A Thorn in the Side of Satan: SWORD OF EXPULSION SAGA, #1

By D.A. Galante

A Thorn in the Side of Satan

 

Volume One in Sword of Expulsion Adventure Saga

 

This Christian-based heroic fantasy erupts as militant heathens are prepping for war on a God-fearing village. The vile goal of these marauders is one of domination to rid the planet of all religious beliefs so they can openly pursue their hedonistic lifestyle. Out of nowhere appears a mysterious stranger, the time surfing paladin Adam Thorn, sent by God to help deliver the villagers from impending doom.  

  

Accompanied by his guardian angel, Thorn is a divinely empowered swashbuckling champion who is not afraid to take action and do battle when the forces of good and evil collide, not unlike the Biblical characters David versus Goliath and Sampson verses the Philistines.

 

One Critic Wrote: "Time travel, heroes, villains, angels, engaging characters, weird creatures, castles, sword battles, daring rescues, harsh terrains, romance, humor, divine intervention, and full-scale war. This epic adventure has it all!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.A. Galante
• Release date: Oct 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393535270

Book preview

Prelude

Permit me to share an amazing story with you, one of which I’m not altogether certain I believe myself. Late one evening a man appeared unannounced at my door who went by the name of Adam Thorn. The stranger was clad in a dark trench coat with old leather briefcase tucked under his left arm while a walking cane occupied the right hand.

I knew nothing of him at the time, yet he knew several things about me including a personal fact or two that few were privileged to know. Inquiring how he learned of my private matters, he replied that his guardian angel had informed him. Bizarre as it seemed, at that point he certainly held my attention.

Observing his appearance, he stood intrepidly as a ruggedly handsome six-footer with broad-shoulders and a trim physique. His heavily tanned face sported a modest mustache and head covered with lengthy but groomed locks. My guess was he was in his mid-forties. As we spoke, I found him to be cordial, charming, wise beyond his years, and had an air of confidence about him that was absorbing.

Holding up his briefcase he stated that he had in his possession something I might be interested in, then politely asked permission to enter my quarters.

Pausing momentarily with slight suspicion while looking him over, I asked, Are you a salesman?. He responded sharply with, Good heavens, no".

Intrigued, not only by him but also what was in his case, my curiosity got the best of me. Thus, throwing caution to the wind I invited him in.

Upon offering him a seat I also put forth to take his coat, which he permitted me to do. But he refused to relinquish his cane. I found that somewhat peculiar, for it was not being utilized as a crutch as he demonstrated no limp in his gait. Perhaps it was a cherished heirloom, yet I let the matter pass due to other concerns.

The greater mystery unfolded as he presented himself with the extraordinary claim of being a time-surfing soldier in the service of God. At that point others might have labeled him a lunatic and asked him to leave. Yet for some strange reason I remained fascinated.

From his antiquated and worn leather briefcase he unveiled an oversized handwritten diary. Declaring it an outline of his worldly exploits, he asked if I would be interested in becoming his biographer. Taken back by this offer, I inquired, Why me? I expected him to reply with something of the norm, like he knew that I had a writing background as an author of magazine articles. Rather, he stated that I was recommended by his guardian angel! Then he added that it would require a Christian in order to understand a fellow Christian. Quietly, I remained both perplexed and intrigued.

Upon thumbing thru his bulky diary which was a mass of scribbled notes, I discerned it was much in need of revision and elaboration if it were to be published in book form. Desiring to have his story preserved before departing this world, it would explain his unusual role, and the hand of Almighty God, in the history of mankind. While never claiming to have changed history, he did assert that he helped chaperon it along in places where it was on the verge of never occurring.   

After taking some time to glance over his journal in wonderment, I finally accepted the challenge of transcribing it. In fact, I was totally overcome with inquisitiveness and eagerness of wanting to know more. Before shaking hands in a gentleman's agreement over the matter he voiced certain security concerns, then made me promise to store his diary in a safe place and be handled by no one beyond the two of us.

