Son of a barbarian sellsword who is raised by the Margrave of Francovia after his father is killed in His Majesty's service, Riven kan Ingan is, by his own admission, a heretic, who doesn't believe in the existence of either magic or religion. Though he rises through the ranks under his own power, he's never allowed to forget his foreign ancestry, and schemes to marry the Margrave's daughter and become a true member of the Royal House, but the gods of Arcanis, insulted by his denial of their existence, have other plans for the young skeptic.

When Aleza is abducted by the soldiers of Mahldimir Djaan-Baih, a follower of Drel, god of Death, and Riven is wounded in her defense, he swears a Bloodseek oath to rescue her. Accompanied by Bar-Bara, a barbarian slave girl, his search takes him to the desert country of Izhmir. There, in the City of the Sunrise--where the sorcerer practices his black arts and his people live in fear of becoming sacrifices to Drel--Riven seeks the aid of a reluctant rebel in freeing Aleza.

Saving the princess, however, does not end the story, for there's no Happily Ever After for the Margrave's young soldier. Riven's punishment is only beginning as the gods make him fall in love with a woman he can't have. When he loses her to another man, there's nothing he can do to claim her and nothing he can do to forget her, because the gods aren't finished with him yet!

REVIEW

"When the red raw mists cleared, he was alone. That was how the Mortuaries found him, face down in the bloody slush where the heat from his body had melted the snow, the black war-horse standing guard above him"

This opener more than snapshots the enchantment of The Chronicles of Riven the Heretic: Blood Seek; a novel utterly impossible to turn aside. From arresting cover graphics to Toni V. Sweeney's impeccable approach, her marvel of beautiful linguistics, brisk humour before a grim mood unearths the ineffable, fate is sealed by the skill of a Weaver, the position of a loom. Magic ever present, insight as staggering as the writing is ardent, this chronicle swiftly journeys tarnished innocence, explosive pairing, love gained and lost in the story of Riven Kan Ingan, a traveler, a young disbeliever, and the mysterious slave, Bar-Bara. Characters are well defined, intriguing, as they are charming: or odious. As a clandestine Weaver of Lives bends over her loom, Toni V. Sweeney curves loose yet another sensation.

Reviewed by: Eugen M. Bacon
http://tcm-ca.com/reviews/1892.html

EXCERPT

Behind the captives, the great silver stallion and the imperious figure upon it, and seated on the saddle fork in front of him, a golden-fair girl-child.

Bar-Bara rose to his knees, leaning forward. "Ilda!"

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.

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

Leaping to his feet, Riven seized the boy around the waist and lunged backward just as Bar-Bara flung himself into space.

The sword slung out of his hand, landing in the sand, point down.

"Let me go!" Bar-Bara gasped at him. "'Tis Ilda! 'Tis my little sister! I've got to--"

Arms flailing, kicking and wriggling, he was lifted off the ground, heels striking Riven's knees, the frantically twisting figure threatened to slip from his grasp.

His hand closed on the boy's chest, clutching at the rough fabric, felt the laces part.

His fingers touching soft, yielding flesh.

Riven released Bar-Bara so quickly the boy fell to his knees but he didn't stay down, instead scrambled to his feet, whirling to face the Francovian. He was fairly choking with fury, chest heaving in short angry pants and 'twas at his chest that 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!"