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Imago, Book III, A Warrior's Tale by L.T. Suzuki 460 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1372; ISBN 1-4120-1003-9; US$34.00, C$38.70, EUR28.00, £19.50 In a desperate attempt to deliver word to the Elf King of Wyndwood and those of the alliance for a call to arms, Nayla Treeborn is the last surviving messenger sent forth by her people. This story recounts the defining moments in her life that had forged her into a deadily warrior, a great captain and a legend and a legend amongst the people of Imago. This is Nayla Treeborn's story; this is her warrior's tale.
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About the Book
This prequel to "Imago Book One, Tales from the West" begins at the height of the turmoil that shall determine if indeed there will be a Third Age of Peace. Besieged by the enemy from the east and now immersed in war with soldiers of the Dark Army from the west, Nayla Treeborn and her people are about to engage in the next great war that will decide the fate of all mankind and Elves in Imago.
In a desperate attempt to deliver word to the Elf king of Wyndwood and those of the alliance for a call to arms, she is the last surviving messenger sent forth by her people. Now, trapped in a storm at the top of the world, she fights to survive the deadly elements in a strange land.
Despised by Elves and shunned by mortals, she must now find the courage to make a place in this world, and the compassion to save those who keep her at arm's length. This adventure recounts the defining moments in her life that had forged her into a deadly warrior, a great captain and a legend amongst the people of Imago.
This is Nayla Treeborn's story; this is her warrior's tale.
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About the Author
A fan of swashbuckling adventure novels by Alexandre Dumas of Three Musketeers and the Count of Monte Cristo fame, Lorna Suzuki had noticed that it was always the men going off on great adventures and enjoying the camaraderie of a brotherhood. Most often, the women were portrayed as the damsels-in-distress.
In writing the Imago fantasy series, by adding a female protagonist, one that is reluctantly accepted into this brotherhood, the author drew on some of her own experiences as a woman in a once male-dominated field of law enforcement and martial arts to bring Nayla the female warrior to life.
With over twenty-four years experience in various forms of martial arts, Suzuki is a practitioner and instructor of Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu, a martial arts system incorporating six traditional samurai schools and three schools of ninjutsu under Japanese Soke, Dr. Masaaki Hatsumi. Although Budo Taijutsu has a very long and rich history in Japan and is steeped in tradition, it is only now growing in popularity. Practitioners of Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu do not compete in the sports arena as the techniques incorporated into this system are used strictly for self-defense, never as a sport. To learn more about Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu, please visit Shihan Phillip Legare's website @ www.shinkentaijutsu.com
As the newly elected president of the White Rock/Surrey Writers Group, Suzuki is working to raise the profile of one of BC's longest established writing societies. This not-for-profit organization strives to inspire budding writers and published authors of all genres, to improve writing skills and direct writers to publishers seeking submissions. Members meet from 7:00 to 9:00 pm on the third Wednesday of each month at the White Rock Library.
When Suzuki is not writing the next installment of the Imago series, she is a scriptwriter for Life & Times Productions founded and managed by award-winning producer, Alice Mathieson.
This company specializes in creating audio/video life-stories customized for clients as well as biographic documentaries for TV. She resides in the suburbs outside of Vancouver, BC with her husband Scott White, a talented videographer and Bujinkan Shidoshi, and her charming, young daughter Nia.
L.T. Suzuki can be contacted at:
ltsuzuki@imagobooks.ca
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News and events
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Sample Excerpts
Excerpts from Chapter One
In her mind's eye she could see herself; a child of twelve mortal years, huddled beneath a large, flowering shrub. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her small arms wrapped around her legs. Had it been any other child, to the casual observer it would appear she was deeply engrossed in a fun, childhood pastime * a game of hide and seek. However, in this case, she was no ordinary child, nor was she engaged in a harmless, child's game.
Her eyes were clenched shut as footsteps drew closer.
"Where are you, child? I know you are near!"
She trembled as a pair of black, leather boots stopped just before her. Poised like a pheasant waiting to be flushed out of the undergrowth, Nayla's mind raced: Please, please, keep moving! Please, do not find me!
"You cannot hide forever! Where are you?"
Much to her horror, the dreaded boots slowly turned in her direction. Could those Elven ears hear the panicked beating of her heart? Nayla froze, hoping against hope those black boots would just go away. Instead, a large, menacing shadow crouched low to the ground. As her eyes slowly peered up, she could see his large frame silhouetted against the darkening night sky.
"You know you cannot hide! I can sense your fear! I can smell it in the air!" snarled the Elf as his large hand thrust down to yank her from her hiding place.
Nayla suddenly bolted; bursting out from under the shrub. With her heart pounding loudly in her ears and her little feet scrambling wildly, she made a desperate flight for the gateway. Her escape was short-lived. A large hand reached out, seizing her by the end of her ponytail. Yanking her hair so forcefully, Nayla's feet flew out in front of her. She came crashing down onto her back, landing hard on the unforgiving gravel footpath.
"You do this every time, and every time it is the same. You know you cannot escape from me."
Nayla's scalp burned as she felt the stinging sensation * strands of hair tearing away at the roots as she was hoisted up onto her feet.
"You are so pathetic; a sorry excuse for a mortal or an Elf!"
"But father, I did as you said; I stood up for what was right! I made a stand!"
"Yes, indeed you did, at my expense may I remind you!"
"But I thought *"
"You thought nothing! You are incapable of thought! It matters not what I said, the point is, you * a child, had the gall to disgrace me in front of the elders."
