Today, we're doing something a little different. I wanted to bring a book to your attention. Kyra Halland, an author I met on my journey, has a blog tour running right now. Let's check out the cool details, shall we?
Chosen of Azara Tour
Chosen of Azara
princess of Savaru, vowed to the service of the magical Source Azara, sacrifices
everything to try to stop a war, only to be caught in a web of evil and deceit.
Sevry, the last king of the war-ravaged land of Savaru, is tasked by Source
Azara with finding the secret that disappeared with Juzeva, the secret that can
heal Savaru and its Sources.
Lucie, a sheltered young noblewoman, is unaware of her true heritage and the
power she bears, until a stranger claiming to be the legendary king of a
long-dead land takes refuge in her father's house.
Torn between her familiar world and the truths her heart can't deny, Lucie must
find the courage to join Sevry on his quest to restore Savaru and its magical
Sources to life, a quest that will sweep her away to adventure, danger, and a
love that could change her life - and the lost land of Savaru - forever.
Epic romantic fantasy for adults and older teens.
Sevry, the last king of the war-ravaged land of Savaru, is tasked by Source Azara with finding the secret that disappeared with Juzeva, the secret that can heal Savaru and its Sources.
Lucie, a sheltered young noblewoman, is unaware of her true heritage and the power she bears, until a stranger claiming to be the legendary king of a long-dead land takes refuge in her father's house.
Torn between her familiar world and the truths her heart can't deny, Lucie must find the courage to join Sevry on his quest to restore Savaru and its magical Sources to life, a quest that will sweep her away to adventure, danger, and a love that could change her life - and the lost land of Savaru - forever.
Epic romantic fantasy for adults and older teens.
Here is an excerpt.
Sevry: The Vow
SEVROS, THE LAST King of Savaru, crouched in the shadows
of the wall around the Convent of Azara. The air was thick with the smells of
smoke and death; the light of the dying afternoon grew dimmer as the snowfall
started again. He listened to the sound of the approaching army as he tried to
steady his breath and gauge the right moment to make the dash across the
courtyard and into the convent itself. There were marksmen hidden around the
yard and wall with arrows trained on him, as he had discovered the first time
he tried to make it to the convent. And the army was getting closer. But he was
determined to get to the convent. If he had to die, and it was certain that he
would, he wanted to do so fighting to defend the last stronghold in Savaru.
Sevry had been fighting his whole life, it seemed. A year
ago, the Madrinans thought their conquest was at long last complete. But the
last two thousand living Savarunans gathered under the banner of King Nidelv,
the oldest of Queen Ilvana’s three surviving grandsons, and launched a final,
desperate attempt to drive the Madrinans out of Savaru. Now, after a bloody,
brutal fighting retreat back across Savaru and up the Aza Peninsula through the
coldest winter Savaru had ever known, Sevry was the only one left. Everyone else,
men, women, children, old people too feeble to fight but who had fought anyway,
were dead, slaughtered by the Madrinan army or killed by cold, disease, and
starvation. Sevry had only survived because of his people’s insistence on
defending the last living member of their royal family.
His death was inevitable; Sevry was resigned to this by
now. But rather than becoming the last futile death in these fields of carnage,
he wanted to make one final stand, hopefully taking a few more Madrinans with
him before they destroyed Mother Azara as they had destroyed all the other
Sources in Savaru. It would happen anyway, but he wanted to make sure the
Madrinans paid dearly for the privilege.
A ballad came into his mind, one of his favorites, a
heroic, tragic tale of lovers killed in the wars against invading Madrin clans
a thousand years ago. He began to sing it under his breath, knowing that when
he was dead, the language and songs of Savaru would be gone too. The tale of
Avraz and Irazaja would be forgotten, and there would be no one to sing of his
own death. He sang the song all the way through, making of it a lament for his
people, his land, and himself. Tears slid down his face as he sang, mingling
with the snowflakes that landed on his cheeks. When he was a child, music had
been the breath of life to him, and he had dreamed of becoming a bard. That
dream was now nothing but ashes in the rubble of war, along with all the other
hopes and dreams of the Savarunan people.
When his song was ended, Sevry looked down the long,
snow-covered slope below the convent and across the ruined fields and woods
where the last mundane battle had taken place the day before. The Madrinans had
nearly reached the convent. There wasn’t much time; he would have to risk the
hidden archers. Keeping to a crouch, a handful of arrows narrowly missing him,
he ran through the falling snow across the courtyard and into the great entry
hall of the convent.
