Bloodseek, Arcanian Chronicles by Toni V. Sweeney

. . . Raised by the Margrave of Francovia after his sellsword father is killed in His Majesty’s service, Riven kan Ingan is an opportunist and a nonbeliever, denying the existence religion or magic. Never allowed to forget his foreign ancestry, he schemes to marry the margrave’s daughter, fulfilling the prophecy that he‘s to become a king. In retaliation, the gods plot their revenge

. . . When Aleza is kidnapped by the sorcerer Mahldimir Djaan-Baih, Riven follows them to the demon-ridden desert of Izhmir to rescue his princess.

. . . Saving Aleza doesn’t end the story, however, for Riven’s punishment is only beginning. Thanks to the gods, he’ll discover his true love and lose her to anotherf man. From then on, his days and nights are haunted by the memory of the one woman he can’t have.

. . . There’s nothing he can do to forget and no way he can claim her because the gods aren’t finished with him yet.

Wild Women Authors is pleased to welcome back author Toni V. Sweeney. This week she features Bloodseek the latest in her Arcanian Chronicle series

Here’s an excerpt:

Behind him he heard Bar-Bara’s footsteps.

“Drel, boy. You run ran as heavy as a herd of horses.”

He looked up to see the child running toward him, booted feet barely making a sound on the hard ground…but still the noise continued.

“Riders. In the cleft.” His voice was a sharp whisper as he pointed toward the cut in the rock.

Seizing his sword, Riven ran toward the ledge, dropping onto hands and knees, Bar-Bara at his left side. Behind them the dogs crouched, poised for his command.

Trapped forever in the ravine, the wind blew hotly upward, tossing sand into their faces. Through the dust they could see the riders, too many to count, in the same harness-armor and loinskirts as the B’akshir who escaped Riven at the farmhouse, rectangles of cloth protecting their faces. The black feathers of their headdresses moved in the wind like dark wings. All carried spears, heavy swords hanging from each broad belt. The sun gleamed from the metal on the harnesses, sending out bright spears of light.

Behind the soldiers walked a double row of figures, each bound to the one before him by a single rope tied to the saddle of a B’akshir riding in front of the line. The rope ran the length of the row, wrapped around the neck of each prisoner, binding them together so if one fell he would be dragged along by the others’ movement. The captives trudged slowly and steadily down the ravine.

A sudden gasp from the boy made Riven turn quickly to look at him.

“Ilda.” Immeasurable pain filled that one word.

Looking past the forlorn figures, he saw what Bar-Bara had seen. Behind the captives, the great silver stallion and the imperious figure upon it, and seated on the saddle fork in front of him, a fair girl-child. One metal-braced arm was across the child’s chest, hugging her body tightly against his own while her little hands gripped his forearm.

The wind whistled through the ravine, stirring the sand, spraying it against the horse’s body. It danced nervously, neighing in anger, impatient at being restrained as the sound was lifted and swept out of the ravine.

“Ilda.” Bar-Bara rose to his knees, leaning forward.

Before Riven realized what he intended, the boy scrambled to his feet and with surprising quickness, pulled the sword from the Francovian’s loosened grasp. Once again Riven cursed the Fate making him left-handed. Had it not been so, the sword would have been in his other hand and the boy couldn’t have reached it from where he lay.

Bar-Bara stepped onto the ledge, attempting to heft the sword. He gathered himself to jump.

Riven forgot about destroying the B’akshir; his only thought was to stop the child. Leaping to his feet, he seized the boy around the waist and lunged backward as Bar-Bara flung himself into space.

“Let me go.” Bar-Bara gasped at him. “It’s Ilda. My little sister. I’ve got to…”

Riven’s hand slapped over his mouth, stifling his cry. The other arm tightened around the boy’s waist as the frantically twisting figure threatened to slip from his grasp. He held the boy in mid-air until the sound of hooves and the jingle of harness faded into silence.

Relaxing his grip, he pulled the boy’s head back, whispering, “If I let you go, you little fool, will you be quiet?”

Furious blue eyes glared. Renewed struggling answered him.

In a moment, Bar-Bara would fall from his grasp. He tried to tighten his hold, had to take his hand away from the boy’s mouth and risk him crying out. His hand closed on the boy’s chest, clutching at the rough fabric, felt the laces part. His fingers touched soft, yielding flesh…

Riven released Bar-Bara so quickly the boy fell to his knees but he didn’t stay down. Instead, he scrambled to his feet, whirling to face the Francovian. He was fairly choking with fury, chest heaving in short angry pants….and it was at his chest Riven stared as if stupefied, mouth dropping open.

His fingers still tingled, feeling scorched from the contact with that soft flesh and the swell of breast where there should have been none. Riven stared at the gaping tunic, at the white mounds, small, to be sure, but rounded and pink-tipped and definitely female.

At last he managed a surprised croak, “You’re a wench.”

“Oh, you’ve torn my tunic.”

The cry was so feminine it brought an unwilling smile to his face. She pulled the rent cloth together, attempting to re-lace it. It did little good.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry.

To purchase Bloodseek, go to:

Paperback available from the publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/component/virtuemart/science-fiction/bloodseek-8302017-08-15-03-23-04-detail?Itemid=0

Kindle from amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/Bloodseek-Arcanian-Chronicles-Part-1-ebook/dp/B074TW62QN/