going on here, deep in the Roodwood.
“Rinda!” Remus whispered, bewitched by the scene before him, his entire body shaking, making jumbles of his words. “What is… What could it be, that thing?”
“H-How should I know?!” Rinda’s teeth chattered, and only with a great deal of effort was she able to croak out an answer at all. “I… I think it’s the Evil One, Doal, himself!”
“O gods, help us!” The words spilled unbidden from the boy’s lips. Before his eyes, the man-thing was dancing between the blades of ten seasoned swordsmen; it—he—moved with steps that seemed far too light for his great mass. And slowly, but surely, he was killing the men. The strange being’s only weapons were his preternatural strength and the captain’s body, which he swung in deadly arcs like a great armored bludgeon. Already, three of the riders had fallen, heads smashed by their own leader’s corpse. Two more had broken arms.
“It is Doal! He is—he has the strength of a god!” said Rinda. Remus looked at his sister in surprise. She was entranced, almost in rapture, watching the macabre dance.
“Why doesn’t he pick up one of their swords and use that instead of the captain? Why, Remus?” she exclaimed. Indeed, she seemed almost on the verge of running in to council him on his choice of weapons, when the creature spun the body around and threw it like a missile, knocking two of the riders flat. The remaining three looked around, and despaired.
One of the men, his ears ringing with the screams of his fellows and his feet sliding on the battle-slick ground, flew into a blind rage and hurled himself forward as best he could, sword raised toward his foe. The creature slipped past the blade and grabbed him, hugging him around the torso with arms as big as an average man’s thighs. The rider screamed like one caught in the embrace of a great snake. His screams did not stop until his spine broke, armor and all. Then almost casually the man-thing relaxed his grip.
“Two left!” breathed Rinda.
“Get behind him!” yelled one of the two remaining soldiers, motioning for the other to circle around through the trees. But the creature, choosing his steps carefully, turned around while fending off the swordsman before him, and quickly moved to put a large tree at his back. Cursing, the first swordsman swung his sword back and then, using a tactic favored in Gohra, abruptly threw it like a spear. At just the moment when it seemed that the wide blade would pierce through the creature’s bare arm, the man-thing spun aside and, in one smooth motion, knocked the sword from the air with the side of his hand, snatched it up from the ground, and charged.
It soon became obvious that the monster’s seeming reluctance to pick up one of the fallen swords earlier was not due to any lack of skill with such weapons. He wielded the heavy blade easily, as if he had been raised with a sword in his hand. The Gohran rider before him had just turned to flee when his head flew from his neck, trailing a red arc through the air. Spinning around, the creature caught the last soldier fleeing for the deeper woods and split him from the back of the head to his shoulders.
“He did it!” shouted Rinda.
Remus tugged on her hand. “It… he… he’s coming this way!”
Surely enough, the creature had turned where he stood among the trees. Still holding the blood-stained broadsword, he raised his unsettling gaze toward the twins. Aside from him, they were the only ones still standing and whole. Rinda had forgotten her fear and stood entranced, returning his gaze. Remus tugged again on her hand, but seeing the creature come closer yet, he bravely stepped forward and picked up a sword off the ground, and yelling brandished it.
“Rinda! Run!” But her brother’s voice hardly reached Rinda’s ears. Drawn by the creature’s incredible form, her eyes were fixed upon it; she could not tear them away. Her mind was under a siege of queries: What was this creature? Was he human, or something more? What was this man-thing that had ripped apart a squad of fierce Gohran riders, a full eleven men, in the blink of an eye—and with his bare hands!
Human or no, Rinda had no words to describe him. Surely, from his neck down he was human—though his physique was extraordinary. His was a body that would plunge even a champion of the great ring into embarrassment at his own inadequacy. Not only was it huge, but it was also perfectly trained, with muscles that held untold strength, suppleness, and agility. They were the creature’s only armor, covering chest, shoulders, and arms. His wide shoulders and mighty torso, tapering down to a rippling abdomen, were a sight to behold; but Rinda noticed deeper, older scars from untreated wounds beneath the light scratches and the blood (most of it not the monster’s own) from the fight just moments before, that marred an otherwise perfect form. Surely, he had fought countless times before, and against even greater numbers.