The Sword of Might is the first segment of an epic fantasy I've written which tells the story of a young man who is asked to overcome his own prejudices and join a quest to save the world. In this, the first of a series of novels, Jerrod, the protagonist, and comrades selected for the task by a council of mages set out to recover the Sword of Might, an artifact of power necessary to rebind an evil demigod who is breaking free of ancient bonds and attempting to remake the world of Zemelia in a fashion more suited to its needs. Here's how it opens:
INTRODUCTION
Sitting near the
inn's hearth safely out of the cold, biting wind which blew outside, the
imperious-looking, white-bearded old man began irascibly, "You
all know who I am and why I'm here, but I'll tell you again anyway
because it is my story to tell and I want to tell it right. My name
is Astall Demonsbane and I am here to tell you a tale."
The codger broke off and stared for a moment at two of the noisier collected townsfolk who had come to listen to his story. More than a score had gathered including the two who had earned the old man's disfavor. Those unfortunates quickly quieted and bobbed their head in apology.
"If you don't
know who I am you should, but you'll find out anyway if you sit there
and listen. My story isn't really my story. It is a tale about
lust and love, about war and strife. There are strong, powerful
heroes and beautiful heroines. There is death and destruction,
there are monsters and mayhem, and there are swords and sorcery too."
The crusty old
curmudgeon looked around at the rapt faces of his assembled audience,
"Good, now that I've got your attention I'll tell you what the
story which I am about to relate is really all about. First, as I
said, it isn't really my story. It is the account of Jerrod, my
last apprentice. Second, it isn't about what I just said it was
about. Oh, all those things are in it, so don't get your bustles in
an uproar. While your taste for the prurient might not get sated,
most of your other appetites will. No, what this yarn is really all
about is a boy. A boy who is forced to grow up and become a man when
he doesn't really want to. He's got nothing against growing up,
mind. It's just that he doesn't even realize he needs to."
The old man's tale broke off with a wracking cough.
Muttering curses
about fool doctors and their idiotic treatments for silly little
viruses, the cantankerous ancient continued, "Bloodletting,
indeed! Fools! At any rate, like all really good stories, in the
story which I am about to relate to you our young hero had the fate
of the world in his hands. Well, not his hands alone, exactly. He
had some help. Some from me, some from kind strangers that he meets
along the way, but most of it from seven companions who were just as
crucial as he was to making sure that Zemelia survived."
"So if you
will all just sit and listen, I will tell you what really happened
when Jerrod Kryschik and the rest of the Companionship of Seremoreh
set forth to rebind Iskandar." The old man glared at the faces
which stared up at him, "that is, I'll tell about Jerrod and the
others the story the way that I want to, the way that it really
happened....Well, at least the way that I think it
happened...and I should know, after all I am part of the story."
The old man
winked and smiled at the gathered crowd. "Unlike most stories,
my tale is based on events that are neither long ago nor far away.
They occurred only recently and," the old man shivered and
pulled his collar around him, "their full impact isn't yet
known. It is a long tale, so perhaps by the time its conclusion
rolls around, I can truly finish it. Or perhaps not."
"At any
rate, the account begins in my cabin on an icy cold late summer's
day. Jerrod, our hero, has been left alone while I have gone off to
save the world...."
