Weekend Wind Down – Follow That Dragon (1)

In Dragonheart, there is no such word as impossible

“And keep your eyes open for a dragon on a Harley Davidson.”
Constable Willet stopped in his tracks.
“A what?”
The desk sergeant looked up from his computer.
“You heard me.”

Outside the station, the young policeman looked down at his partner. Badger cocked an ear.
“What’s your problem?”
“Dragons can’t ride motorcycles.”
The canine cop stopped in his tracks.
“You may have a point.”
Willet grinned.
“See, I’m not completely stupid.”

He wasn’t to know what Badger thought of that because the distinctive note of a Harley Davidson engine split the air. The motorcycle careered around the corner, rearing up onto one wheel and mounting the pavement before hurtling down the road bouncing off street furniture as it went.

Badger sat back on his haunches.
“That proves your point. Dragons really can’t ride motorbikes.”

Willet grasped Badger’s harness in one hand as he unfurled his wings.
“Operation intercept,” he said happily as they took to the air.

It didn’t take long to overhaul the motorcycle, as the riding became more and more eccentric with the Harley yawing from side to side and scraping its footrests at every movement. When they caught up, it had just made a sharp left onto a mercifully deserted football pitch. Willet made a long arm and pulled out the kill switch. The engine died and the bike slewed to a halt before slowly toppling over onto its side. The stubby golden dragon just managed to slip from the saddle in time to avoid being trapped by the fallen machine.

Badger gave the rider a very stern look.
“What’s on here, my laddo,” he said firmly.
“Steady down Badger. It’s only a hatchling. And I don’t think it’s a laddo.”

And then the sky was full of panicky dragons bugling their alarm and distress. A good dozen circled Willet, Badger and the hatchling making agitated noises.

“Thief, thief,” the biggest one cried in a strangely high-pitched voice. “Thieves and kidnappers. Where are the rest of our little ones?”
Willet knew that dragons broadcasting distress could easily spark a riot, so he stepped forward.
“Calm down and stop being silly. Nobody kidnapped anybody, although it does seem that those charged with the care of your hatchlings have failed in their duties.”
The lead dragon turned an unfriendly eye on him.
“How does a human dare to so address a dragon?”

Badger laughed sardonically.
“Hush now,” Willet admonished, “and stand back, I’m going to have to make the change before this lot get right out of hand.”
Badger backed off and Willet flowed into his true form.

The dragons quieted appreciably as a huge winged centaur stood facing them with condemnation writ large on his classically handsome features.
“Are dragons too proud to converse with a centaur?” he asked coolly.
The big blue female dipped her head.
“We are not.”

The dragonet meanwhile was watching the happenings with multi-faceted jewel-bright eyes.
“Mama. Where Mama?” The voice was hesitant but definitely female.
“Mama will be here soon,” Willet assured her. “Now tell me where your friends are.”
The dragonet shook her head.
“Mustn’t tell,” she whispered.
Willet concentrated briefly then smiled.
“N’a’mma tell Willet,” he cajoled.
“What Willet?”
“Willet name.”
“Not….”
The centaur laughed, then turned to the hovering dragons above.
“I have seen this little one’s thoughts. The hatchlings found a portal, and while their nursemaid slept they all sneaked through.”
There was a rustle of agitated leathery wings and voices were raised in condemnation of a nursemaid who slept on duty.

“Quiet,” Willet commanded. “Instead of flapping about like chickens, you should be asking yourselves some searching questions.”
One of the smaller blue dragons seemed a bit quicker on the uptake than her sisters.
“Questions like why was there only one nursemaid. Questions like who opened the portal in the first place. Questions like who knew enough to send us here.”
“Yes. Questions like those. But the first question is where are the other dragonets?”
The blue dragon changed her wing shape and landed neatly beside the bemused N’a’mma.
“Where friends? Must tell…”
The dragonet wrinkled her brow.
“Auntie say must not tell.”
“Auntie?”
N’a’mma closed her mouth and looked mulish.
“Where’s her Mama?”
“Dragonheart.”
“We need her. Can any of you bespeak A’a’shanto?”
The little blue pointed to the big female with the squeaky voice.
“She can. But she probably won’t do it.”
Willet laughed.
“She will.” Then he raised his voice. “Dragon. Will you bespeak my friend A’a’shanto, or would you have me do it?”
The big female looked about as offended as a dragon can.
“I will bespeak our master.” Then she looked at the centaur in some puzzlement. “What must I say?”
“Tell your master that there is an unregistered portal that the hatchlings found and escaped through. That we need this little one’s Mama in order that we can find out what she knows…”
“Oh. Very well.”

