Tag Archives: fiction

Voice of the Dragon: Excerpt

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For #LineByLineTime : Creation

“What are you making?” Gerald twisted his head as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at.

Hannah laid fur over the leather and picked up an awl they used for making and mending harnesses for the dragons. “It’s a pouch to hold Bestia on my back. Since she can’t walk or fly, she can get around with me. It’s like the baby bags mothers use for little ones while they work. I just have to remember to leave a hole for her tail and two for her wings.” She grunted as she tried to drive the tool through both layers. “Gosh, this is tough material! Give me a hand here!”

Gerald had never sewn anything in his life and had not been taught to mend a harness yet, much less make it. When he said so, Hannah waved away his objections. “Just drive this through where I show you. You have bigger muscles than I do. I’ll thread the leather strip through. Go, start there!” She tapped her finger on the material and stared at him.

Gerald wasn’t sure if he felt flattered she thought him strong, or at least stronger than her, or annoyed at how she always bossed him around. He sighed and punched the needle through both layers. He grinned slightly as the little girl cheered and showed him where to put the next hole.

When they were finished, his hand and arm were sore and tired, but he could now see what Hannah had been describing. A backpack with straps lay before them. He helped Hannah fit it before they added straps across the front to secure it. “Bestia!” Hannah yelled, racing toward the hatchery. “We did it! I can carry you around now!” Gerald sighed again and ran after her, realizing he would have to place the little dragonette in the pack.

The Warlord’s Heart

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excerpt for #LineByLineTime : “Competition”

“How does it feel?” the General asked.

Edward swung the sword gently. “Like an extension of my arm. The balance is perfect.”

Whether it was the cadet’s expressions, their gasps, or the whistle of splitting air behind him, he spun around and met the Warlord’s attack with his blade. The Warlord gave him no time to do anything but defend himself. He barely noticed the cadets moving to the sides of the spacious room.

The two men moved lightly across the floor, the only noise the crashing of the two great swords meeting in midair as they dueled.

“Enough dancing!” the General barked. “Fight like you mean it!”

They didn’t look around but proved they heard her by switching to a two-handed grip on their hilts and slamming the blades together with a power that made objects in the room shudder. Several cadets had their hands across their mouths, terrified of distracting the men with their cries.

“This is why I appointed Edward as an instructor in swordsmanship instead of just a student. He would kill any of you just by sheer reflex,” the General stated.

“What – what about Betsy? Why make her an instructor?” Marissa stammered.

Betsy grinned at the men. “The Warlord likes to use a short blade sometimes. It doesn’t make us equal, but it helps.”

Benedict stared at her, then switched his gaze quickly back to the duel. “You spar with the Warlord?” His deep voice almost squeaked.

Betsy nodded. “And the General, and the Royal Guard. Anyone, really, who is willing to meet me. It helps keep me sharp on assorted styles of fighting and different weapons.”

The contest continued until sweat poured off the two men and their blows slowed, without losing much power as they impacted each other.

Finally, the General bellowed, “HOLD!” and the two froze, their swords stopping just before crashing together once more. The sword points dipped to rest on the floor. The men’s chests heaved. The cadets’ mouths dropped open in shock as the duellists grinned and gripped each other’s forearm in a warrior’s clasp.

The Warlord dipped his head to Edward. “My thanks for not holding back. It’s rare to have anyone besides the General and Betsy to give me an honest workout, and they are both too short to allow me to use my broadsword the way I prefer.” He ignored the General’s rude noise.

Edward straightened his shoulders and saluted. “It would be a dishonor to give you anything but my best.”

The Warlord thumped the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s clear to see how you have survived ten years on the front lines.”

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart”

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For #LineByLineTime : “The Room”

Edward blinked as he took in the bedroom, filled with servants dashing about. One was lighting the fire in the fireplace. Several were hauling pails of steaming water through the room to a door on the side. Lamps were being lit beside the bed and in the attached room. He assumed it was a bathing room, judging by the steaming water. He hoped so. A hot bath and a shave sounded very good to him right now.

“This seems like a rather fine room for a mere courier,” he said with raised eyebrows. He glanced down at the dusty, cobwebbed hair of the maid who had led him to this room.

She surprised him with a nudge of her elbows. “It’s yours, don’t worry. Mrs. Grimsby is the head of housekeeping and assigns the rooms. She has a soft spot for the cavalry, since her husband and all her sons are cavalrymen. She always makes sure any who arrive get the best rooms. Try the bed!”

She tried to tug him towards it, but he fended her off. “Not in these dirty clothes! I need a bath first.”