There had been another battle here the previous night; a
battle of wizards. Sevry had watched the multicolored explosions of light and
heard the vast rumbling noises of the battle from a distance. Though the
Madrinan wizard-priests were far from their Sources, they had pressed their
attack ruthlessly, but the Daughters of Azara, though of a more peaceful
nature, had had enough immediately available power from their Source to answer
death with death. The floors and stairways of the convent were littered with
the bodies of gray-robed golus and white-clad Daughters, drifted with snow that
had blown through the holes blasted in the walls.
Sevry walked amidst the death and destruction, looking
for the best place to make his final stand, where he could do the most damage
before the Madrinans killed him. At the top of the steps leading to the front
door seemed a fittingly heroic place, but it was too exposed. An archer could
cut him down before the army even entered the courtyard. Somewhere indoors
would be better. In the main hall, the lower half of the great staircase had
collapsed; perhaps if he climbed onto the upper, intact, part, and fought from
He stopped at the sound of a faint moan from behind a
pile of rubble near the staircase. Sword in hand, he moved silently towards the
place the sound had come from. He heard it again, a low, animal sound, not a
call for help but an involuntary groan of pain. Keeping low, alert for signs of
a trap, he stepped closer, and saw the crumpled body of a woman wearing the
white robe of Azara. The back of the robe was saturated with blood both dried
Sevry knelt next to the woman and laid her head on his
lap. Between her wounds and his lack of resources, there was nothing he could
do for her but try to comfort her for a moment. “You’re not alone,” he
whispered, smoothing her long, gray, blood-stiffened hair.
She was large for a Savarunan woman, and something about
her size teased at his memory. She opened her eyes, studied him briefly, then
smiled. “King Sevros,” she said, her voice barely making its way out of her
broken, dying body. “I’m Ysa. I served your Aunt Juzeva.”
Sevry’s hands briefly stilled in surprise. Then he took
up the soothing touch again. “Yes, I’m Sevros,” he said.
“Is anyone else left?” Though her voice was hoarse and
weak, the urgency in it was clear.
“I’m the only one, Mother Ysa. I’ll die too, but I’ll
take as many of them with me as I can.”
“No! You must not die.” She coughed. Sevry raised her
head and put his waterskin to her lips. “Listen to me,” Ysa went on, her words
coming with greater difficulty. “Juzeva had a secret. A Source-token, a small
crystal vial on a silver chain. Into it, Azara put the power to restore all the
Sources of Savaru if they were ever destroyed. Azara would have told me if she
had died. Find her, and bring her back, so Savaru can live again!”
The last word ended in another rattling cough. Sevry gave
Ysa the last few drops from his waterskin. “But how can I find her, Mother Ysa?
I’m standing alone at the end of the earth, with an entire army against me.”
“Trust Azara. She will help you bring back…her own…”
Once again her voice trailed off into a harsh fit of
coughing, which was quickly drowned out by the sound of dozens of mounted
soldiers riding into the courtyard. Sevry started to gather Ysa into his arms,
to take her with him, but she pushed him away. “Leave me. Save yourself. Let
Savaru live again.”
The first soldiers entered the great hall. Sevry
scrambled up onto the pile of rubble that was the lower part of the staircase.
He grabbed the broken edge of the upper part and dragged himself up, determined
now not to let the soldiers corner him. Sword in hand, he ran upstairs, meaning
to find a place to hide, but they came too quickly, clambering up onto the
broken staircase after him. He ran through the hallways and up more stairs,
trying to lose the Madrinans. It galled him to be running instead of fighting,
but now he had a reason to live. He believed Ysa; no one could make up a lie
like that so close to death. It almost seemed as if she had deliberately pushed
away death so that she could tell her secret to someone who could make use of
The Madrinans drove him upwards through the convent
until, on the top floor, he came to a ladder that led through a trapdoor in the
ceiling. He climbed the ladder and came out onto the roof, which was bordered
by a low stone parapet. The wave-wracked, rocky cove of Azara lay far below.
Sevry stood on the roof, trying to catch his breath and gather his courage for
what was to come. Trust Azara, Ysa had told him. It was all he could do now.
The first few Madrinan soldiers climbed up through the
opening in the roof, grinning and boasting in anticipation of the honors that
would come to the man who killed the last Savarunan king. Sevry ran to the
parapet, stepped up on it without breaking his stride, and, with a final,
defiant cry of “Savaru!”, dove from the wall.
Kyra is also here to answer some fun questions for us today...
Hi, thanks for inviting me!
My pleasure! Welcome to the MLB blog. Let's get started, shall we?
How did you get started in writing?
