I thought it might be fun to post an excerpt every week or so from my current WIP. It’s been a few months since I published anything, and I figure this would be a good way to keep in touch and let you guys know what I’m up to.

The big project I’m working on right now, and the one that I hope to finish by the end of April, is an epic fantasy novel titled The Sword Keeper. It’s the first part of what will eventually become The Twelfth Sword Trilogy. The basic premise is that there’s an ancient brotherhood of enchanted swords that bond telepathically to their bearers and pass on knowledge, skills, memories, and experiences. Over hundreds of years, these swords and their bearers become so powerful, they are able to unite most of the world in peace under a benevolent empire. But then the swords go insane, the empire falls into civil war, and SHTF, so to speak.

That was all a thousand years ago. The twelfth sword, recognizing what was happening, went dormant and refused to take a new bearer. Its last bearer formed a secret order of monks to keep the sword safely hidden, carrying it from place to place until it finds the one who fulfills the prophecy to become the last sword bearer. According to the prophecy, the last sword bearer will rise in a day when darkness sweeps the land and save the world from an enemy who seeks to enslave all mankind.

So yeah, pretty standard for epic fantasy. Instead of a farmboy, though, the heroine of the trilogy is a young tavern girl. Here’s the opening scene of the first chapter.

(SIDE NOTE: Since this is a WIP, it might need some editing or have some other issues that need work. Also, this scene might turn out substantially different in the final published version from its current form. Still, I thought it would be fun to post it. Let me know what you think!)

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The candles were lit and the tables had already been served when the mysterious traveler arrived from the west. Tamuna was tending the bar as the clatter of hooves on the old stone road announced his arrival. She paused in her work to peer out the tavern window, but the sky had already faded, blending the leaves with the shadows.

“Better put another spit on the fire,” Aunt Sopiko said as she came back from serving the tables. “When that’s done, see to the room upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tamuna. She ran to the kitchen, hoping to finish her chores in time to catch a glimpse of the unexpected guest. The harvest season had just ended, and the villagers had already put away their corn and grain for the winter. Occasionally, a herder would come down from the mountains, but only during the day—never at night.

The tavern was one of the last places for room and board before the Kevona Mountains. In the spring, travelers from the south and west sometime came down from the mountain passes in the waning twilight. Tamuna loved to hear their stories of faraway lands and peoples, and often stayed up into the early hours of the morning listening spellbound to them. But this late in the season, it was rare for travelers to come down from the mountain pass. Perhaps, then, it was someone from the east on their way to Khevsura or Aramand? But why would they stop at a village tavern when they could sleep in comfort at Kutaisa?

As she stoked the cooking fire, the door to the yard swung open, and Nika the stable boy came in carrying a bucket of water from the well. His curly brown hair spilled out beneath his woolen skullcap, and his boots were covered in mud.

“Hi Tamuna,” he said, setting the bucket on the table with both hands. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling in gratitude. “Any news from the village?”

“Old Tom’s cow gave birth to a beautiful little calf. He’ll probably sell her in the spring—the calf, not the cow.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, she’s a gorgeous animal. I really wish I could save up and buy it. Do you think your aunt could… well…”

Tamuna drew in a long breath. She knew what Nika was asking, but Aunt Sopiko was far too miserly to ever agree to such a request. If Tamuna asked her to raise Nika’s pay by even a few meager coppers, she’d probably be whipped for it. But Nika couldn’t save very much either, since his family took almost everything he earned from his job at the tavern. They needed the money as badly as they needed a cow.

“I’ll do what I can,” she said softly. Then, putting a hand on his arm, “maybe we can save up enough together.”

His face brightened. “You really think so?”

“Sure. And with all the eggs the chickens are laying, maybe Sopiko will let us sell some at the Kutaisa market.”

“Oh, Tamuna!”

Nika threw his arms around her, kissing her enthusiastically on the cheek. He still smelled like dirty hay and horse manure, though, so she squealed and pushed him away.

“By the seven rivers, Nika, haven’t you had a chance to wash up yet? You smell like you’ve been bathing with the pigs!”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

“Well, what are you still here for? Go and wash up already!”

She shooed out of the kitchen, but just as he turned to leave, she remembered the traveler.

“Wait—did you see the man who just came in?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The traveler who rode in not fifteen minutes ago. When I’m finished here, I—”

“Oh my gods!” said Nika, his eyes widening like saucers. “I wasn’t in the stable when—sorry, gotta run!” Without another word, he dashed out the door and disappeared into the deepening twilight.

Tamuna put her hands on her hips and sighed. Nika was a good boy, and without a doubt her most loyal friend, but he had a way of missing what was right before his face. As she glanced down at all the mud he’d tracked in, she couldn’t help but shake her head.

The door to the main room swung open, and Aunt Sopiko came in with a stern look on her face. “What was that?” she asked. “Were you chatting with Nika instead of doing your work?”

“No, ma’am,” Tamuna said quickly. “That is, I—”

“Well, no more distractions. Our guest wants to take his dinner upstairs, so go up and fix the room double quick—no dallying.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tamuna said dutifully. She hurried out of the kitchen, her cheeks reddening at her aunt’s rebuke. How foolish of her to let herself get distracted so easily, especially when there was work to be done. She would have to do her best to make sure that Sopiko wasn’t disappointed in her.

From the hallway closet, she pulled out a thick woolen blanket and linen bed sheets. A half-burned candle waited on the ledge by the base of the stairway. The old wooden stairs creaked all the way to the top, and the light from her flickering candle made shadows dance along the walls. She paused for a moment to light the lamp at the head of the stairway, then opened the door to the private room and set the candle on a ledge near the doorway. Outside, the cool autumn wind blew hard against the window, whistling through the gaps in the panes and making the wall groan and creak.