He wasn’t about to leave marks on the fine furs covering the massive bed. It was magnificent, matching the luxurious room. Richly polished bedposts stretched toward the carved ceiling tiles, with heavily embroidered linen curtains held back with tasseled ropes. He could tell the bed would be a cozy haven when they were closed. The pillows were large and covered in silk, if his eyes didn’t deceive him.

He looked closer at the rest of the room now that the lamps had brightened the area. Finely carved furniture shining with wax polish, big comfortable chairs and side tables. There was a bar against the wall with a tray set with various glasses, a bottle of whiskey and another of wine, a bowl of fruit, a wooden cutting board with various cheeses and breads, and a set of dishes and cutlery. A maid was swinging a pothook over the crackling fire after setting a steaming pot on it. She hung a ladle on a hook beside the fire.

His eyes traveled on. Silk fabric in a rich green and blue striped pattern covered the walls. Beautiful landscapes gave the room a peaceful air. The floor was covered with thick patterned rugs over polished wood.

“Surely even the Warlord’s quarters are not so fine. This is a room fit for a king!” he whispered.

Betsy shrugged. “No. The royal quarters are far larger, and not nearly as comfortable.”

Excerpt from Project Burning Bush

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For #LineByLineTime : “Disgust”

“Firestarter stick,” Luthor replied.  “Magnesium and flint.”  The gadget went back into one of his pockets.  He carefully arranged some small logs on the growing fire before he stood up and dusted off his hands.  “Now to prepare that rattlesnake. The wood should burn down to coals soon.”

“I’m still not eating any nasty snake meat,” Nita declared.  The other three turned but could not see her. Her voice came from above them.  They backed up until they could see her as she swept the horizon with Luthor’s binoculars while laying flat on her stomach on the flat top of the rock they had stopped at.

“More for us,” Luthor said with a shrug, as he had before.  “I just think we need to stretch our supplies as long as we can.”  He looked at Harper and Minji, frowning.  “Just occurred to me, though.  Do any of you have food with you, like sandwiches or such, that might spoil?  We might need to eat it with the rattlesnake, so it doesn’t go bad.”

“I’ve got a couple of sandwiches, so I still don’t need snake!” Nita hissed quietly from her perch.

Excerpt from “Project Burning Bush”

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For #LineByLineTime “Guilty”

Minji rubbed her face with both hands. When she sat up on the log, her hands dropping to her lap, her expression was haunted. “I’m a murderer,” she whispered. “I told the seamen who rescued me everyone else had died in a storm, but I killed them.”

Nita raised her eyebrows. “You? The Dragonlady? Miss Prim and Proper? A killer? No way. You passed out after you whacked that soldier. No way you could kill your family.”

Minji’s smile was twisted. “It brought back very bad memories. Memories I worked hard to erase.”

“What, you hit your family members over the head, too?” Harper asked.

“Impossible,” Luthor stated.

“I did not attack them. I poisoned them.”

Nita paced on the other side of the fire. “Was the whole ‘boat refugee’ bit a lie, then?”

Minji shook her head. “No. We escaped my country in a boat and were carried by the current out into the ocean. My father and uncles poisoned everyone but me. But I found the poison. I was so angry. I put it in their food. They liked highly spiced food, so they did not taste it. They died horrible, painful deaths. It took them a while. When they could no longer hurt me, I dragged them to the side of the boat and threw them to the sharks. Some of them were still screaming when the sharks ate them.”

“Sounds like a good ending for them,” Harper commented. “You should be looking satisfied, not guilty.”

“Satisfied? I am a murderer, just like them! I have never wanted to kill anyone in my life! I was a child! I killed my father!”

Nita stopped in front of Minji and held the other girl’s face with tight fingers and stared into her eyes, nose to nose. “You survived. They were killers. Not you. You were a survivor. You did what you had to, and avenged the other family members they killed. You remember that. You. Are. Not. A. Murderer!”

Excerpt from Project Burning Bush

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For #LineByLineTime : By Moonlight

“Whatever,” Nita shrugged and jerked her head toward the Spaniards’ camp. “Let’s get to work. I want to hear what’s up.”

They slipped with careful footsteps up to the camp perimeter. Harper nudged Nita, pointing with a grin at a sleeping guard. Nita rolled her eyes and eased past some cactus. They found a spot just beyond the firelight behind some trees and stretched out on the ground. Harper lay with his head pointed away from the camp, watching their rear.

Long moments passed as Nita listened to the soldiers talk, drink, and often make rude noises with various belches and other bodily noises. Sometimes they broke out into song. Suddenly she tensed and Harper looked warily behind himself, but nobody had noticed them.

Finally, she rose to a crouch and jerked her head at him, moving slowly away from the camp. The perimeter guard was still sleeping. They moved faster to the trail they had come down and when they reached it, she started running. Harper’s mouth dropped open, but he took off after her. Both still made no noise as they ran. They only slowed to ease through tight spots of brush.