Badger flattened his ears and Willet looked at him with some sympathy.
“Bloody loud isn’t she?”
“She is.”

The subliminal buzzing stopped, to be followed by the snap of leathery wings. Two more dragons appeared and landed with minimal fuss. One was the black-skinned master, the other a truly spectacular golden queen. As soon as they set claw to the ground, the atmosphere seemed to thicken, and the mating instinct hit Willet like a mailed fist. He only just managed not to swear. The queen was in season, and they would be lucky if they managed to prevent a city-wide orgy. He ruthlessly squashed the heaviness in the pit of his own stomach and looked briefly at Badger who was already communicating with headquarters.

Willet pulled himself together and faced the dragons, at least one of whom was hugely amused by the situation. Willet bowed respectfully.
“Master dragon.”
A’a’shanto stopped smirking and inclined his head.

Before anyone else could speak or react the dragonet waddled over to the queen as fast as she could go.
“Mama. Mama.”
Her mother looked down a long draconic snout at the rotund form of her hatchling. She smiled a maternal smile.
“N’a’mma. What have you been up to now?”
The dragonet shuffled her feet.
“Noffink Mama.”
“Tell Mama, and stop fibbing.”
“We finds portal. Auntie shows us. And we comes through.”
“Where are your friends?”
“Me don’t know. Me plays with hrrrdudu…”
“And where did you get the hrrdudu?”
“Man talking to Auntie has. N’a’mma borrows.”

Willet looked at Badger.
“Can you backtrack it?”
“Can try.”

Willet called up two beat rats to guard the motorcycle, before Badger sniffed the tyres of the Harley, then the now giggling dragonet. He scented the air for a moment, then he put his nose to the ground and headed off in the direction from which the motorbike had come.

“Got you, you bastards,” Willet murmured and followed the upraised tail.

A procession of dragons followed Willet and Badger as they zigzagged across the city. People looked skywards, following the iridescent bodies with their eyes, even as they felt the draconic sexual pull in other parts of themselves.

Eventually, Badger stopped at the entrance to an insalubrious alleyway.
“Down there.”
He pointed with his nose.
“What’s down there?”
“Sorry. Baby dragons. Lots of. I think they are being held against their will.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“Because they smell afraid.”
“Fair enough. Now we have to figure a way of getting them out unhurt.”
Badger squinted at the circling dragons.
“We have. I really don’t fancy explaining injured dragonets to that lot.”

The master dragon spoke in Willet’s head.
“You need a decoy. My sister is willing for N’a’mma to be that decoy if you will answer for her safety.”
Badger obviously heard too, because he bumped his head urgently against Willet’s hocks.
“Don’t do it matey. They are asking you to put your life on the line.”
“I know they are. But what alternative do we have?”
Badger looked as if he was eating something that tasted bad.
“None. I suppose. But I don’t like it.”

Willet bowed. “You have my word. My life for the safety of the little queen.”