"You know I was right! You know those warriors are doomed if you do not strengthen their numbers before sending them on this mission."
"How you even intercepted that message is beyond me! But listen now! You do not; I repeat, DO NOT tell me how to command my armies!"
"But father, do not let your pride stand in the way. It is a mistake; a mistake that can still be undone!"
"Then what? Prove that I, Dahlon Treeborn was wrong and you, a half-caste, worthless child * a girl at that, was right? I think not!"
"Tell them you only now received the message!"
"It is too late; you have already made a spectacle of yourself when you burst into the meeting hall with your ludicrous claims!"
"Had you only listened rather than force me to confront you before the elders!"
"Listen to you? Listen to a child? How dare you? Why do I not take advice from the village idiot if that be the case?"
"Mother always warned me that you would only take heed of a poisonous snake after it had bitten you."
"It was bad enough when you hid behind your mother's skirt, now you are as impossible and dangerous as she was!"
"You are the one who told me to stand up for what is right, even when all others might disagree! You are the one who told me to stand up for what I believe in, even if it means to stand alone! Now that I stand before you; and against you, for I know innocent lives shall be lost because of your pride! You... you are a hypocrite * a hypocrite of the worst kind!"
Standing almost six-feet tall, Dahlon towered well above his young daughter, whom even by mortal standards was a runt. Her tiny form was dwarfed, completely engulfed by his great shadow. His body was trembling with rage as he listened to her vent unrepentantly. Without warning, his right fist lashed out. It caught Nayla across her face. The impact instantly dislocated her lower jaw. Before she could stumble back from the force of the blow, he back-fisted her as he retracted his right hand. Her misshapen jaw snapped back into place with the impact that connected from the opposite direction. She was momentarily stunned by the powerful shockwave of the violent blow.
She defiantly shook off the pain, standing steadfast and unwavering before her father. She was determined not to yield to the hostile glare of his piercing blue eyes.
Though her jaw ached terribly, she shouted through clenched teeth. "I shall not back down! I am not scared of you!" railed the diminutive form trembling in both bitterness and anger.
"I shall give you good reason to be scared!" snapped Dahlon. Snatching her off the ground, he used one arm around her waist, the other to cover her mouth. He stormed out of the private garden, his quarry in a firm grip as his quick, deliberate steps delivered him to the deserted armory.
He hastily scanned the grounds for watchful eyes as he made his way.
Under the cover of night, the Elf struggled to subdue the small, thrashing figure. As he forced open the doors of the simple, wooden building, he angrily threw Nayla to the dirt floor. Like a frightened animal, she scrambled on her hands and knees to escape. Instead, Dahlon's foot came crashing down squarely onto her back. Her arms and legs collapsed under his weight; splaying out to her sides as she felt and heard the crunch' of her ribs cracking as his boot deliberately and slowly crushed her small body down onto the cold, hard ground.
"Tell me you shall recant what you had said to the elders! Tell me you are sorry!"
"If the lives of our warriors shall be spared, I will not recant! I cannot be sorry for something I am not sorry for!" wheezed Nayla, struggling to breathe.
"By God, you will be sorry!" growled her father, picking her up by the scruff of her neck. "And you shall respect me as a child should respect her father!"
Nayla glared as she hissed, "I shall respect you when your deeds and words warrant respect, not because you feel you are deserving of it. You are no different than I; you must earn respect!"
"Why you wicked child! You are as stubborn and outspoken as your mother was!" shouted Dahlon, giving her a violent shake.
"And you are a coward to take on one so small!"
The Elf seethed in anger as he raised Nayla off the ground. Unable to contain his rage, he hurled her across the room as though she was nothing more than a rag doll.
With a resounding 'boom' Nayla slammed into the wall with such force, swords and halberds rattled and bounced on the weapons rack.
She felt herself dissolving into a gray fog as the back of her head struck the wall. As she slowly slid down to the ground, Dahlon seized her by her tiny wrist. She stumbled along in a daze as her father dragged her to the central support beam. Grabbing hold of a coil of rope, he tossed one end up and over a beam, high into the rafters. He worked swiftly to bind Nayla's wrists together. Taking the other end, he yanked sharply on the rope so she was abruptly forced up onto her feet. With her arms drawn high over her head, she was hoisted upright until her toes barely touched the ground.
Her body began to tremble, not from fear, but from the excruciating pain she now endured. Her damaged ribcage now fully exposed as she hung from her tether, strained as gravity worked against her. Her breathing became short and sharp, unable to take in full breaths.
The Elf snatched up a dirty rag that was balled up and tossed to the ground. Giving it a sharp snap, it unfurled to release a cloud of dust and desiccated rat feces. "This shall do," he grumbled as he forced the filthy cloth between her clenched teeth, tightening a knot at the back of her head.
"You shall respect me if it the last thing that you do!" growled Dahlon, snatching up a bamboo cane.
As the first strike ripped across her back, the cane split on impact; its sharp edges biting into her flesh. Nayla's eyes were thrown wide open in shock, her back flinching in agony, but she did not cry out.
Suddenly, Nayla found herself standing across the room, watching as Dahlon raised the bamboo cane once more. She knew instantly that somehow her soul; no longer willing or able to endure the pain, had transmigrated from the trembling body that now hung before her. She walked towards the little girl, unnoticed by her father.
"Do not cry," she whispered to the pathetic form. "Be brave now...
Whatever happens, do not let Dahlon see you cry."
Copyright 2003 L.T. Suzuki. All rights reserved.
Catalogue Information
