My name is Alek Warrick, and it is in my hands to save the realm against Rastaban’s plans to burn it down. His followers are growing, as is his reward for catching me. If I am found before my purpose is fulfilled, the realm will have no hope left.
I have been chosen to lead my allies to Avechrea (yes, this lost land is more than just a myth) to form a plan of retaliation, and to find three objects along the way. In Rastaban’s hands, these objects will make him invincible. In my hands, they can destroy him. I am telling you this so you know, despite the rumors, there is still hope.
You have chosen to remain neutral in this war. You have chosen wrong. Pick a side, good or evil, but do not avoid committing because the temptation of peace is greater than the burden of responsibility.
I realize following me isn’t an easy decision, especially since I’m only fourteen years old. I didn’t even know what to think or believe in the beginning, but that was before I watched Rastaban walk through the forest. The path rots beneath his feet, and the trees singe at the very sight of him. He will destroy your land, taking the magic of your ancestors with him. This is not a threat. It is a reality. If you don’t fight, if you don’t help to bring him down, you will lose everything.
When I find Avechrea, I’ll send word for you to join us. I hope by then, you will have re-examined your loyalties. Until I contact you, be on your guard and don’t trust anyone.
I am seeking representation for my novel, Saving Nyliadore, an 85,000-word fantasy geared towards teens and young adults. It is the first in a series of four. If you would like to read sample chapters, a synopsis, or look over the manuscript in its entirety, please, just let me know. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Alek’s hair flickered blue, as it always did when he was nervous, and Maia’s terrified face wasn’t helping him control it. Maia was a mute, but her trembling pen moved across the paper almost as fast as any talker. He tried to read over her shoulder as she wrote, but her arm was blocking the words.
“Move your arm,” Alek said.
Maia looked over her shoulder, her head darting back and forth, her black eyes searching the lightly-wooded
Maia was still writing when her father rounded the corner of the path, on the other side of Radnor Creek. Maia stiffened and her pale face whitened even more. Her fingers clawed into Alek’s arm, her nails digging into his flesh. Before Bergert could see the paper, Alek crumpled it into a small ball and clenched it in his hand.