Badger sighed. Then brightened slightly.
“I think I may have a plan.”
“Tell me.”
“First thing is the Harley man. I can smell him down there, and his gun. I’m thinking if somebody brought his motorcycle to where he could hear it…”
“Yes. Good. And?”
“If a couple, with a dog, was to find a lost dragonet and be walking around this area with it in tow. Auntie more or less has to come get it. I dunno why that particular hatchling is so important but my nose tells me that she is.”
“She’s important for two reasons. One: her mother is the hatch sister of the master dragon. Two: she’s a golden queen.”
“Which means?”
“Means she is a fertile female. They are rare. Aside from the master dragon’s mate, who is a shifter so not the same thing at all, there are only two adult queens that we know of.”
“Oh. So. Whoever went to all the trouble and expense of getting an unlicensed portal probably wants to breed dragons.”
“That would seem to be about the size of it,” Willet said wryly. “Now I need my wife.”

He sent his thoughts spiralling outward, to find Wenda none too pleased to be interrupted by the husband she barely tolerated. But once she understood the situation she was much more amenable.
“Be there in five.”
Willet looked down at his partner with an unspoken plea in his eyes. Badger flattened his ears, but managed the canine equivalent of a shrug.
“I’ll behave. Not my business.”
“Thanks. I’ll have the Harley fetched.”

By the time the female centaur arrived the plan was ready to put into action. A’a’shanto himself had taken human form and was standing beside the bike; the alley was ringed with angry fighting dragons; N’a’mma had been persuaded to cooperate; and Willet was in human form dressed in jeans and sneakers.

Wenda caught on quickly and shifted, becoming a slight brown-haired woman in a floaty summer dress. She rubbed N’a’mma’s head knobs reassuringly.
“You will be all right with us little one.”
“Me know. Wil-let gives blood oaf.”
For a moment the centaur swayed on her feet, then she got herself together and managed a strained smile.

A’a’shanto grinned dragonishly and fired up the Harley. He rode to the open end of the alley and sat astride the machine revving it idly.
“I bloody hope this works,” Badger muttered. “Come on you evil carrion, come and get your hrrdudu.”

They didn’t have long to wait. A bulky shaven-headed gent all but flew out of a green-painted door about halfway down the cul de sac and ran towards the motorcycle. A’a’shanto dropped it into gear and moved away slowly, followed by the frantically cursing man. Once the motorcycle had rounded the corner into the square the rider stopped the engine and manhandled the Fat Boy onto its stand.

The man rushed up to him.
“Oy. That’s my bike.”
“Is it now? So what was it doing on its side in the road halfway across town?”
The heavy grunted, then decided he had talked enough and groped for the gun at his hip. That wasn’t the smartest move anyone has ever made as the master dragon shifted himself two sets of razor-sharp talons with which he gripped the man’s wrists. A’a’shanto forced his adversary to his knees and then smiled down on him.
“Talk to me human,” he growled.
The thug whimpered.
“You can have the Harley.”
A’a’shanto’s laugh sounded like the tolling of a cracked bell.
“I can have whatever pleases me,” he whispered, “right now what I will have of you is information. Who is behind that door?”
“What door?”
Badger ghosted up behind the kneeling man and snapped his long white teeth together just beside the thug’s ear. The man jumped and squeaked, then visibly gave up.
“There are loads of baby dragons who are hungry, thirsty and a bit afraid. And there’s two adult dragons, a fat old female and a proddy young red. He’s dangerous on the surface. She’s dangerous underneath. They are angry because they have lost the baby dragon they want. It ran away with my bike. They’ve about worked their way around to blaming me. But the gun keeps them quiet.”
“And who is behind them?”
“I dunno. All I know is that they pay in gold.”
A’a’shanto looked at Badger who lifted his lip. The dragon smiled and let go of his captive’s left wrist. The man looked down at his lacerated arm so he didn’t see the draconic fist that caved in his skull.

Willet winced and offered his wife his arm.
“Come N’a’mma let’s go rescue your hatch mates.”
The dragonet leaned confidingly against his shoulder, all but pushing him over as the quartet casually wandered down the alley and past the green door. They hadn’t gotten far when a female voice accosted them.
“There she is,” it said with saccharine sweetness, “there is my little girl.”
Two humans and a German Shepherd turned to look at a fat elderly dragon with calculating red eyes, while N’a’mma carried on walking. The dragon glared at her fat rump.
“Where are you going you naughty girl? Grandmama has been worried.”
The dragonet kept going.