In regards to his habits, he only appeared at my door when I was alone, during the evening after dark, and always unannounced. Typically, he wasted little energy on getting to the purpose of his visits as he verbally elaborated on his diary notations. Yet he seldom stayed for more than an hour per session, then would depart abruptly. When offered food he explained that he was a health-conscious individual who favored natural foods and vegetarian fare whenever that option was available. For beverages he fancied tea.

There were occasions where he appeared at my door with his clothing soiled or partially torn, as if he had just completed another bold exploit. Equally peculiar, there was never a vehicle parked outside my quarters, so I knew not how he arrived nor departed. When confronted about this he claimed his comings and goings were accomplished via an angel-powered time portal, or chariot of God as he called it. My requests for a demonstration of this event were flatly denied. When the moment arrived for him to disappear, he would simply march off to some private area in the dark. Referring to him as a time traveler, he often corrected me; preferring the term faith voyager instead.

Inquiring about his residence, he gave this reply, Planet Earth for now. Then Heaven in the afterlife. He offered no contact information or business card, nor did he carry a cell phone. Periodically he would pause then look upward as if he were listening to the voice of an angelic being.

During stretch breaks from our conversations, he frequently stood in a fencing pose while employing his cane like a sleek sword, then went about thrusting and slashing as if facing off against an invisible adversary. Alluding to this nervous habit, he explained his compulsion was a disciplinary method to keep away the rust. That cane of his held my attention because it conveyed an odd metallic glow when held near a bright lamp. Later on, I would learn it was indeed a most unique tool which could be employed as a weapon, and I would address its extraordinary potential throughout the course of my writings.

Always remaining calm, except when the topic of the evils in the world surfaced; then he would passionately exclaim with something along the lines of, Someone must stand up against the atrocities of Satan! He spoke, not as a religious maniac, rather a saintly man who saw things in a different light with a deep comprehension of the spirit world that few ascertained.

On one occasion I offered to meet him in a restaurant for our chats rather than my stuffy living room. Yet he declined, preferring that our discussions, along with his presence, remain totally private. With hints of a clandestine spy, he insisted on no photographs or voice recordings be used to document him.

Wondering, was this man loony, or was I the balmy one for believing his tall tales? Yet he spoke so convincingly with such incredible detailed knowledge of certain historical facts, as if he actually witnessed these events first hand as they unfolded. That is why I took him seriously. In short, a cordial friendship developed from our numerous private meetings, which were followed later by a great deal of typing labor on my behalf.

Time passed as the months flew by. Then at our last meeting, and to my reluctance, he confiscated his diary after mentioning that I had finally finished scrutinizing its contents. Therefore, to this day I possess absolutely no shred of evidence to demonstrate that he ever existed. Apparently, that was the overall intention of this phantom rover.

This novel, along with its sequels, are the result of our collaborations. I pray my versions of his adventurous tales did him the justice that he deserves. For here was a god-fearing heroic individual, one who saved innocent lives while risking his own, foiled villains of humanity, experienced hell and wounds on the battlefield, cheated death many times, and witnessed much history in the existence of mankind.

Adam Thorn never came across as one motivated by greed or fame, rather because it was God’s calling on his life. Not having seen him since our last meeting several months ago, I do hope and pray that he returns. For there are still far more questions to be asked and accounts written about him. He came into my life then departed as a true man of mystery.

Were his stories fact or fiction? Let the readers be the judge.

-The Author

PART ONE

VOYAGER

A Soldier Cometh.

Only the truest of believers saw the strange light, and reckoned it was a sign from God. Some say it was a blazing comet which passed over their monastery then landed near the grand plateau that stood out on the horizon. Others suggest it was a chariot of God with the arrival of an angel. Not one of peace, but of the sword, coming to their aid in a turbulent time of need. There is an evil in the land; one that can only be purged by might. The Almighty works in mysterious ways.