At last, they reached the Apache camp. Harper grabbed Nita’s arm and held up a finger as she jerked to a stop and whirled on him, fury on her face. He shook his head and held up his finger again. Putting his hands to his mouth, he trilled a soft birdsong. “Don’t want to get attacked rushing in there,” he whispered. “Minji has a mean swing with that staff.”

Nita smiled but it looked strained. She hurried on to the opening of the clearing. Everybody came to their feet as they entered.

“What did you hear?” Minji demanded.

“I heard enough to know we need to kill all of them and get to that settlement as fast as possible!” Nita panted.

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart”

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For #LineByLineTime: Birthday

The Warlord glanced up as his aide tapped his door. “Come.”

The seemingly always nervous young man opened the door just enough to peer around it. Since the Warlord did not look upset, he relaxed enough to show his entire face. “Beg your pardon, milord, but his lordship, I mean, Lord Whitley has asked to speak to you.”

“Send him in, then. I’ll let you know if I need you to take notes.”

His aide took a deep breath and threw the door open wide. He cleared his throat and announced loudly, “Lord Whitley!”

The Warlord kept his face very still and neutral. His expression nearly broke as Lord Whitley bustled in, rolling his eyes as he passed the young aide.

“Fine, boy, fine, we know each other, no need for introductions! Off with you now, he’ll call if he needs you.” Lord Whitley waved his hands at the young man, shooing him away.

The aide blinked at the pudgy lord, then at the Warlord. The Warlord managed to nod, and the lad hurried out, closing the door carefully. The two men managed to contain their laughter until the door closed all the way.

When he could finally speak again, the Warlord leaned back in his chair. “Now, Whitley, I assume this is about the coronation ceremony?”

Whitley sighed and sank into a chair on the other side of the desk. “The coronation, the Princess’ birthday, the graduation of the officers…”

“What, all three?”

“Oh yes. All thanks to Princess Alexandria. It seems she doesn’t want separate celebrations. No, no, she wants to combine them all!”

“How on earth did she decide on that?”

“That’s what I wanted to know! When I asked, she told me three separate celebrations were ridiculous when all the nobility would be present for the graduation, and everybody including the common folk would be celebrating her coronation, and since it would be her birthday all on the same day, why have separate occasions?” The colorfully dressed lord leaned forward over the desk. “She said it would save money!” he whispered loudly.

The Warlord laughed and slapped the desk with an open palm. “I can just hear her father saying that! Alex was always keeping a close eye on the royal treasury. He couldn’t do anything about his wedding to the Queen, but when Alexandria was born, remember how he insisted everything be more sedate?”

Whitley nodded, a fond look on his face. “I remember him saying he refused to leave his soldiers wanting for supplies, when they were there to protect his daughter. A very quiet celebration it was here in the palace.”

The Warlord chuckled. “And how loud it was outside it! But Alex just shrugged and said as long as the money wasn’t coming out of the royal treasury, the subjects could do as they wished. He never allowed his men to go without.”

His companion laughed until he wheezed and slapped his silk-covered leg. “Remember how outraged that one diplomat was to be offered common beef roast and wine instead of some fancy dish and champagne? Alex told him to be grateful he wasn’t getting soldiers’ rations. And when the diplomat appealed to Queen Beatrice, she laughed at him and said she enjoyed marriage to a wise steward instead of a spendthrift.”

“Heh. That silenced him, since he was here to ask for a loan for his kingdom after his king emptied his royal purse on expensive foolishness. But Alexandria is following her father’s example even more closely, eh?”

“Aye. She ordered that the graduation of the cadets be held in the morning, followed immediately by her coronation. Then she would go out to the common folk and join the celebrations they chose to have.” The man drooped. “I was so looking forward to arranging some grand parties and festivals, feasts and music, and fancy dress…”

The Warlord nodded slowly. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. She said there’s a war going on, and the money was better spent on it.”

Lord Whitley wrinkled his nose. “Ah, you know her so well!”

“I knew her father even better,” the Warlord said wryly, and sighed. “She’s so much like him, it twists my heart sometimes, even though the older she gets, the more she looks like her mother.”

“Queen Alexandria,” Lord Whitley muttered, and looked over the desk. “I hear rumors of a possible interesting young man?” His eyebrows bounced up and down. “Perhaps I can create a grand wedding?”

The other man sighed. “A royal wedding? Who knows? I’m not sure the young man even knows of her interest.”

Whitley drummed his fingers on his knee. “And what of Betsy?” he asked softly. “What is her opinion?”

