Category Archives: Writing

Idea Wrangling- Pixies

One of my favorite books when I was little was The Borrowers. I love the idea of little people coexisting with humans. Living in the walls, crawlspaces, and forgotten attics while they carefully scavenge things while living in secret. In fact, one of my first stories was about being shrunken down and my adventures.

As a parent now I spend a lot of time watching animated movies. While I might be watching cartoons and such without kids the selection would be different. For a good stretch of time one of my goblins loved the Tinkerbell movies that Disney had going. We watched them quite a lot and, as we usually do, my wife and I started to overthink the stories.

The place they live is called Pixie Hollow and they have Pixie Dust, but they are all called Fairies. Not once are any of the characters called Pixies. They did come up with the name ‘sparrowmen’ for the male fairies (which is a cool term) but the Pixie/Fairy thing wasn’t answered. Granted, I didn’t read the attached books. If that is where the information rests then I have yet to disturb its slumber.

Couple with the movies such as Epic (shudder), Strange Magic, and The Secret World of Arrietty  I’ve started to consider an attempt to start a project.

This is the part where I try to organize some of the rambling in my head. You have been warned.

It would be set in a town, or city, where people live unaware of the little world around them. There would be different sorts of people (fairies, pixies, & brownies) as well as small magical creatures. Animals would play a part, but most would lack the ability to speak. Pixies and brownies would not have wings while living in buildings, crawlspaces, and such. The main separation between those two peoples would be nomadic vs a settled way of life. Fairies would have wings and stick to parks and gardens.

Magic is something I’ve considering as well. Each kind of people would have their own sort of magic. It would be tailored for to fit their way of life. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out. Fairies would have magic based around plants. Pixies could have something connected to scavenging, tracking, or maybe even camouflage. Brownies would have magic similar to Pixies, but I was thinking something closer attached to crafting.

Luckily, I’ve got the plot settled. I’m worried about how to get the tone and world settled. Thanks for reading.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Writing

Short Story- Inspection

Thalc pulled his breather mask into place. He took a moment to make sure it fit correctly on his face. The mist was thick near the edge and even after all these years it still made him dizzy. Any more than two deep breaths and he’d have to pull back out of the clouds and he’d need an hour or so to recover enough for another attempt. Some said that fact alone was proof that someone had made these floating lands. The builders being gods, man, or something else depended on who was speaking. He had lost count over the years how many scholars and priests had been lost to the mists trying to find answers. What about the thick mists made the lands float? Why did the lands stay to their gentle migrations? Was there something below the mists? The answer to those questions were variation of people falling to their deaths. Whatever caused the mists held up islands of varying sizes, but didn’t extend to hapless idiots who fell over the edge.

He hooked the latch on his belt to the lead once his mask was secure. The rail extended below the edge of the island. It connected to another sturdy pipe he’d shimmy his feet along. Thalc hated this part of the job. His post was at the edge of the mist and he’d warn people that got too close. Most of the time his daily task was a simple redirection of travelers to one of the raised bridges nearby. Today was not one of those days. No, today he had to inspect the chains.

Years ago, no one knew how long exactly, someone had bound smaller islands together. The links were easily as thick as his chest. They said that a few hundred normal sized chains ran under the lengths of the bridges, but those were built when he was a boy. Somehow the islands stayed in a close enough migration that allowed them to be linked without ever touching. Scholarly types attributed that miracle to the mists too.

Thalc checked his harness as he neared the edge. This was the worst part. He didn’t know why it even had to be done. Someone alone the way had decided the chains needed to be regularly inspected. Toss it to the mists that no one knew how they were built, or how to fix them if something went wrong.

He put his back to the edge of the island as he slipped down flat onto the ground. Slowly he shimmied back into the mist. For an eternity his booted feet hung out into nothingness. This was how his nightmares started. His feet dangling into the mist, the harness pulled taught, and then he’d fall. Luckily, this wasn’t his nightmares. His feet found the jagged edge of the island as the tether pulled taught. He leaned back, gripped the rail, and began his descent into the mist.

After this excursion to the chain he’d have forty days before it had to be repeated. That was unless someone complained. Some cloudborn noble inland would send it down the line that they wanted the chain inspected. The rainy season was the worst of it. A little hard thunder and people who had never even seen the edge thought the chains were shaking.

