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Oron the Nevgan walked among his fallen comrades, mercifully slashing throats and breaking open brains. He was a young man, this Oron, a young warrior, but his mien was that of a slayer of men. His young man's face was scarred and hardened with lines, his full beard was matted and coarse. The knotted hands that held so well the rough steel were stained and calloused; his eyes under somber brows were shadowed with a hundred crimson conflicts....

The rain beat at the hardened gore and mud. It ran in rivulets down stilled swords thrust in the earth, filling up the sockets of the open and eyes and mouths of the dead and dying warriors; scattered or contorted, singly or in heaps, they lay everywhere, men fallen on the field of battle, death the only reward for their bravery.

There was a time long past when he fought not for wealth or women, just for the pleasure of being Oron the warrior. But now he was civilized and wielded his sword for gold. Now he was in the employ of the one they called Amrik THE BULL MAN.

Akram, the wanderer, battles an ageless curse. He must slay the immortal sorceress, Nidyis, or be destroyed by her love.

He was Akram, The Wanderer

He spoke with a gutteural accent. He was tall, strongly built, rough-hewn-not a civilized man. His naked chest and dark face were grown thick with swarming balck hair; his teely black eyes burned with a sombre glare. His mouth was a hard line, matching his brow. His large hands were bruised and calloused-the hands of a fighter, a swordsman. His tattered breeches were of touch northern make, but his sword was noticeably the finist of the Neriam metal-smiths. He was a wanderer-nomore Neriam than he was Khomi.

She was Nidyis, The Sorceress

And she was beautiful. Her long and foamy hair letloose about her in teeming curls and glossy waves, down her round shoulders and long back, glistening darkly in the torchlight and starlight. Her lustrous dark eyes were shaded with kohl, and her full lips stained a shimmering wet crimson. About her naked throat was loosely draped a golden chain with ruby pendents. She wore a skirt of gossamor, falling languidly aorund her ripe hips. her voice was as husky and soft as a voice betraying whispered secrets.

Their Love Was Timeless --- Their Destinies to Destory Each Other...

YOU HAVE AN ENEMY, MOSUTHA!

Intrigued, the magus commanded the voice of the smoke "Tell me further, Spirit of Hell, who is this enemy?"

"He is the Blood of the Sword. He is a hero, born of the line of the First Hero. He is a wolf in the skin of a man; he is a god wrapped in human flesh."

"Tell me his name."

The smoke demon began to dissolve, then the barbaric sorcerer hurled more blood on the grate. "He is the son of the Aksakin, and he is called Oron!"

"It cannot be!" Mosutha went cold to his bowels. "Where is he now? How will I know of him?"

"You will know him when you face his sword, sorcerer. He hunts you, magician. But he can die. He will die!"

"Then I shall slay him. I shall use mysorcery and I shall slay this Wolf. I shall slay ORON."

Oron faces the Barbaric Chieftain Ogrum.

Heads Roll When Oron Hefts His Mighty Sword!

Contents:

The Fate of Diaru - Oron rescues a young woman involved in an arranged marriage against her will.

The Jewel for the Sorcerer's Daughter - Oron happens upon a couple battling over a mystical jewel that could save their daughter's life.

Red Tears - Oron's travels take him through a bandit ravaged village where the only survivors are women who fear for their lives.

The Seven-Pointed Star - Oron unwillingly battles alongside a group of sorcerer's set upon bringing death to a traitor of their ranks.

Death In Asakad - Oron is caught in the besieged city of Asakad and must decide which warring faction to ally with.