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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

At least the heat of the day had finally abated, leaving them marching into a cool and growing darkness. They were well north and east of the stronghold of Drouin now, and at any second Tomas expected to spy the snaking River of Painted Foes as it emerged through the gloom, but it continued to stubbornly resist, as though even the waters that represented the border between the neighboring kingdoms believed in his guilt. That only by denying him his escape could justice be served.

Step by ragged step they soldiered on, until Tomas’s vision began to blur. He knew he was going under before the dark waters actually closed over his head, and yet was powerless to pull himself back into the light.

The darkness took him.

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He awoke to a light, misting rain speckling his face with moisture. He blinked, tiny, crystalline droplets clinging to his eyelashes. He yawned, allowing the rain to coat his dry tongue until he’d gathered enough to swallow. He sighed.

Above him the sky was a tapestry of blue patches and dark gray clouds, all stitched together by threads of sunlight.

He tried to sit up, but groaned as pain pinned him to the ground. He was sore all over, like someone had used him as a punching sack. It was weird: it hurt, but it also oddly made him feel more alive than he’d felt in some time. “Hello?” he said, twisting his head about to search for his companion—the assassin.

No response, the area around him—or at least what he could see of it from his prone position—was empty. Birds chattered. Water burbled. Something splashed, a fish rising to the surface to collect its breakfast, perhaps.

He sat up sharply, fighting off the pain this time, head spinning. He waited for the motion to stop, then eyed the broad river he recognized from his boat ride north. Yesterday? Was it really only yesterday when he’d disembarked the boat and started his climb up Drouin’s flanks? Was it really only yesterday that he’d met his mother for the first time just to watch her die a few moments later while he stood as helpless as a newborn child?

His brow furrowed as the sun emerged from the clouds and he realized something. Something his impeccable sense of direction told him. “I’m back in Finfalla,” he said aloud, hoping it would help him make sense of the truth staring him right in the face.

He searched his clothes for some sign that they’d once been soaked to the skin only to dry as he’d slept. But no, they were as dry as bone. So how had the assassin carried him across the River of Painted Foes and deposited him on the riverbank without getting him wet? “Hello!?” he said again, louder this time.

No response.