The tether clinked against the first joint. Thalc latched his secondary line onto the rail, swapped his main down to the new section, and continued his descent. For some reason once he was over the edge he didn’t mind the mist as much. It wasn’t something he wanted to to dwell on. Maybe it was because on the edge he could still see the land while down here it was just the mist. If he fell it wouldn’t be much different than the climb. The mask helped him see through the mist. It gave the world an amber tint and cycled his breath through two chambers.

He feet found the bar at the end of the tether. His hands moved in practiced motions to change the lines over. The progress along the bar was something of a dance. Step, step, pull, latch, and repeat. Tap, tap, brrip, click. Tap, tap, brrip, click. He found the little rhythm had worked into the small moments of his day. Tap, tap, brreng, clank.

Thalc looked down at the line. The lead had pulled away from the island. So much so that it curled back toward him and ended in the mist. He clipped his tether back to the secured section and pulled himself tight against the island. His heart thundered in his chest as he looked for any sign as to what could have done this. There weren’t any claw marks, which meant harpies and cliff birds were out. That was a small blessing. A harpy strong enough to pull the line would have had him for breakfast before he’d be able to scream.

He inched his way closer to get a better look at the ground where the bar had once been. Something big had scrapped along. It had to be a ship. Hopefully one set to drift. A ghost ship in the mists. It happened. Those hit by pirates, bad weather, or fallen to the beasts of the mists were left to drift in the mists until they were smashed to bits or pulled for salvage.

Thalc didn’t want to think about the other option, which of course meant that was where his mind went. He began his slow climb back up to the ledge. Smugglers weren’t uncommon. They’d fly in the thicker parts of the mist to avoid detection. He wasn’t against smugglers. Pirates on the other hand. Some said the mists drove them crazy. They said that their ships would simply appear. Death, pain, and terror was the only thing they traded.

He pulled himself over the edge, unhooked his tethers, and rushed out of the mist. His legs wobbled after a few steps. Thalc made it to his his guard shack. He shut the thick door tight, locked it, and slid down to the floor. Once his heartbeat returned to normal he realized his job was not yet complete. He carefully removed the clutter from around the signal light and tapped out a message. The message was brief. He stuck to the facts.

Inspection incomplete. Rail damaged. Signs point to crash. Thalc.

He looked inland and waited for someone to answer. Hopefully someone on the other side knew what to do.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Short Fiction, Writing

Fiction related post ahead…

A while ago I discovered that there’s a couple of genres: Sword and Soul & Steamfunk.

They’re Sword and Sorcery & Steampunk with an African/African-American influence instead of European. At the time I didn’t realize why there needed to be a separate distinction, but I figured it out.

I’ve got a tumblr that’s pretty much dedicated to cool fantasy and science fiction artwork. In the last week I’ve seen maybe a handful of non-white character. Science Fiction is a little better than Fantasy, but it’s still heavily white. We’re talking Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, and all these fantastical people too.

How does that make sense? How can a genre grow if it ignores and casts entire cultures as side characters?

I wish I could say that I’m doing better, but most of my characters are white-ish. Why don’t I write more people of color? Why don’t I make my MC a POC? Well, I guess it’s because unless I create a completely new culture for that person I’d have a constant fear that I’d be misrepresenting it. Yeah, sure, fiction is what you make of it, but if I’m using the one of the many African cultures as a base, I’d want to do it right.

The Zulu people for example. How are they not ALL OVER steampunk? They kicked the British Empire in the teeth. Add airships, steam-driven machines, and you’ve got some awesome potential there. Is Zulu the right term? I grew up around the Navajo people, but they don’t refer to themselves as Navajo. They’re The Diné.

Should I allow my anxiety to misrepresent a culture as an excuse not inspire a living world? No. Forget that. Use that to fuel the drive for research. If I want to get a culture right, I should make sure it is. The internet is amazing these days. Pretty sure I could find someone to talk to about it.

That’s all for now. Have a good week. Tip your wait-staff.

.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Rant, Writing

Random Sci-Fi

Owen blinked his new eyes as the lights came on. They adapted quicker than he expected and he found himself facing a display screen with a friendly face smiling at him.