1-Stranger

H ALT STRANGER! WHO GOES THERE?, barked the tall lanky guard who stood perched at the primitive shabby gate of the modest serene country village known as Eden Seven. The awkward and sleepy-looking sentry was caught off watch once he heard footsteps and noticed the approach by an unrecognizable figure. Quickly leaping up from the tree stump that he rested upon he gallantly tried to appear ready to confront danger, but was forthwith sidetracked as he was tried to adjust his oversized lopsided helmet while holding his long pointy spear between his legs. The lance fell clumsily to the ground as he leveled his helmet, then the metallic pot tumbled to the earth as the bumbling guard attempted to retrieve his weapon.

The approaching figure, who was about twenty paces from the main gate, just smiled as he watched the oafish guard collect himself. Ignoring the first command to halt, he marched forward confidently toward the nervous sentinel with a steady surefooted swagger. The leery guard panicked, hoisted his spear then repeated that same warning a second time, this time in a louder and more commanding tone. I said halt! Who goes there?

The stranger continued his march toward the gate then finally responded with a resonant voice, Relax my good fellow, and please lower your weapon. I am merely a friendly voyager, a passerby from a faraway land. I mean you no harm.

Clad in a long dark hooded robe, he carried a walking staff and wore a shiny silver cross that dangled on a chain from around his neck. At first glance he appeared to be a six-foot male with broad shoulders and tapered waistline. What was not discernible due to the concealing hood and full length of the robe were his dark locks, ruggedly handsome features, a body bronzed by the sun, and firm muscular frame tempered from a lifetime of harsh physical use.

The jittery guard continued to grip his spear in a defensive posture as if prepared to strike, yet appeared excessively skittish as would be a novice at his post. Uncertain of what protocol should follow next, the guard was instructed to trust no one without exception, especially anyone that he could not identify. This meant if they did not live in their settlement nor work around the immediate region, they should not be allowed to pass without a query.

Unable to identify the newcomer, he followed his strict orders as instructed then announced, Sir, I command you to halt and lay down your weapons, or else I will be forced to run you through with my sharp lance!

The stranger stood poised, several paces from the skittish guard. He appeared far more interested in learning about the village at hand than the antics of the pitiful buffoon that stood before him. Yet calmly and politely he responded. Weapons? My good man, in my hand I hold but a mere cane. Would you deprive a weary traveler of his walking staff?

Approach slowly and come closer that I may see you better! ordered the confused awkward guard who refused to slacken his defense. Now, turn around and show me that you are not armed with a hatchet nor dagger. And no tricks I say! Otherwise, you will force me to run you through!

Complying with his request, the foreigner held out his sturdy arms and spun about one time to show that no weapon was concealed behind his back.

Tell me, outlander. What’s the password?

Password? Oh, come now! How would an outsider who has never ventured into this quaint little hamlet be aware of any such password? However, if you give me a multiple-choice option with three guesses, I’m willing to bet that I can answer correctly.

The dim-witted guard failed to realize he was about to be duped. He paused a moment, held his hand under his chin in pondering fashion, then provided the stranger with three options. The password is either Shangri-La, Swahili, or Shibboleth. Only one is the correct answer. And I’ll bet a peck of apples that you can’t spell the last one correctly. Few manage to do so if they are not familiar with it, no matter how hard they try.

The stranger knew that since the faulty guard made such a fuss over the last clue, there was likelihood that it might be the password. Fortunately, he was familiar with such a word. He took his cane and wrote the word in the sand, then employed it as a pointer. See here, my good fellow. It’s spelled S-H-I-B-B-O-L-E-T-H, and the first H is silent. That means it is pronounced Sibboleth. Do I prevail in the wager?

You are correct! The guard was impressed and followed up with, Say, wait a minute. If you’re a newcomer to our community as you claim, then how did you know how to spell and pronounce that word correctly? An insider would know this, but an outsider would likely not.

