This is the first scene from the point of view of Alex Andretzek, the warrior tasked with protecting Tamuna until she comes into her own as the last sword bearer. The interesting thing about their relationship dynamic is that Alex was in line to become the next sword keeper, and because of Tamuna, that honor will never be his.
Tamuna, Nika, and Alex are the three major characters in the book. Nika is the lovable if slightly incompetant friend, and Alex is the highly competant one who’s constantly aloof, to the point where Tamuna wonders if she hates him. He doesn’t, and he’s actually very loyal in his own way, but as you’ll see in this excerpt, he has a lot of stuff to work through.
To set up this scene: Tamuna and Alex leave the village under cover of dark and are immediately pursued by a band of horsemen led by the evil bearer of the bloodstone blade, Araste. They narrowly escape and run into Nika, who has left by an alternate route in order to catch up to them. Miffed, Alex decides to take them to the nearest town, Kutaisa, where at least they will be safe in the short term. It is now a few hours before dawn, and the three of them are walking along an empty but well-worn country road.
The sword has chosen a bearer, Alex thought for the hundredth time as he crept through the moonlit woods. And the bearer is a tavern wench.
Even now, he still found it difficult to believe. Years of training and months of trekking through the high Kevonas had led him here, to this insignificant Kevonan backwater—and for what?
So the sword had chosen its final bearer. That was worthy news, even if it meant that he would never have the honor of being the sword keeper. With the prophecy already in motion, he could expect to see some major events soon. But a tavern wench? One who could barely even lift the sword, let alone wield it?
He still remembered, as if it were yesterday, the first time he’d laid eyes on Imeris. He’d been only sixteen at the time, one of the youngest novices to ever be initiated into the order. After passing all the tests and receiving all the rites, he’d finally been given a chance to draw the blade.
“Remember,” Master Ivanar had told him, “Imeris has not taken a bearer in centuries. If he refuses you, it is no dishonor.”
“I know,” Alex had said. “And whether or not it chooses me, I swear to serve and uphold the blade, even for the rest of my life.”
Master Ivanar nodded. “Do you remember the prophecy?”
“This sword IMERIS,” Alex recited eagerly, “though last to be forged, certainly shall not be the least. For in the days when the order is broken and darkness sweeps across the face of the land, he shall await the one who will wield him in truth and wisdom to free the world of men.”
“That is right. You are a worthy initiate, Alexander Andretzek.”
Master Ivanar took the sword from the table behind him. The other monks in the circle bowed their heads, and Alex knelt in reverence.
“Arise,” said Ivanar, holding out the emerald-studded hilt. Alex rose to his feet, his heart pounding with nervous energy. He stared at the sword ancient for several moments. The workmanship was extremely fine, with every detail perfectly wrought and every adornment beautifully fashioned. The emerald gleamed in the flickering candlelight.
“If Imeris chooses me,” he had asked in a subdued whisper, “how will I know?”
“You will know,” Master Ivanar had assured him. “The blade will leap into your hands, and you will feel a bond with it the likes of which you have never experienced. He will speak to you in your mind and in your heart, and you will know, without a doubt, that you are the foretold bearer.”
Alex had nodded and swallowed. His hands felt cold and clammy, but he closed his eyes and wrapped them tenderly around the handle. It felt strangely warm against his skin, as if the sword itself were alive—which indeed it was. For a brief, hopeful moment, he almost imagined he felt something. But one moment turned into two, then three. The cackling of the fire broke the solemn silence, and his stomach sank as doubts crept into his heart.
Before letting go, he gave the sword one brief, ineffectual tug. For years afterward, he’d wondered if this had been his downfall—the reason the sword had refused him. It couldn’t have been his lack of faith, or an unwillingness to serve. But patience was a virtue he lacked, and arrogance was a vice he possessed in great abundance. Either way, he’d spent the next few years running the events of that day over and over in his mind, picking it apart until there was nothing left but an awful sinking feeling he could barely choke down.
But at least he was slated to be the next sword keeper. At least that honor would one day be his.
Until now.
And of all the people more worthy than him, the sword had chosen a tavern wench?
At least she knows how to step softly, he thought to himself. The peasant boy, on the other hand, was louder than lovers in a hay loft. Between his blundering and her chattiness, it was a wonder that Araste hadn’t made quick work of them already. No doubt his brothers in the order were hard at work, leading the enemy away.
The forest soon gave way to fields and vineyards. Out in the east, the sky was just starting to grow blue, while the moon set behind them over the mountains. The road was now wide enough for two carts, with large river stones for pavement. The people of this country were too poor to build proper roads, but that was only a minor annoyance. The main city shouldn’t be more than five or six miles away. At their current rate, they would make it in a couple of hours.
He glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes in disgust. The girl was leaning on the peasant boy’s shoulder, drunk with sleepiness. She yawned and blinked as she steadied herself, but it was clear that if they stopped, even for a minute, she wouldn’t wake up until well past dawn.
“Can we stop and rest for a minute?” the boy asked. “Tamuna is tired.”
Alex narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you trying to get her killed, boy? If you knew what hunts her, you wouldn’t dare let her rest.”
The boy clenched his fists. “My name is Nika.”
“And mine is Alex. I’ll call you by your proper name when you’ve earned my proper respect.”
They went on for a good ten minutes in silence. The air was thick with dew, and not quite cold enough yet for frost. It was interesting, how these mountainous lands could be so full of moisture. In the alpine forests just below the treeline, moss dangled from tree branches like tattered clothes on forgotten clotheslines. Up where the wolves and bear were plentiful, fresh mineral springs gushed out of the rocks like untapped fountains.
“Where are we going?” the boy asked, shattering his half-bored thoughts.
“Kutaisa.”
“Kutaisa?”
Alex didn’t have to look back to detect the frown in his voice.
“That’s right. We’ll reach the city just before dawn.”
“But—but I thought we were supposed to go over the mountains to Aramand.”
Alex turned on his heel and planted his finger squarely in the boy’s chest. “If you want to get us all killed, then say that a little louder. The only reason we’re still alive is because our enemies haven’t yet put that all together.”
The boy shrank and blushed. Next to him, the girl shook her head and yawned.
“Wha—what’s the matter?” she asked.
Alex didn’t grace them with an answer. He walked off down the moonlit road, not bothering to check if they still followed him.