“Good morning, Owen Phillips,” the voice that came out had a modulated edge. “Your orientation will soon begin. Please report to the company liaison once your physical evaluation has completed. Scans of the communication array has identified seven local languages. They have been added to your training. You have seven hundred and fifty-three unread messages.”

The hatch to his pod popped open with a hiss. Owen sat up and looked around. This was his first trip across a galaxy, but he was pretty sure that this wasn’t the docking bay. Red baked earth dotted with thorny underbrush and orange cacti. His pod was lodged in a sun bleached boulder and as far as he could see, he was the only one around.

It was then that Owen realized that he was entirely naked. A panel slid open on the opened hatch to display a thin robe and slipper. Owen put on the robe, tied it shut as best as he could, and put on the provided shoes. He stood up in the pod and found that the slippers were about as thin as the robe.

The sound of an engine growled as a vehicle trundled into sight. It kind of looked like a truck, but the cab was a roll-cage with glass panels attached to a flatbed. The vehicle bounced along the terrain toward him. Owen watched as the truck pulled to a stop near the pod. A thin, ragged man in dusty worn coveralls with one missing sleeve. The guy wiped his forehead with his bare arm and limped over to the pod.

He gave the slightest of nod to Owen as he walked to the back of the truck. The ragged man unhooked a set of chains that ended in hooks and attached them to the pod.

“What are you doing?” Owen asked.

“What?” The thin guy looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” His brain switched to match the language.

“Taking the pod,” the guy attached one of the hooks and moved on.

“Why?”

The guy looked at him, then at the pod. “what year did you launch?”

“Twenty-two eighty-six,” Owen said as he walked along the truck to get a better look at it.

“They freeze you or CCT?”

“CCT?”

“Clone Consciousness Transfer.”

“Yeah,” Owen said. He nodded and looked down at his new hands. “Cloned.”

“Brain should be working fine,” the guy went back to work. “Lots of problems with the frozen ones.”

“That’s,” Owen held the word as he looked back at the guy. “Good?”

The thin guy shrugged as he attached the second hook, “good. Bad. Don’t matter.”

“You’re not with the company are you?” Owen didn’t see any company logos or patches on the coveralls.

“Nope,” the guy looked up and gave a gapped smile. “Independent salvage.”

Owen blinked and looked from the truck to the pod, “you’re taking the pod for salvage.”

“Yep,” the guy hooked the last connection up and walked back to the truck. “What company were you with?”

“Fesilan Mining.”

“Never heard of them.”

Owen blinked again, “what year is it?”

The thin guy tapped his left temple lightly. “June fifth, Thirty-two twelve, Galactic Standard.”

Owen suddenly found it hard to breath.

“You alright?” The ragged guy flipped open a box on the side of the flatbed.

“That’s nearly a thousand years.”

“Yep,” the guy pulled a lever.

The chains began to slowly tighten. Moment by agonizing moment the pod slid from its rocky casing. Owen wobbled as his brain tried to process the news. The new gray matter worked even better as the mush he had been born with. A flood of emotion and memories were eased away into the sound of rain. Owen found his breathing and pulse returning to normal.

“The trip was supposed to take two hundred and fifty years,” Owen said as he watched the pod move. It jolted from the stone and kicked up a cloud of red dust as it clunked onto the ground.

“That’s sub light drives for you,” the guy didn’t bother to look up from his panel.

“Did the ship crash?” Owen looked up at the sky around them. He didn’t seen any streaks through the atmosphere or massive plumes of smoke.

“No,” the guy laughed. “We’d all be dead.”

“What do I do?” Owen held the back of his robe closed as he sat down on a nearby rock. “Is there a company rep I can talk to?”

“I don’t know, kid,” the guy shrugged. “I’m just here for the pod.”

“It’s my pod,” Owen yelled as he stood up.

The guy pulled a wallet-sized block of plastic from his pocket, “by right of professional salvage I claim this pod and its contents, living, dead, or otherwise. You’re out of the pod. You ain’t my problem.”

A rectangular holographic display projected from the box. A long block of text scrolled along. Owens’ new eyes were able to read the words even from about ten feet away. It was a long winded legal version of what the guy had just said. The final sub clause stated that anything outside of the original discovery would require an additional declaration. An addendum stated that living humans, cloned or otherwise, were not eligible for salvage as they fell under the jurisdiction of the slavers guilds.