Willet kept his voice neutral.
“That’s funny,” he remarked “that hatchling was crying for her Mama when we found her. You’d have thought she would be thrilled to see her grandmother.”
“You would indeed,” Wenda picked up the conversational ball. “Why doesn’t she want to speak to you?”
The old dragon made a feeble attempt at a smile.
“She’s been a very naughty girl. Probably afraid I will punish her. I’ll just go and get her.”
“Oh. I think not.” Willet allowed his anger to show and, as the dragon reared up to confront him, he plunged a syringe into the place under her arm where the skin was thin enough to make an injection a possibility. The drug was quick acting and the dragon slumped on her side snoring stertorously.

A small blue dragon landed on the side of the unconscious figure that would be invisible from the green door.
“Help, help!” the blue called in a pretty good approximation of the old female’s voice. “The gold is getting away.”

The door flew open and a red dragon erupted out onto the cobbles. His whirling eyes darted between the slumped body of his confederate and the waddling figure of N’a’mma. He was a quick enough thinker to recognise that the dragonet was heading for a dead end so he turned his attention to the old one.
“What happened, human?” he snapped.
“How should I know?” Willet was deliberately insolent. “We was just on our way home.”
At first the dragon didn’t know how to react, but then he glared at Wenda.
“Perhaps I’ll just have a bite of your mate to teach you manners,” he snarled.
“Piss off lizard. You just sort your mother out and leave those of us who live hereabouts to get on with our business without your interference.”
The red dragon rumbled dangerously and Willet laughed.
“Come on pinky. Let’s see what you got.”
The dragon lifted himself onto his hind legs and Wenda put a dart in the soft flesh around his penis. He dropped across his partner in an obscene parody of the sexual act.

Willet mopped his brow. To his intense surprise Wenda came and burrowed her way into his arms.
“Blood oaths,”’she muttered, “deliberately angering dragons. You nearly stopped my heart.”
He looked down at her bent head and felt something soften inside him. He hugged her and she looked up with a wry smile.
“We have to talk.”
“We do, but right now. Dragons.”

Willet whistled shrilly and dragons appeared from every direction. Some rushed to the aid of the bleating hatchlings, others gathered around the unconscious conspirators. N’a’mma waddled back to where the two centaurs stood handfast. She looked at them with whirling dragon eyes then chuckled.
“Thank you Wil-let and…”
“Wenda.”
The dragonet shook her head then dutifully repeated Wenda’s name.

“I think we maybe should get out of this alleyway. There’s too much dragon flesh here.” Wenda shivered then licked suddenly dry lips, and Willet led her out into the square. The populace was being held back by a cordon of watchmen.
“You gonna be much longer?” The sergeant spoke over his shoulder. “This many dragons about is already causing trouble. And there must be a queen in season among them. We’ve had to arrest several for public decency offences already.”
“I’ll go ask.”

Wenda sat down on a convenient low wall with Badger at her side.
“Go on, say it,” her voice was weary.
Badger wagged his tail and cocked his handsome head to one side.
“Can’t. Willet made me promise to play nicely.”
“Good. But. Why aren’t you all hot and bothered?”
“The dragon/sex thing don’t work on dogs. Just as well. Our females don’t tolerate us sniffing around if they aren’t in the mood.”
The centaur shivered.
“Is it the dragons making me feel so impressed by Willet?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Then he relented. “Probably not. I think that’s down to you seeing him working, instead of being humble and trying to keep out of your hair.”
“And why does he do that?”
“Because he knows you didn’t want to marry him.”
“I didn’t. But.”
“What did you expect him to do? He’s a centaur not a dragon.”
She thought that one through then nodded briefly.
Badger gave her a shrewd look.
“How would you feel about a piece of advice?”
“I’ll listen.”
“Don’t let the dragons know about the problems you two have. Your average dragon is likely to take it as a challenge. And I don’t think you want that…”

Willet strode out of the alleyway followed by the master dragon, still in his human form. Wenda drew a tremulous breath.
“Thanks Badger,” she whispered.