I knew the word from the Old Testament of the Bible, and I assume that’s where you got it. Thank you for divulging the password to me. I’ll try to remember it. The man tried very hard not to laugh at the guard’s feeble error, while a faded smile protruded from his lips.

You’re quite welcome, said the inept sentry, who then stared off into space as if momentarily confused, then soon realized his slip of the tongue. Embarrassed, he glanced over his shoulder in hopes that no one in the settlement overheard his giveaway blunder. Flustered, he was unsure what course of action he should follow next. He stuttered for a moment then asked, What business have you here foreigner?

Well, at the moment I simply wish a sip of cool water to quench a burning tongue. Then I would like to speak to someone in charge, or perhaps a religious figure if there be one present.

With suspicion the guard replied, How do I know you speak the truth? That you are here on peaceful matters. Spies and bandits do lurk about the region, and we cannot be too careful nowadays.

If I planned ill will to your community, would I be foolish enough to waltz up to your main gate in broad daylight? A wise criminal would do much better lurking around in the dark shadows of night.

The guard continued his defensive stance with his pointy lance at arm’s length. The aggressive posture began to irritate the stranger, so he retaliated with the statement, Would you be so kind as to point that lance in another direction?

I certainly will not!, replied the sentry. I know nothing about you, foreigner. I have my orders and will stand by them.  The guard annoyed the man ever more with the point of his spear inching closer to his chest. The stranger finally had enough of this nonsense. With lightning speed that astonished the guard he knocked the long pole from his hands with a bold swat of his cane.

The lance fell from the guard’s grasp. Before the surprised sentry could retrieve it from the ground, his opponent stepped forcefully upon it, trapping it in the dirt. Then, leaning sideways he employed a potent kick with the heel of his foot, forcing the guard to tumble clumsily backwards to the ground. Yelping in pain and holding his rib cage, he felt like he’d been kicked by a mule.

In a surprise and polite gesture, the foreigner approached and offered a helping hand to the gangly sentry, setting him back onto his feet which he accepted with embarrassment. In another gesture he picked up the javelin then handed it back in a nonthreatening manner. Humiliated, the guard dusted himself off as he accepted the courteous assistance.

My friend, I could have easily terminated you if I had so wished. But now I hope by this little demonstration that you finally realize that I come in peace.

Stunned and disgraced the guard said humbly, Never have I seen someone move so quickly and efficiently as you. Knocking away my lance as if it were a mere toy, nearly breaking my ribs with that impressive kick, and you made it all look so easy. I’m in awe of your remarkable skill.

I pray you’re not injured, and if you were schooled in the art of a trained militia you might not be so easily impressed. You simply need some practice in the art of close-quarter combat.

It must be obvious to you that I am new at this duty. I may be naive at protocol and clumsy at jousting, but I assure you that I am the best spear hurler in the region. That’s why they position me here at the main gate. Would you care for a demonstration of my skill? I can hit a water bucket dead center from twenty paces.

That won’t be necessary. I do believe you.

"My name is Paul. People tease me and call me Tall Paul because of my height. As the tallest person in the region I'm also aware that my bony frame doesn’t help my image much either. I took up spear throwing several years back to gain respect. I’m the butt of fewer jokes when I am armed with a lance. In addition, it doubles as a crutch to help me keep my balance for my moments of clumsiness, of which you have probably noticed.

The stranger only smiled with a hint of pity.

May I ask your name, sir?"

You may indeed. Thorn. Adam Thorn.

I do not recognize you, Mister Thorn. Have you journeyed far?

Much further than you might believe. And if you don’t mind, I’ll save the telling of my story for the elders of this community. It wearies me to tell it twice or thrice. Now, if you would be so kind, I would relish a drink of cool water.

There is water at the well inside the village. But first, Mister Thorn, you must show me how you snatched away my spear, as if I were a mere child. Where did you learn such skill?

From years of practice and discipline. But let us save that exchange for later, my friend.