“Slavers?” Owen yelled.

“No,” the guy huffed, but Owen couldn’t tell if it was out of insult or disappointment. “I just do mechanics and non-humans.”

The thin guy turned to look at the horizon as the pod made it to the edge of the flatbed. He held up a hand and squinted into the distance. The guy casually strolled over to the panel before he spoke.

“Those are slavers,” he pointed to a trio dust trails.

Owen looked to the where the guy was pointing. His new eyes zoomed in to see three roll-cage type vehicles more akin to the bastard spawn of a dune buggy and a minivan heading their way. Instead of clear panels they were blacked out completely. Judging by their speed and the terrain the three buggies would be there within five minutes.

The pod settled into position on the flatbed. Owen watched as the thin man hopped up next to the salvage and closed the hatch. The thin man did a quick check of the chains before he dropped back to the ground. He opened the cab of the truck.

“Take me with you,” Owen blurted out.

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s better than slavery.”

“They aren’t coming for me,” the guy patted the pocket where the plastic devise was. “I’m legit.”

“Yeah, but they’re after me.”

“What’s the big deal?” The guy settled into his seat and closed the door. “They’ll give you a job, a place to sleep, and clothes.”

“I’ll be a slave.”

“What’s you’re training?” The guy sighed and fired up his engine.

“Efficiency Specialist.” Owen replied. “I can fill in wherever they needed me.”

“What makes you think being on your own would be any better?” The guy patted his truck. “I know I make it look good, but you’d be surprised how many people sell themselves into slavery within the first year of hatching. They’re an official guild, it’s on the level.”

“Section two, paragraph three, and subsection ‘a’ states that a human with functional mental facilities in proximity of salvage with a claim on said salvage has the right to a dispute,” Owen recited the words from memory. “I bet those slavers would back my claim on this pod as witnesses.”

“You’d still be a slave.”

“You’d be out of your salvage,” Owen crossed his arms and squared his shoulders.

The guy glared down at Owen, “fine. Get in.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Science Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Animal Control & Rescue

Simon looked at the beast that towered over him and wondered how it had found him. A sharp pain in his right arm reminded him of the bloody gash he had received crashing his car into one of the creatures pack mates. Blood trail, stupid rookie mistake, and possibly his last.

The beast looked like a polar bear mated with a gorilla and then got really angry. He knew what it was, a North-American Yeti, usually they stuck to the wildernesses of Canada and even then they weren’t much of an issue but somehow this one and the three that followed it had found their way into Northern Maine, and that was part of Simon’s territory. Technically, Vermont, Maine, Massacheusets, and New York excluding New York City were his territory but that was just arguing semantics.

Taking down the first two while fully stocked and with use of all his limbs was hard, using his car to smash the third one was a desperate move, now he was down to one arm and his gun nowhere to be found. He always wondered how he was going to die, ever since starting this job he knew it wasn’t going to be in bed surrounded by grandkids. Well, there was a chance he would die surrounded by someone else’s grandchildren but then he would probably be a meal and that was a scenario for another day.

He tried to remember what the manual said about Yeti. Was the plural Yetis or Yetii or just Yeti? No time for that now, his brain was wondering, the pain was making him loose focus.

“Yeti,” he said looking into the black orbs of the creature. “Prefers colder climate and enjoys a diet of small game. You are supposed to be extremely territorial but mostly harmless.”

The Yeti growled as it took another step closer to him. One more step and it would be able to grab him and that would be the end. He tried not to move and then it clicked in his mind.

“Catches game by frightening its prey into stillness,” Simon rushed forward and hopped to the side as a large hand reached out for him. “You’re big and scary but slow and stupid.”

Diving under another swipe of a clawed hand he ran back along the creatures tracks. Yeti were notorious for living in caves or creating natural cover by bending trees, if there were any survivors they would be there. Once he found them he would come up with more of a plan.

Adrenaline kicked in, the pain in his arm dulled and the cool winter air was refreshing and brisk. The tracks were easy to follow and he soon found himself facing the opening of an ice cave. Natural run-off had frozen to create a hollowed out area against a rock face. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that it was beautiful.

