The Last Dragon – Excerpt 1
Scene set - Prince Hawkyns is
searching for an evil sorcerer and a demon dragon. He believes he has found the
home of the sorcerer and is searching inside.
Fear crept out of its hiding place and placed its cold hand around
Hawkyns’ heart.
His nerves were so strained, they were raw. He fought to remain calm. The
fear grew bolder and spread though his limbs. His breathing grew shallow.
He feared if something as small as a mouse scurried out from under the
door he would jump and yell like the most half-witted kitchen maid.
What is wrong with me? I am
a knight. Enough of this foolishness.
The trembling in his limbs made his sword tap against his leg.
He placed his fingers on the latch, lifted it and waited. No squeak of
rusty metal to alert anyone. The movement didn’t bring about the shout of
impatient attackers. He pushed the door. It opened. He waited.
No sound.
His heart beat wildly in his chest. He gulped deep breaths and exhaled
them slowly—silently.
As he reached forward a loud No!
sounded in his head. There might be
danger. Leave. Leave now. Run!
What is wrong with me? I
must go in. Find the enemy. Slay the dragon.
Run. Leave!
I will not run. I am a knight.
Pushing with his hand, he edged the door open a fraction more.
The Last Dragon – Excerpt 2
He held the newborn in his hands,
unable to move or speak.
Mirth dropped back onto the cot.
Sweat dripped from her. “Is she… he…”
A wail startled Hawkyns from his
reverie. He laid the babe in her mother’s arms.
“She is here? So soon?” Derry’s
voice startled him. He turned. Derry pressed him towards the door. “Out. Ye
have done yer job. There are things I must see to.”
Relieved to be freed from such
terrifying confusion Hawkyns walked to the abbot’s rose garden and settled on a
bench. The air was calm. The night was warm. He looked down at his blood
covered hands. Many times his hands had been bloodied. Sometimes they had
caused death. Other times, they held a friend on the edge of death. But this
moment was blessed. He had held new life. Joy and grief swept through him. Joy
for the birth mixed with grief at his loss. The tears streaming down his cheeks
were in anguish for the child he would never hold. His son. Damnation to the dragon that stole them. His
blood is the blood I want to rinse from my hands.
Walking to the nearby mill pond,
Hawkyns washed his hands, wiping them dry on his pants then returned to his
spot on the bench. Tiredness climbed up his legs and through his body. A faint
ray of light shone in the east. The birth of a new day.
He had met his angel and learned
her name. And witnessed the birth of a new life. What wondrous experiences
would this new day hold?
The Last Dragon Excerpt 3
Scene set – Derry has the power to
heal. She had run across an injured stranger and healed him then the townsfolk
came and took him into the town.
It had taken much of her powers to
heal him. It weakened her. After she had eased the old woman’s aches, she’d barely
been able to resist the wrong attentions of the wool merchant. Shaken by his
attack, she’d returned home and sat upon the rock to heal. She’d forced the
thoughts of the wool merchant’s actions out of her mind and focused on the
stranger. He’d opened his eyes and gazed into hers. At first, his eyes were
filled with pain, but that turned to peace. She knew then he would live.
The sun warmed her cheeks. She
glanced out at the ocean with the picture of the man in her mind. Maybe I shall see him again. I would like
that. A pang of anger shot through her. If
only… She stood, brushing sand off her skirt. If only he had not been taken to the wool merchant’s cottage. Ailith
and Isa will claim him.
They would not love him. They no
longer had the ability to do so. The dragon had ripped love from their soul and
it saddened Derry that she could not heal them. She’d tried, but they’d refused
her. They called her powers evil. She tried to explain to the villagers that
her gift was good, but they cowered and backed away. Or worse, yelled foul
words and threatened her.
It terrified her they could be
speaking the truth. She'd raced to the abbey to beg forgiveness at the feet of
the Father Abbot. She did not know why she had the power to heal. With a
trembling voice, she confessed she feared her power was evil. She was evil.
He'd comforted her and told her she’d been blessed with a gift from God that
the villagers were not able to understand.
“When one is different, others
fear it as evil,” the abbot said. “When Ayrradex attacked our village, they
were touched by his breath and no powers―mine,
nor yer’s―can cure that perverted taint.
Their souls may be forever lost to God because of the blackness shrouding them.
I pray for them and the others daily.”
The Last Dragon Excerpt 4
The clatter of metal interrupted
their conversation. The abbot rounded the hedge’s corner, struggling with the
load of a sword, shield and the reins of a saddled steed. He placed the armour
on the bench. “These are for ye. They were left by a young knight who died.”
The abbot nodded towards the abbey cemetery. “He lies yonder in our consecrated
ground. The dragon was too much for him. I pray they will help ye protect the
babe and defeat the scourge that plagues us.”
Hawkyns lifted the blade and
checked it. He turned the shield. A wave of pain rolled off him and hit Derry.