Paul replied, You speak like someone who is experienced in military matters.

Preferring to avoid explaining the details of his combative origins Thorn modestly replied, I’ve done my share of guard duty.

Paul was now in awe of this man, as if he were a potential mentor. Eagerly he stated, Say Mister Thorn.  They never really schooled me about my duty here at the gate, like what to do in the event of danger. We seldom have any trouble from outsiders, until recently that is.

What sort of trouble, Paul?

Those godless barbarians who live to the northeast of the mountain range are starting to make trouble for us. Pointing in the direction with his spear, he said, That way, over yonder beyond the vast mountains. They’re an unruly bunch of cutthroat bandits who terrify the region. Some fear an all-out invasion by those rogues one day. So, we’re suspicious of outsiders, and they make us nervous. We fear them because we’re just a simple god-fearing community of peaceful farmers who don’t bother anyone, and all we ask is to be left alone.

Thorn, being new to the region, did not comprehend all that Paul had expressed. But he knew that in good time he would piece together the clues to understand why God dispatched him for duty here.

Tell me, Sir Paul, I seek an administrator or perhaps a holy man in this peaceful village. Have you such a person that I may converse with?

Just so happens, and I’ll escort you myself. Either the mayor or our chief scholar might speak with you, if they’re not busy. Or perhaps a monk from our local monastery might wander by for a visit, as they often do. By the way Mister Thorn, I’m curious where you hail from?

Like I said earlier Paul, I’ll save the explanations for the officials if you don’t mind.

Such explanations were never easy for this time traveler. Add to it the fact that Thorn was not yet informed by his guardian angel as to where or when in history his time surfing portal of God had landed him. Prior to departing he was simply informed to dress in a dark hooded robe, grab his trusty staff and be prepared to travel. So, he inquired of his surroundings, Please inform me Paul as I’m a bit confused, not only as to this time period but also the locale. Can you clue me in?

The time and place? Ah! You jest with me of course. Oh, I get it. You are testing me. But I’m not as ignorant as some think. Therefore, I will ask you that same question. Where do you think you are?

Thorn did not respond verbally, just shook his head mildly and looked around with curiosity as he marched through the main gate toward center of the town with his escort Paul leading the way. One thing was certain. God seldom sent him anywhere as a sightseeing tourist for a relaxing vacation. Rather, because there was usually a tumultuous quandary worth attending to. He was a time-surfing globetrotting soldier in God’s army, and he always assumed the situations would grow worse and more ominous before they got better. It was not rare that he would see the color red spilled from bloody corpses before departing the region.

Thorn observed that this seemed to be an uncomplicated and diminutive farming community. Just ordinary people going about simple everyday chores like planting crops, laying bricks, cooking over fire pits, molding pottery, chopping wood, and spinning yarn. He witnessed old-fashioned log cabins, stone huts, and people dressed in modest primitive apparel. He noted baskets of fresh vegetables, and a humble number of animals such as horses, chickens, goats, sheep and barking dogs. Yet not a single convenience of any sort like that of a modern society which was powered by electricity.

Baffled and unable to zero in on the time period nor the location, he thought it could be any culture from a late medieval hamlet to an early pioneering settlement. Yet so queer that he could not nail it down because it offered examples of both cultures. Thorn was normally quite good at solving such mind puzzlers, and prided himself on his general knowledge of history. Yet this one had him perplexed.

Then Adam noticed something that suggested a clue. Most of the inhabitants did not wear animal skins. Rather their modest garments were woven from shaved wool and sandals stitched of a reed. So that observation suggested they might be gatherers rather than hunters.

Something else was perplexing. If there was trouble brewing on the horizon as Paul had mentioned, should not this settlement be prepping for defense against hostile forces? Yet there were no barricades, soldiering drills, weapons being forged, nor ordnance stockpiled. Common hand tools were abundant and evident in the grips of many workers such as rakes, picks, shovels, axes, and hoes. But there was no sign of military armaments such as muskets, swords, crossbows, helmets, or shields.