I’ll have to light a fire before I leave, she thought to herself as she made the bed. The chill air made her shiver a little, so she worked quickly, wishing that she’d brought a shawl. Fortunately, it didn’t take her long. She’d readied the private room more than a hundred times, and knew exactly what needed to be done. Soon, she was engrossed her work—so engrossed that when she turned to start the fire, she was surprised to find the guest standing in the doorway.

“Oh!” she said, taking a quick step back. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were coming. If you want, I’ll—”

“That’s all right,” said man, laying down down a heavy rucksack in the corner. He was old, probably in his fifties, with silver-gray hair and a well-trimmed beard. Even so, he stood very tall, with a broad chest and muscular arms and shoulders. His brow was deeply furrowed, his jawline sharp, yet his eyes exuded a thoughtful kindness that put Tamuna at ease almost immediately.

“Here,” she said as he slipped off his heavy woolen cloak. “Let me help you with that.” He turned and let her pull it off his shoulders, revealing a simple white tunic underneath. A gold embroidered cross took up most of the back of the garment, but other than that, his clothing bore no ornamentation.

“Are you a monk?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I am,” said the man. He knelt over the rucksack and pulled out a sword, sheathed in a dull black scabbard. With great care bordering on reverence, he laid it on the wooden table.

Something about the sword drew Tamuna’s gaze. The hilt was made of steel and burnished with what appeared to be silver, though it was difficult to make out in the dim candlelight. Intricate carvings appeared to tell a story, one that she very much wanted to hear. The handle was long and straight, designed for two hands, with a dark leather cord wrapped tightly around it for the grip. At the pommel, a single emerald jewel glowed in the mouth of a dragon, pulsating in the flickering candlelight.

Something about the sword almost seemed to call out to her. Tamuna blinked and shook her mind clear, turning to the traveler who had stooped down to start the fire. She was about to offer help, but his body language told her that he would rather be left to himself.

“Let us know if you need anything,” she said on her way out. The man grunted his assent, and she shut the door quietly behind her, sneaking one last glance at him and the sword.

Back in the kitchen, Sopiko was cutting bread and stacking it on the tray for the stranger. A kebab sizzled over the fire, while the pot of beans bubbled by the edge. Tamuna opened the cabinet and pulled out a small plate of cheese, cutting off generous slices onto the tray.

“Did the traveler say where he’s from?” she asked.

Sopiko shook her head. “No, he didn’t say a word about that. Just asked the price of a room and where he should leave his horse.”

“Did you see the markings on his tunic? I don’t think he’s from around here. Maybe even—”

“Best not to pry,” said Sopiko. She finished with the bread and turned to the spit over the fire.

Tamuna bit her lip, but went on preparing the food without asking again. She could tell from Sopiko’s tone of voice that any more questions would not be tolerated. Her aunt wasn’t a harsh woman, but she could be stern, especially when it came to how she ran the tavern. Tamuna sometimes wondered if her mother had been like that: stern and domineering. She had no memory of her, having been taken from her home when she was just a little girl. All that she had of her were stories.

As she finished with the cheese and spooned the beans into a clay bowl, her mind drifted back to the sword on the table. She didn’t know why, but something about it still seemed to call out to her. The more she tried to clear her head, the more it seemed that the feeling would not go away.

“Here,” said her aunt, taking the spit off of the fire and putting it onto the tray with the rest of the food. “Take this to our guest upstairs, but don’t linger too long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it, Tamuna. I know how you like to stay and chat every time we put up a traveler, 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, and be quick about it.”

He must be a very important man for her to say that, Tamuna thought to herself as she climbed the stairs with the tray. Usually, her aunt had no qualm with her listening to the stories of their guests. Through them, she’d heard all sorts of fascinating things about the world outside the village—of the vast rocky deserts to the south, with ancient ruins buried beneath the sifting sands, or the warrior kingdoms on the grassy plains beyond the western sea. But lately, it was the people of the north that everyone seemed to be talking about. Some travelers warned that the northern armies were moving toward the Kevonas, while others claimed that they were just fighting among each other. 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 himself 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? I’ve brought your dinner.”

Again, no answer.

He’s probably just gone to the outhouse, she thought to herself. 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 newly lit 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 to help out her aunt with the chores, but all she could do was stare at the dull, black scabbard and the old, faded hilt. The blazing light of the fire made the emerald on the pommell glisten and shimmer in a way that it hadn’t before. She almost felt as if the dragon’s eyes were watching her.

I should go, she told herself, lifting her dress as if to tiptoe out of the room. Instead, her feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking her closer to the sword. One of the floorboards creaked, and she froze, glancing hurriedly at the door, but the hallway was empty—she was alone.

Aunt Sopiko is going to kill me if she finds out what I’m doing, she thought anxiously. Every part of her screamed to leave the room before someone discovered her, but something else told her not to be afraid—that she was on the right path, and that this was her destiny. She felt as if she stood on the edge of a tall cliff, with a perilous drop before her and nothing but wilderness behind. Or perhaps it felt more like a crossroads, where the path she chose now would determine the course of the rest of her life. She hesitated, an inexplicable fear threatening to overwhelm her, but an even greater curiosity drove her forward—the same curiosity that had seized her from the moment she’d heard the clatter of hooves on the stone-paved road outside the tavern.

She felt a slight tremor, like the churning of the air immediately around a fire. It made her stop and pull back, uncertain. What if the sword is magic? she wondered. What if it’s cursed? But it was too late to stop now. She took a deep breath and touched the cold metal of the hilt.

A tremendous shock surged through her, from the top of her head to her outermost toes. She gasped for air as her legs gave out beneath her. It felt as if every muscle in her body had turned to water, and she was melting all over the floor. She swooned, and her last conscious thought before falling to the floor was that her aunt was going to skin her alive.