The Sword Keeper — excerpt 2

Tamuna bit her lip as she finished preparing the food. She could tell from Sopiko’s tone that any further questions would not be tolerated. Her aunt wasn’t a harsh woman, but she could be stern, especially when it came to the tavern. Tamuna sometimes wondered if her mother had been like that: stern and domineering. She had no memory of her mother, and Sopiko had never mentioned her.

As she finished with the cheese and spooned the beans into a clay bowl, Tamuna’s mind drifted back to the sword. She didn’t know why, but something about it seemed to call her. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

“Here,” said her aunt, loading the roasted chicken on the tray. “Take this to our guest upstairs, but don’t linger too long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m serious, Tamuna. I know how you like to stay and chat every time we have a guest, but this time,” she made a cutting motion across her neck with her hand. “Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Sopiko. I won’t disturb him.”

“Good. Now see to your work.”

He must be a very important man for her to say that, Tamuna thought as she climbed the stairs. Usually, her aunt had no qualms about her chatting with the guests. From them, she’d learned all sorts of fascinating things about the world beyond her village: of vast rocky deserts to the south, with ancient ruins buried beneath the shifting sands; and of warrior kingdoms on the grassy plains beyond the western sea. But lately, it was the Northlands that everyone seemed to be talking about. Some guests spoke of armies marching steadily toward the Kevonas, while others spoke of the rise of a new empire across the plains. Perhaps their new guest was an envoy, or an advisor to a king—or perhaps he was the leader of a band of warrior monks, preparing to take part in a holy war.

All these thoughts raced through her mind as she walked down the hallway and knocked on the door to the private room.

“Sir,” she called, holding the tray against her hip. “I have your dinner, sir. May I come in?”

No answer.

She waited for a moment, then knocked again. “Uh, sir, are you there?”

Again, no answer.

He’s probably just gone to the outhouse. The tray weighed heavily on her arms, so she nudged the door open with her toe and stepped in.

Sure enough, the room was empty. A fire blazed in the fireplace, while the man’s cloak and rucksack lay exactly as he’d left them. She carefully set down the tray of hot food, noticing the sword that still lay on the other side of the table.

Something about the sight of it rooted her to the spot. She knew that she should return to the kitchen, but all she could do was stare, mesmerized by the sight. The blazing light of the fire made the emerald on the pommel glisten and shimmer.