Yes, this was certainly some type of peaceful farming community. He wondered, Amish perhaps? Or maybe a reenacting dramatization of sort like a renaissance festival or pioneer theater? But there were none of the usual costume imitators of Shakespeare, Abe Lincoln, knights in shining armor, buckskin-clad mountain men, or wild Indians racing on horseback.

The baffled Thorn continued to be escorted thru the center of town by Paul who marched boldly and proudly as if he had just captured a dangerous criminal and awaited to be hailed the town hero. Yet Adam started to feel uncomfortable as the inhabitants slowly gathered and surveyed this robed stranger, not simply with a strong curiosity but a cautious distrust! The children avoided him and hid behind parents as if he were a gruesome phantom who might pose a threat.

Then matters grew more intense. Mumbling amongst themselves while pointing fingers at Thorn, the suspicions about the foreigner grew steadily and rapidly. Soon others arrived, not peaceful-like, but in a high-strung manner while sporting their farm tools for protection that glistened against the bright afternoon sunlight. All this edged steel was enough to make anyone feel queasy, including the normally statuesque Adam Thorn.

He wondered, what he did to provoke this high-strung behavior, and why the show of hostility combined with strength in numbers as more villagers poured out of their huts? Thorn was just one man, not a regimental army! He was not outfitted as an armored soldier brandishing a musket or keen sword, just a robed wayfarer toting a modest staff. Sure, he was a foreigner in their passive little community, but why such agitated looks upon their distrustful faces? Nevertheless, he did not wish to annoy the locals any further and spark his own incarceration or execution.

Playing it cool he made it a point to smile more, even politely waved to passersby in a concerted effort to symbolize friendly and nonaggression behavior. Leaning over to his escort Paul he stated in a quiet manner, Please inform your playmates that I mean no harm.

Sorry Mister Thorn. They’re quite agitated, so I don’t think it will do any good.

As the town gathering turned into an angry mob Thorn apologized for trespassing into their camp. The crowd gathered in closer around him, almost to a suffocating degree, sporting irate distrustful looks upon their faces, while hiding behind their farm tools as if poised to put him through a meat grinder.

Thorn looked upward toward heaven, seeking advice from his guardian angel whom he nicknamed Gladys. He could detect her heavenly presence as she remained floating aloft, yet both invisible and unusually silent since his arrival there. She could read his mental thoughts which asked, Any suggestions that might help me pacify a venomous crowd?

Gladys replied in a spiritual voice that only he could detect. Sorry Adam. You’re about to become their prisoner. Bear in mind that everything in God’s universe happens for a reason.

2-Prisoner

Ahomely little man afflicted with a curvature of the spine had made his way thru the crowd. Leaping forward and gritting his crooked teeth while clutching a menacing pitchfork, he hollered out, HE’S A SPY! LET’S LYNCH THE TRESPASSER!

The barbed trident inched dangerously close to the neck of the mysterious wanderer. The tool was fiercely gripped by Thomas, the Village hunchback; a cantankerous little man who impatiently felt distrust by this unknown invader. Being paranoid of all foreigners, he angrily demanded, Let’s do away with him now! What are we waiting for? It’s better to be safe now rather than sorry later!

A large bearded man stepped forward and intervened. Keep your shirt on Thomas. We’ll let the mayor decide his fate. After that you can pierce him full of holes all you want if that be his sentence.

Events quickly worsened for the intruder. Totally surrounded and vigorously grabbed from behind by several men, Thorn was roughly bounced around like a sack of potatoes. Stripped of his walking cane and modest shoulder pouch the townsfolk bound his hands in front of him with a rusty chain then led him around like an animal for slaughter toward the direction of a large hut. Ignoring his petition for an explanation of such harassment the panicky residents in the crowd yelled out a barrage of insults such as, Death to all heathen spies! Others in the crowd were more vicious as they spit venomously or lobbed clumps of mud at the intruder while several tried to kick at him. Even the dogs growled viciously and showed their lethal fangs as they wrestled against their restraining leashes.