A’a’shanto smiled a dragonish smile and Wenda fought down a taut feeling in the pit of her stomach. Willet gave her a sympathetic look. While the master dragon went and spoke to the sergeant of the watch the centaur came and sat beside his wife. She grasped his hands strongly and he smiled a sad sort of smile.
“I’m going to have to go to Dragonheart. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to. But I’m coming anyway. Somebody needs to watch your back.”
He looked down at their joined hands.
“I have to ask. Is this just….”
“Dragon sex? No. Though I must admit to an unfamiliar itch.”
Willet looked into her face, and whatever he saw there seemed to give him ease because he smiled much more naturally and gave her hands a little squeeze.
“We have to talk.”
“We do but not in front of the dragons. I don’t like the way that big black one looks at me already…”
“Me neither. But as long as he thinks you are mine he will at least keep his hands off.”
“I am yours,” Wenda said firmly, “we just need to talk about terms and conditions.”

A’a’shanto strolled back towards them, moving with purposeful grace.
“We will leave now.” He looked searchingly at Willet. “You must come as a witness, but even I cannot stand surety for the safety of your partner at Dragonheart.”
Badger bared his teeth and the dragon laughed at his discomfiture.
Wenda spoke up.
“It ill behoves the master dragon to bait one whose assistance was freely given.”
A’a’shanto had the grace to blush, but Wenda wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“I will accompany my husband to Dragonheart. I mislike the gratitude of dragons.”
The master dragon and the young female centaur looked each other in the eyes for a long moment and it was the dragon who dropped his eyes first. He lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat.
“Pax.”
Wenda nodded just once.

A flight of dragons appeared in the sky overhead, many of whom carried chattering hatchlings on their backs. N’a’mma rode in stately solitude between her mother’s glistening wings and she raised a pudgy paw before the whole flight winked out through the portal they had brought with them leaving an empty blue sky.

The sergeant of the watch heaved a sigh of relief.
“You going to Dragonheart Willet?”
“I am. With my wife for company. Can you leave a handful here to guard an unregistered portal down that alley. Badger will show them where.”
“I will. Badger can take command.”
With that he turned back to crowd control, which was becoming easier by the minute as the dragon-induced pheromones dissipated leaving people unsure of why they were standing in an insalubrious part of the city looking at the mouth of a scabby alley. The few enterprising whores who had been taking advantage of the upsurge in interest in their wares were the first to slink off, being unwilling to catch the eye if the watch. The rest of the crowd soon followed with not a few left wondering just exactly why they were in a truly immodest state of undress and scrambling to cover themselves as best they could.

A’a’shanto laughed sardonically.
“Humans,” he snorted, before changing into his draconic self.
Willet and Wenda flowed seamlessly into their true forms and Badger looked up at them.
“Take care, you pair.”
Then he was gone, trotting down the alley to where his detachment of bored watchmen awaited him.

To be continued…

'Follow That Dragon' is one of the stories in The Dragonheart Stories: Fairytales for Grownups by Jane Jago

 

 

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Eight

It’s easy, they said, you’ll be able to keep in touch, they said. So she bought the bloody thing. Laid out a grand and…

Nothing.

Her nephew came along and set it up for her. That was a little better, though not much. It still sat unopened on the dresser smirking at her.

They bought her a course of one-to-one lessons for her birthday. 

A skinny young man with multiple tattoos turned up bang on time. 

She didn’t learn to use her computer, but she had a lot of fun teaching him how to interface with a woman…

©️jj 2018

The Picnic

If you go down in the woods today
You better not take your daughter
If she sees what’s in the woods today
She won’t behave like she oughter 
There’s hairy chests and half-naked guys
And lumberjacks with iron-hard thighs
Today’s the day the woodcutters have their picnic
Picnic time for chopping boys
They bring along their toys
Of every shape and size
See them get their choppers out
They wave the things about
The biggest one gets a prize
But when it’s six o’clock their mummies and daddies will take them home to bed 
Because they’re wilting before our eyes

©️jj 2018

The Thinking Quill

Is it that time again? <<sighs and assumes a pedagogical expression>>.

