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Back Forsworn
Chapters (53)
  1. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area- Western Half
  2. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Eastern Half
  3. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Full Map
  4. Important Trigger Warning
  5. Prologue
  6. PART I
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Interlude: The River of Life
  20. PART II
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. Seventeen
  26. Eighteen
  27. Nineteen
  28. Interlude: Fallow Fields
  29. PART III
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Interlude: Of Man and Monster
  37. PART IV
  38. Twenty-Six
  39. Twenty-Seven
  40. Twenty-Eight
  41. Twenty-Nine
  42. Thirty
  43. Thirty-One
  44. Thirty-Two
  45. Thirty-Three
  46. Thirty-Four
  47. POSTLUDES
  48. Postlude 1: Lana Vica
  49. Postlude 2: Ludo Vica
  50. Postlude 3: Cainan
  51. Acknowledgments
  52. An excerpt from Heartsworn, Volume II in The Forsworn Oath, available for preorder now!
  53. PART I

What did he know about its origins? According to his father, the apothecary made it each day, but from what ingredients? And why did it glow? He’d put these questions to his father before, but he feigned ignorance, while the apothecary refused to answer him at all. Refused to answer the Crown Prince of Finfalla! he thought bitterly. And yet…

“Why do you care?” he said aloud, pondering those words. As usual, he had no answer for himself. Why should one concern themself with the very thing that kept them alive? If a shield stops an arrow, shouldn’t you hold it in front of you rather than inspect it to learn why it stopped the arrow?

He laughed at his own tail-chasing thoughts, plucked the cork free, and drank the vial’s contents until they were gone. As always, he immediately felt a burst of vitality surge within him. He felt stronger, healthier, calmer. It was like that little bit of glowing liquid had given him more strength than a hearty meal and ten hours of sleep could give him. He recorked the empty vial and returned it to his pocket so he could give it back to the apothecary, who was traveling with him. He could clean it and use it again.

Tomas turned his attention back to the book with the goal of distracting his thoughts in as productive a manner as possible.

He stuck his nose in it, determined not to come up for air until he’d closed the last page or found his answer, whichever came first. The answer he sought was actually a translation. A translation of another set of last words, spoken by another woman, one who he’d helped free from his father’s wrath only to find her dead several minutes later. The woman from Stormeye accused of commissioning unlawful magic use. His steel trap of a mind provided her name: Yar-ashnavar. It also provided her words, which he’d transcribed onto a bit of parchment that he had a bad habit of staring at for hours: Razim noth recorum.

What did they mean? For all he knew, they were as mundane as a curse uttered by one facing their own mortality. “You rutting bastard!” he tried out, but such words from the woman’s lips felt hollow. It wasn’t like he knew her personally, and yet in his brief interaction with her he’d learned that she didn’t waste words, not on something as meaningless as curses.

He flipped another page, skimming a description of yet another battle fought for land, or resources, or because someone thought their gods were better than someone else’s gods, or because the sky was blue, or because someone’s mother had been insulted. There were always reasons for war, but, in Tomas’s opinion, they were usually not very good ones.