The Yeti was close behind him, they were slow moving but big and once they sped up all that mass they didn’t stop easily. An idea went formed in his mind and he stood on the other side of the ice wall, waiting for the beast. Just as he found the perfect spot the Yeti came into view, charging straight at him and bellowing a roar that made his teeth rattle. With every step closer the beast picked up speed.

Simon dove to the right, sliding face first like a runner praying to steal home, and the Yeti crashed head first into ice wall and bursting on through.

“Oh crap,” he turned over and looked at the chunk of missing ice.

The ice wall was supposed to stop it. Reaching with his uninjured hand to his right pocket he pulled the large tranquilizer needle and uncapped it. He had to move quickly, it would probably still be stunned.

Closing one eye and walking into the cave he could see the Yeti sprawled across the floor of the cave. One of its arms was bent at an odd angle and he was pretty sure its left foot wasn’t supposed to turn that way. It was still breathing, which he guessed was good.

Unceremoniously he planted the needle in the creature’s hindquarters and depressed the plunger. The thing should be out now for at least a few hours, probably more given its injuries. He sat down, using the Yeti as a seat and reached inside his jacket. He pulled a little black box that almost looked like a garage door opener with a small screen and pressed a button. The screen blinked for a moment then the word ‘received’ scrolled across the three inch display in green blocky letters.

A small whimper brought his attention toward the back of the cave. He really hoped it wasn’t another Yeti, even a little one could be a pain in the ass and he didn’t have any more needles.

“Hello,” a shaky voice called.

“Hello?” He replied standing up. “Who’s there?”

“Oh thank god!” The voice yelled.

A young man, maybe twenty years old rushed from the back of the cave and wrapped his arms around Simon.

“I was so scared,” he sobbed. “It ate Robby and our guide, then it dragged me here. I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re going to be alright now,” Simon patted the young man on his back and tried to ignore the pressure on his injured arm. “Help is coming.”

“Anything you want, I’ll give it to you, anything,” the young man sobbed.

“I could really use some back-up,” he sighed looking at the downed Yeti.

“Done,” the kid nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Simon,” he returned the hug. “Simon Kelevra.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Short Fiction, Urban Fantasy, Writing

In Another Castle- Chapter 3

We moved quickly through the castle. Three guards approached from a side hallway. I took a breath to tell them to stand down, but before I could speak they fell into step with the others. My mouth pressed shut as we kept up the brisk pace. This castle had been my life, these guards were men I’d grown to count as friends, and yet they didn’t even attempt a rescue. Yes, I had chosen this fate, but anyone outside of the ballroom wouldn’t have known, and those in it probably weren’t too happy about it.

I stole a look at one of the guards. A mixture of relief and worry stirred in my chest. I didn’t recognize the man, in fact now that I had a look at him I wondered how I could have mistaken him from any of the guards in the palace. The raised red tattoo that ran across the bridge of his nose made it apparent he wasn’t from around here.

“Where did you get the guards uniforms?” I looked at my draconic betrothed.

“We stole them.” He answered without looking at me.

“And their original owners?”

He didn’t say anything.

“How many of my men did you kill?”

His sharp golden eyes snapped to me. “Only those we had to. Can your men say the same?”

I narrowed my gaze and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?” A faint puff of smoke accented his words.

I realized then that we should have been to the main hall by now. Out of the corner of my eye I began to pick up hints of where were and what our destination would be. We were near the western tower. I kept silent as we moved. This didn’t make sense. The western tower was the tallest of the five that the castle had, but it faced the sea on one side and the castle on the other. Even if they had somehow managed to figure out how to bend space-time, there wasn’t a conduit in the tower. The nearest anchor point was in the courtyard outside behind the main gate and surrounded by two fully stocked guard stations whose sole purpose was to monitor traffic.

“Are you planning on making a last stand in the tower?” I waved a hand at the winding staircase now in front of our group.

Even with the new arrivals, which had totaled nearly twenty, they wouldn’t be able to hold the tower for long. The stairway was wide enough for six wide-shouldered men to walk side-by-side, or fight, which would work in their favor, but this wasn’t the only staircase. Each tower had two separate passages for servants and a central platform that could be raised or lowered floor by floor. The tower would be retaken before sundown.