It is one,  Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, freshly returned from the inspirational home of Calliope and Clio, Melpomene and Erato, where one walked in the very footsteps of those fair daughters of the gods. One is, of course, already well known to you as the author of the superlative science fantasy classic “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth” which has received plaudits from many unexpected quarters and dismissals from the usual suspects.
Being still in the post-prandial glow from many wonderful Greek meals and replete with sun, sex and ouzo, one is not, if truth be told, even remotely in the mood for imparting knowledge to the willfully ill-educated. Therefore it behaves one’s estudas to sit quietly and absorb today’s pearls of wisdom without any of the primitive rowdyism, behind-hand giggling or ink pellet flicking which seems to have become a feature of our weekly learning curves.
And do not play with that thing in my presence.  Naughty step at once.
<<places malacca cane prominently on desk>>
Now, to today’s lesson.

How to Write Right – Lesson 6. The Write Adjective

I am, quite simply, unable to believe my ears. How many of you do not know what an adjective is? A show of hands please. And those of you who do know have no excuse whatever for looking smug. At least half of you had only the vaguest knowledge of what a noun was a few weeks ago…
So to explain. An adjective describes what a noun is like.
OMG.
Now nobody knows what a noun is!
A Noun Is The Word For A Thing. Thus. Dog. Book. Bedroom. Boyfriend.
Not walk, read, retire or spank.
So. In the following sentence, the noun is ‘sky’ and the adjective is ‘blue’.

Today the sky is blue.

This is a perfectly acceptable sentence but how plain and unadorned. What is there for the reader to clasp to their intellectual bosom and feed the inner hunger of their imagination?
Try again.

Today the sky is aquamarine.

See how already the word-painting is beginning to add subtle touches to the inner vision it conjures? But, if one, sole, more decorative adjective can lift the sentence a little, imagine how much more can be achieved with a second? or a third?

Today the broad, pearlescent sky is purest aquamarine.

Ah! You see? So much better that is. So when you need to describe a noun, reach for your thesaurus and lavishly adorn it with such glorious gems of the English language. 
Here are some common adjectives alongside their more expressive brethren:

Blue – aquamarine, azure, cerulean, navy, sapphire, oceanic.
Green – viridescent, grasslike, emerald, glaucus, verdurous.
Soft – silken, squashy, downy, velvety, fluffywuffy.
Hard – adamantine, stern, stiff, rigid, flinty, phallic. 
Nice – kindly, delightful,  gratifying, satisfying, friendypoose.
Nasty – beastly, foul, ghastly, mephitic, studentesque.
Old – tattered, bewrinkled, archaic, hoary, senescent, Mumsical.
Young – smooth, vigorous, fresh, spry, virile, Greek-godly.
Tasty  – delicious, mouthwatering, ambrosial, luscious, seductive, Stavrosian.
Tasteless – bland, untoothsome, pallid, frigid, the Tabloid press.

Now you must surely begin to understand the complexity of the adjective and why each must be delicately nurtured and placed with as much exquisite care as a jeweller setting gems in a tiara.
For today’s homework, I would like to see a list of ten common adjectives with more descriptive alternatives.
Class dismissed, please leave quietly. Your beloved tutor suffers the pangs of an ouzo-fuelled migraine.

A bientot.
And NEVER mix ouzo with Babycham…

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

Join IVy’s Adoring Fans!

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Seven

When her father walked her to the altar, she was seventeen years old and in love. But she was also intelligent enough to be aware of the carping criticism that followed in her wake.

“Too young…”

“He’s only marrying her because…”

“I give it six months…”

“Little tart….” 

That would, she thought wryly, have to be his mother.

But they married anyway, and set out to make the best of life together.

One bright summer morning, they awoke with the birds and smiled to be together.

“Happy anniversary, love.”