I’ve always loved to read, but I
had a hard time finding novels that combined fantasy and romance in a way I
found satisfactory. When I finished graduate school and was adapting to life as
a new stay-at-home mom with my first baby, I was looking for a new intellectual
challenge so I decided to try writing the kinds of novels I wanted to read but
couldn’t find. I discovered that I love telling my characters’ stories.
Can't blame you there! We must follow the call as writers. ;)
So...who is your favorite character?
LOL. That’s like asking me which
of my children and grandchildren is my favorite! I love all my characters for
different reasons. The hero and heroine of Daughter of the Wildings, my
fantasy-western (“sixguns and sorcery”) series, Silas Vendine and Lainie
Banfrey, were lots of fun to write, and still are; I’m now working on a
follow-up series. Roric Rossony, the professor of magical theory in The Lost
Book of Anggird, is probably one of my most memorable characters. He’s a very
complicated man, and I was stuck on that book for years until he opened up and
told me about his background and why he is the way he is. Davreos, the hero of
Heir of Tanaris, one of my upcoming novels, is also a very complicated
character. Right now his story is really pulling at me, but I have a couple of
other things to finish first.
All right. Who is your favorite author?
I have lots of authors I enjoy,
but I’d have to say Carol Berg is my very favorite. Wonderful characters,
richly detailed worlds, original worlds and magic systems, and gorgeous prose.
So, when do you usually write?
Being a self-pubbed author is my
full-time job. In the mornings, I take care of social media, blogging,
record-keeping, stuff like that, then I get to writing early in the afternoon.
The first half of my writing workday I spend writing new words on whatever
first draft I’m working on, or short stories if I’m between novels, then the
second half is devoted to revisions and edits on the next project I’ll be
releasing. I tend to get distracted easily, so my writing day usually spills
over into the evening. If I finish my day’s work before suppertime, I feel very
Do you listen to music while writing? If so, what?
Yes, I need to have music on
while I write. Silence is too distracting! I make a playlist for each novel,
and also have a general-purpose writing inspiration playlist. I choose music
with a sound and lyrics that go along with the story, the characters, the
scene, or just the overall feel of the novel. I listen to a lot of symphonic
metal; my current favorite bands are Xandria, Myrath, and Kamelot. I also enjoy
a lot of alternative rock like My Chemical Romance, AFI, and Evanescence.
Yeah, those groups are pretty good.
What books have most influenced your life?
The Earthsea Trilogy by Ursula K.
Leguin was a huge influence in my love for fantasy and my desire to start
telling my own stories.
What are you passionate about these days?
Writing. Listening to music. My
granddaughters. Pokemon Shuffle :-D
Thanks for stopping by, Kyra! It was a blast to have you here. :)
Readers, let's see where we can find Kyra Halland's cool fantasy/romance, Chosen of Azara...
Amazon Universal link: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00DJBK3UE
Add the book to your Amazon Wishlist or Goodreads TBR shelf!
Interesting! We'll be sure to check out this great fantasy romance!
Also, take a look at this cool fantasy boxed set, which just released on October 18th! The set features Kyra's fascinating tale, Beneath the Canyons!
Readers, don't forget to grab a copy of Chosen of Azara!
About the Author:
Kyra Halland has always loved fantasy. She has also always
loved a good love story. Years ago, as a new stay-at-home mom, she decided to
combine those two loves - like chocolate and peanut butter! - by writing the
kinds of romantic fantasy novels she wanted to read.
Complicated, honorable heroes; strong, smart, feminine heroines; magic,
romance, and adventure; deep emotion mixed with a dash of offbeat humor - all
of these make up Kyra Halland's worlds. She loves sharing those worlds with
readers and hopes they will enjoy her stories and characters as much as she
Kyra Halland lives in southern Arizona. She has a very patient husband, two
less-patient cats, two young adult sons, a lovely daughter-in-law, and two
adorable granddaughters. Besides writing, she enjoys scrapbooking and anime,
and she wants to be a crazy cat lady when she grows up.
Complicated, honorable heroes; strong, smart, feminine heroines; magic, romance, and adventure; deep emotion mixed with a dash of offbeat humor - all of these make up Kyra Halland's worlds. She loves sharing those worlds with readers and hopes they will enjoy her stories and characters as much as she does.
Kyra Halland lives in southern Arizona. She has a very patient husband, two less-patient cats, two young adult sons, a lovely daughter-in-law, and two adorable granddaughters. Besides writing, she enjoys scrapbooking and anime, and she wants to be a crazy cat lady when she grows up.