“She fully approves, and is determined to see it done. She told me I would accept it, and no arguments!”

“That sounds like Betsy, alright. Alexandria might hesitate on a decision, but Betsy will charge forward like a siege weapon.” The two men shared an expression of longsuffering.

Excerpt from Tales of the Lunatics

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For #LineByLineTime : Inexperienced or Naive?

Striker pointed her tail at the shackled male and scowled. “Show some respect for the Den Mother!”

The male tipped his head sideways. “Den Mother? What’s a Den Mother?” His repetition of her intonation showed he understood it was a title.

Everybody in the den stared at him. He looked around and shrugged. “What? We had no mothers in the prison mines. No one was allowed to mate.”

Striker sat back on her haunches and curled her tail into a question. “Didn’t you have a pack before you were placed in the mines? Where did you live before you were sentenced?”

Loper and Shadowstalker came close to him. Their tails curled as well. “How long have you been in the mines? What was your crime, anyway?” Loper asked.

The male shrugged again. Without a tail, he could not communicate easily. “I don’t remember anything before prison. I did ask why I was there. They said I murdered a female.”

Moonsinger sucked in a breath. “You murdered a female? Who?”

“No idea. Like I said, I don’t remember anything before the prison. I know I was a lot smaller when I first woke. It’s been a while, I think.”

Moonsinger rubbed her chin with the tip of her claw. “Children are not to be placed in prison. Not even youths. Do you remember how many moltings you went through?”

The male laughed. “Too many to remember.”

Striker rocked back and forth on her tail. “You know nothing of pack life then. Nothing of a den mother, a pack leader, alphas, betas, omegas?”

The male waved a front limb, still bloody from the fight with the rogue. “I had a work team of males and females. I told them what to do and they did it. I made sure they were fed and watered, and protected them from the guards. We worked the mine, ate, drank, and slept. That’s been all I’ve known – that I can remember. Then I was taken away from my team, shackled, and told I had to go with these two. If you want me to show respect, you’ll have to explain what you want.”

Moonsinger stared at the older female. “He’s a blank slate. We’ll have to teach him EVERYTHING!”

Excerpt from “Project Promised Land”

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For #LineByLineTime : “Get Out of Bed!”

“Nita! You awake? Wake up, already!”

Nita groaned loudly, and waved her hand feebly. “Lemme alone, Chico! I feel like I been beat up again. Oh, my head! Ask Luthor for some aspirin or something. Ow!” She wrapped her arms around her head and rolled to her back, because the front of her head ached almost enough to make her cry, and she never cried.

“You weren’t beat up, but you hit your forehead. Do you remember everything?”

“Enough, already! Don’t ask me questions unless you’re holding a cup of strong coffee! Has anybody invented it yet on this timeline? Or did a miracle happen and we got back home? Please say we got back home.”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

She groaned again and touched her forehead with a wary finger and winced. “Man, I’ve got the headache from hell!” Her head moved from side to side as she blinked. Then she sighed in deep annoyance.

“Look, Lizard Boy, you’d better have a really good excuse for waking me up before dawn. Can’t you at least turn on a flashlight or light a candle, for Pete’s sake? Are we having to hide? Where is everybody else? Is Tweetie okay? Did she have the baby?” She sat up abruptly and grabbed Harper’s shoulder. “Why are we in the dark? Are we hiding in the caves?”

Harper’s mouth moved but no sound emerged. He stared around at the others standing around Nita’s bed. They stared back, as helpless as he to find words. A breeze sighed through the open window, stirring the dust motes into dancing in the sunbeams illuminating the room.

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart”

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For #LineByLineTime: Survivor

Marissa came awake slowly. She quickly wished she were still unconscious. Her body sent an urgent message and she rolled over as fast as she could to get her mouth over the edge of the bed. Strong hands caught her before she rolled off the bed and held her in place. She opened her eyes just in time to see a bucket shoved under her face.

Her stomach heaved again and again. Finally, she had nothing left to spew and rolled back again with the help of the unknown owner of the hands. A damp cloth wiped her sweating face and a strong arm went around her back to lift her to a sitting position.

“Here,” a familiar deep voice said softly in her ear. “Take a sip of this and wash your mouth out. I know that poison left a terrible taste in it.”

She forced heavy eyelids up and gasped at the sight of Benedict’s face so close to her.

“Poison?” she managed to whisper.

“Sip, then we’ll talk,” he ordered gruffly, and pressed a cup to her lips. Head whirling, she sipped automatically and obediently swished it in her mouth and spit it into the bucket. Benedict held her securely. She found herself wondering if her jumpy stomach was due to the poison he spoke of or his presence. Why was he caring for her? Where was everybody else? Where was Betsy? What had happened?