Cringing, she dropped to her knees. Hawkyns knelt beside her, concern covering
his brow. She placed her fingers on his cheek. “Ye knew him? The knight whose
shield that is.” She nodded towards the bench. “I felt yer pain.”
“Aye. I know this shield.” He held
out his hand and helped her stand. “He was a brave knight. See, these
interlaced annulets and shafted arrow. This is the shield of my younger
brother, Adon. It will be an honour to carry his weapon.”
Screams filled the air. Derry
gripped her head. The rage was too much. She could not push it away.
A monk raced to the side of the
abbot. “People at the gate. With torches and knives and… and… The monastery is
attacked. They want the babe.” He clutched at his chest, trying to inhale air.
Hawkyns slipped his arm through
the shield’s straps and gripped his weapon. Derry could sense the anger
building in him. It wasn’t evil anger. It was the anger of a knight knowing he
must right an injustice.
“Derry, stay back here. Take the
horse and hide in the herbarium. I will get the child and return.”
The abbot stood in front of
Hawkyns, barring his attack. “Ye cannot kill anyone within the walls of the
abbey. This is a place of peace. Of God.”
Hawkyns flinched. “But if they
kill yer brothers?”
The monk lowered his head. “'Tis
God’s will.”
Hawkyns’ knuckles turn white from
the grip on his sword. Frustrated anger filled his brow.
Father Jacobus raised his hand.
“Do not fight me on this, my son. Swear, in the eyes of God, that ye will not
kill within the walls of Baswich Abbey.”
Hawkyns knelt and placed the point
of his sword on the ground and rested his forehead on the cross-shaped hilt. “I
swear I will kill no one on abbey grounds.”
The abbot made the sign of the
cross over him. “Go. Save the child.”
The Last Dragon – Excerpt 5
Scene set – Prince Hawkyns and Derry, having completed a rescue mission
are temporarily housed in a nunnery. Hawkyns speaks first.
“Baswich Abbey is no more. It has been burned to the ground.”
“The people burned…”
Hawkyns shook his head. “A dragon. He flew in breathing hellfire. The
village—” He closed his eyes and heaved a dejected sigh. “Pariset’s father told
me to take his son. Protect him. Do not let the dragon steal his soul. The
horse struggled with all of us. He jumped off. I searched for him, but had to
give up to get his mother here.”
He slammed his hand on the table. His mug of ale shook.
A soft cough sounded behind them. The Mother Superior stood with her
hands folded. “I fear ye may not stay. We have no rooms for a man.”
“But—” Derry was silenced by the gentle pressure of Hawkyns’ hand on
hers.
“I can sleep rough. 'Tis early autumn, but the evenings are still warm. A blanket
would be most appreciated.”
The nun bowed her head and exited.
Anger darkened Derry’s brow. “'Tis not fair. Ye risked yer life—”
“The sisters leave the world as we know it. Men are not part. I will find
a quiet place and bed down. My bones are so weary I could lay on a pile of
rocks and snore so loud I’d make the forest tremble.” He finished his stew and
showed her the empty dish. “In the morning, I will search for Pariset. I will
find him and return him to his mother.”
He did not need to wait until morning. A loud smash against the nunnery’s
thick, wooden front door and a yell, we
have the boy, signalled where Pariset was. “Give us the babe and we will
not hurt the boy or the sisters.”
Hawkyns gulped the last of his ale and stood. Derry wanted to yell for
him not to go, but she knew that was selfish and wrong. He was a knight. A
protector. He had to go. Even though deep in her heart she knew this was the
man she could love and that letting him walk into the mob meant his certain
death, she said nothing as he walked away.
Her lips held back words while her heart screamed with fear.
The
Birth of the Story – The Last Dragon
Generally, I am a contemporary, romance
writer. I have dabbled in fantasy, but it was a modern day, urban fantasy. A
mentor mentioned that in one of my earlier books, he kept expecting a dragon to
appear. My response – I laughed. End of story.
Or, so I thought.
That dragon took on a life of its own. It
flew around in my head until I conceded and started writing the story. I belong
to a couple of in-person writer groups where over months I read the first two
chapters. The members started asking questions which triggered ideas which lead
to plot lines which added to the story.
But during this, something else happened. I
shifted from writing hot romances to sweet. The genteelness and innocence of
Derry was wrong for a smouldering romance.
I was really working in the cliché of uncharted waters – a medieval fantasy
and a sweet romance. Give my head a shake!
Then quarantine hit and the in-person
meetings stopped. I was saddened by this as I was enjoying the reactions to the
story. We have a 750-word limit for each reading, so these people were only
getting tidbits of story at a time and I had gotten pretty good at ending each
reading with a hook.
I paused getting the finished book ready for
publication, but the dragon kept nattering at me. And now I present the final
product – The Last Dragon.
But I should mention that an off-shoot of
this book has suddenly pushed its way to front. Now I have trolls running
around in my head. Le sigh - the life of a writer.
Thank you for spotlighting my latest - The Last Dragon.
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