“Hardly, princess.” Eirikr strode ahead of his followers.

The desert gnomes began to remove their disguises as we wound our way higher. They tossed their stolen jackets on the stairs, most of them used the white frilled shirts to clear out chunks of blue gel from their hair. A couple wiped streaks of the goop to paint designs on their faces, or to simply wipe it on their unsuspecting comrades. Those disguised as guards followed the gnomes lead. I quickly learned that they weren’t even human, the green and red shells on their backs gave it away. A closer look at their skin revealed that it was finely scaled and what I thought were tattoos was natural. The looked similar to Eirikr in appearance with sharp draconic features, but their eyes were more akin to that of a human. None of Eirikrs’ band had looked twice at me, as of yet. I guess sneaking into a hostile castle and stealing a princess doesn’t leave a lot of room for leisure.

Our band more than doubled the higher we got in the tower. Every room, landing, and alcove held a waiting gnome, lizardman, or one of the shelled-folk I did not know the name for. My gown began to stir as wind whipped down the corridor. We reached the top of the tower where even more of loyal troopers waited near the open door. My heart dropped as I looked up at the patch of sky through the door. This was it, I would do my duty, save my kingdom, and avert total invasion. I wasn’t sure yet how plummeting from the tower with the leader of the soon-to-invade horde, but the life of a princess is rarely a fairy tale.

Eirikr strode to the door and waited for the rest of his band to pass through. He held his hand out to me.

“The choice is yours princess.” The dragons’ voice still rumbled, but it was distant thunder on the horizon rather than storming overhead. “Your father gave his word, as did I, but you did not.”

I glared at him. “You doubt my honor.”

He gave a small, slow shake of his head. For a moment I didn’t see him as fearsome dragon, but a king, not unlike my father, with the world on his shoulders. I put my hand in his. He looked down at it and then up at me.

“If we’re going to jump, could we do it toward the sea?” I looked to the doorway. “I’d rather make a splash than a mess on the stone below.”

Eirikr raised his head to the ceiling and let out a quick trio of flames. I was taken aback, maybe he meant to burn me alive. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and the flames settled down into a chuckle. I stared at him, still unsure what caused this outburst.

“Slip into the castle, escort the princess to the tallest tower, and then throw her from it?” Eirikr shook his head. “What kind of plan is that?”

“I assumed you’d be right behind me.”

“Behind you.” Smoke rolled from his nostrils. “No princess, we’re not jumping, we’re leaving. I’ll lead the way.”

He led me out to the tower. His troopers climbed the stone battlement and stepped off.

A moment later they floated back up into sight riding on clumps of cloud. They lazily rose to a thick concentration of dark storm clouds. He pointed a clawed finger at the cluster of cloud and my eyes began to pick out lines through the mist. I raised my free hand and traced the distant edge with my fingertips.

“A ship?” I turned to look at him.

“A fleet.” He waved hand at the other dark clusters that filled the sky around the castle.

Now that I knew what to look for I could pick out at least ten ships nearby. The band of troopers were heading toward the largest ship. I followed Eirikr to the battlements. He stepped up onto the stone and prodded a nearby cloud with his foot. The mists gathered around his foot until I couldn’t see through it. He stepped off the stone fully onto the cloud and dipped down out of view. I watched in wonder as he floated back up and drifted off toward a nearby ship.

I was alone on the top of the tower now. All the troopers and the dragon lord were riding clouds toward their fleet. I looked back at the door that led down into the tower. My father had betrayed his word, I would not. I stepped up onto the battlement and dipped my foot into the mist. The cloud formed around my foot. I closed my eyes and stepped off.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Writing

In Another Castle- Chapter 2

“Guards.” My fathers’ voice rose. There was something in the tone that I didn’t recognize.

“Honor your word, Amanita.” Eirikr the Dragon Lords’ rumble interrupted.

My fathers’ face twisted into something I had not seen since the day my mother died. He raised his hand and waved at Eirikr. “Slay the dragon.”

My mind grasped for answered. How did the leader of an enemy army make into the castle? Did the mystics in the mountains learn how to bend space? I looked to my father to see his face had drained of color. The guards around the room drew their weapons. Eirikr let out a high whistle; a moment later the room erupted in a clatter of noise as serving trays were dumped on the floor. Every gnome in the ballroom brandished wicked long-knives.