Thorn wondered if any reception could be more unpleasant. They treated him like he carried the Black Plague, or someone who just assassinated an important member of their community. Realizing he was in serious trouble and greatly confused by all the mistrust, he wondered what did he possibly do in order to provoke such harsh and unwelcome treatment? He committed no crime that he was aware of. Adam could have fought back with his highly disciplined warrior skills. However, this time he so was greatly outnumbered by an angry mob that his guardian angel silently warned him to proceed cautiously and adopt a diplomatic ‘wait and see’ strategy until further notice.

Amidst all the commotion and confusion Thorn struggled to remain calm while his busy mind conjured up a potential plan of action. First, if he were accused of committing some sort of crime, he would demand a fair trial. If that backfired, when imprisoned or sentenced to death he would then launch a desperate fight to the death escape. He’d never go down without a fight.

Dragged violently toward a large stone hut, Thorn was thrust roughly inside a clammy room then forced to sit in a wooden chair. The interior was soon overcrowded by the angry mob. Looking around he studied the interior with a keen eye. The room suggested a meeting area as it exhibited a large wooden table decorated by a candelabra and surrounded by several chairs. He observed one entryway and a large window as the sole means of entrance and exit.

While contemplating a possible means of escape, he realized that with his hands bound in front of him it complicated matters for freedom of movement. Fortunately, his feet were free and that might enable him to execute a getaway by kicking wildly about to force back the angry mob, then dive out the window in somersault fashion and make a mad dash for the surrounding woods while trying to work his hands free. Unless they released canines in a beastly chase, he was confident that this fit soldier could outrun most human pursuers.

Someone at the door yelled out for silence as a woman boldly strutted into the hut. Suddenly the room got very silent and peaceful upon her arrival. Her first action was to clear the overcrowded room of excess bodies as she boldly ordered certain individuals out. Then sitting herself down at the head of the table, she unrolled a scroll and drew out a quill pen. Looking downward while scribbling notes she introduced herself to the outsider as the mayor of the community.   

Thorn observed that she was a brunette in her mid-thirties, hair neatly maintained, and bodily curves in all the right places. Attractive indeed, but her tone and attitude were all business. Serious and methodical, she maneuvered confidently and intelligently like someone in absolute authority.

Adam wondered if there was a feminine side behind this lovely mask. Perhaps he could charm his way out. In an attempt to make polite conversation and seize an opportunity to explain himself, he turned on the charm and spoke graciously. My fair lady, may I say-

Be silent!, she retaliated firmly. Then she commanded the prisoner’s hood be removed while she continued looking downward at her scroll while scribbling notes. Looking upward to make eye contact with this man of mystery for the first time, the mayor expected to see the face of a fiendish felon or hideous thug of sort. But she was totally surprised when the unveiling revealed an attractive male with handsome features. His dark hair was long but not to excess, styled neatly in fact, and his suntanned face was clean shaven except for a groomed mustache. His eyes were impressive, and radiated a combination of aptitude and self-assurance. Momentarily captivated by his good looks, yet as soon as the mayor realized she was unexpectedly enchanted by his appearance, she coldly returned to the business at hand by looking down and scribbling more notes on her scroll.

It was also at that moment that Thorn noticed something about her that was appealing as he stared into her luminous eyes. As an observant judge of character, he was fascinated by the fact that, while she may be bright and totally serious on the outside, she held back a feminine and elegant touch on the inside. But this was obviously not the time nor place for thoughts of romance. Adam was not blind to the fact that his very life was in mortal danger.

A Holy Bible was placed before him on the table, and she said in a commanding voice, Place your hand on the book, then repeat after me.

He followed her request, but felt a bit awkward doing so as both hands were bound together in front of him with a thick chain. She continued with, Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

He