“Do you think I would be so easily deceived?” A great row of knife-sharp teeth flashed as the Dragon Lord smiled.

For a moment my gaze jumped from my father to the dragon. The tempo on the dance floor shifted as the fighting started. Potential suitors from across the realms and their entourages found themselves in the middle of a tussle between the royal guards, the desert gnomes disguised as servers, and the small force of lizardmen led by Eirikr.

Two gnomes rushed toward Marius only to have Ludovic boot one to the floor and my short foreign suitor to crown the other was a solid fist.

“My princess,” Marius stepped in front of me. “Please excuse the interruption.”

“Good, Sir Knight.” I held my hand out and took hold of the sword Bellis offered to me. “It is a small thing.”

He looked at the spatha in my hand then back at Bellis who shifted a panel in her long dress closed. She gave a wink to Ludovic, who looked on the verge of proposing marriage, and fell into position on my left. The four of us held our ground as the gnomes turned their attention to my location. Two guards had been stationed on the balcony nearby and they joined our group. I knocked a slippery gnome to the ground with the pommel of my sword and caught sight of Eirikr. The Dragon Lord was closer to me now. His lizardmen had made short work of the guards that tried to stop them.

Two large strides brought Eirikr close enough for his low growl to vibrate my earrings. A single backhand send Ludovic sliding across the floor and a powerful kick tossed Marius out the nearby window. The balcony railing prevented him from taking a long fall, but he didn’t look to be getting up soon. Bellis dipped and danced around three lizardmen as they pushed her farther away from me.

Time slowed as my brain registered the situation. I was alone against this Dragon Lord. The gnomes had busied the guards, the lizardmen had isolated my lady, and Eirikr had dispatched the foreigners. My world was now this dragon and my sword. It all faded away. The kingdom, the looming war, the refugees below.

“Dragon.” I saluted with my sword.

He gave a short nod. “Princess.”

“Terms?” I shifted my feet to adjust for my taller opponent and thanked the gods that I hadn’t chosen the high-heels.

“Your father has already set the terms.” A single clawed finger touched his chest.

“To the death then?”

A puff of smoke wisped up from his nostrils. “No, princess, for life.”

I leapt forward, my sword sung through the air. He sure did move fast for someone so large. My blade flicked to the left, then right. It dipped, prodded, and circled, but I couldn’t touch him; aside from a few superficial cuts on his tunic. He moved so fast. The times my blade slipped passed his guard it would be turned away on his scaled skin. Each little cut in his tunic inspired another wisp of smoke. He was laughing at me.

He juked to the left to avoid my blade. Something underneath his tunic moved. My eyes caught the hint of a gold chain around his neck. We locked eyes for an instant. My blade flew forward and cut the chain from around his neck. A familiar shape fell out of a tear on his chest and he caught it at my eye level. His clawed hand opened to show me the truth.

There in palm of his hand was a signet ring. It looked exactly the same as the last time I had seen it. There was a small dent along the top and the jewel in the center was the color of the stars at night. My father had stopped wearing it when the refugees had arrived.

Eirikr and I locked eyes. He didn’t move as I took the ring.

“Father.” I didn’t scream, but everyone in the ballroom heard me. I had been trained since birth to speak in a royal voice.

The fighting stopped as the room turned to look at me. I looked my father in the eyes as I held up the ring from him to see. He watched as I placed the ring on my thumb and took the hand that Eirikr had held the ring in. I flipped the sword in my grip and handed it to Bellis, who had taken the stillness to approach.

“If you will excuse us.” I motioned to the door. “It would be best if we left.”

Bellis fell into step behind me.

“Attend to our foreign friends, Bellis.”

“Highness?”

“I’ll call for you once I’m settled.”

“Yes, Highness.”

Eirikr looked down at my gloved hand in his. There was a question behind his eyes as he looked at me. I nodded and led him toward the door. He let out a sharp whistle as we made it safely through the ballroom doors. The remaining gnomes and lizardmen filed through the doors and formed up as a protective detail as we walked on.

The ball had been a success, I had found a suitor to deal with the invasion.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Short Fiction, Writing