He took her hand, and kissed her cheek.

“Happy fiftieth anniversary.”

©️jj 2018

Coffee Break Read – The Winter Queen

Our king summoned us on his great crusade to bring right to the northern world, and to avenge his brother foully slain by the treasonous Slavs. We followed him with glad hearts and high courage, willing to endure the vicissitudes of war to serve our beloved homeland. But we found little glory and much pain. By the time we had crossed the harsh steppes of Slavia, and reached the border of Wolfland, many of us had died, many of us had run away, and most of those left were sorely afraid. There was worse to come…

Just before sunset on the day that changed many lives forever, we arrived in a broad, cold, flat-bottomed valley after running the gauntlet of the most frightening weather I have ever known: an ice storm of unprecedented ferocity in which sharpened spikes of frozen water as long as a man’s finger rained from the sky, piercing unprotected skin like vicious arrows. My companions and I were among the last arrivals as we were carrying several of those who had been injured by the cruel ice. We were cold and wet, but glad to get out of the screaming wind with its cargo of flying death. King Steven rode among us on his great horse, Deathbringer, lifting our spirits us with his very presence and promising victory would be ours on the very next day. I cheered and clapped along with my comrades, but a still, small voice inside my head insisted that our great king was lying, and that nothing lay before us except more pain and misery.

I was helping to tend the wounded, and my friends were occupied in a fruitless search for firewood, when the valley was filled with the strains of unearthly music. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, it chilled and heated the blood, it uplifted the spirit and cast down the soul, it was beauty and ugliness, it was kindness and cruelty. I fell to my knees on the ground. A hand shook my shoulder. ‘Look up there.’

I forced my eyes upwards and I beheld her, silhouetted against a blood-red sunset. It was the Winter Queen in all her glory, mounted on her coal-black stallion, and with the Diadem of a Thousand Stars winking on her brow. As I watched, her horse rose on his hind legs and stayed there with the lady’s hair streaming behind her in the wind, and dyed crimson by the setting sun. Then I heard her voice, as cold and precise as the shards of ice that pierced our skin that afternoon. It went straight to my heart and lodged there like a dart.

‘Here is blasphemy dressed in the clothes of piety. Here is the brother of an oathbreaker bringing an army to do war on the innocent and the brave. Know that this will not be tolerated. Your forefathers in Valhalla spit upon your names. Men of Scandi, return to your homes and consider your sins, lest the wrath of the Gods fall on your heads. You have until sunrise tomorrow.’

And then the stallion rose into the air once more before disappearing as mysteriously as he arrived. The rocky promontory stood empty, and the song of the Gods slowly faded to nothing.

Our king fell back in his saddle with a face the colour of ashes. Then he rallied. ‘Trickery’ he cried in a great voice with spittle flying from his lips. ‘Trickery and witchcraft. I promise half my kingdom to the man who brings me the head of that foul sorceress.’

Some ran for the cliffside clutching weapons and ropes, but I, and many others, had heard what we had heard, and our hearts felt like shards of ice in our breasts.

It was a long night, a very long night, during which the discomfort of our bodies mirrored the disquiet of our souls. We were in a bad way, with little food, no firewood, and tents so sodden they froze as we tried to erect them. Even among the rawest recruits, it was noticed that the king and his Ox Guard did not share in the discomforts of the army. Savoury smells emanated from the tight circle of the royal encampment, a great fire burned to warm the royal heart, and the sound of drinking songs split the solemn night air. The mood in the camp grew more and more restive as the night wore on, and when the lords who had come here to support the king went to the circle of his guards to beg firing and sustenance for their men they were driven away with harsh words and sharp pikes. Nobody knew what the morrow would bring, and many of us endured a night of terror.

I sat alone on the frozen tundra with the words of the lady alternately burning and freezing in my breast. I wanted to run away, but I could not. I had to wait for morning in the hope of seeing the Winter Queen once more – even if it cost me my life.

 

From The Barefoot Runners by  Jane Jago

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Six

The sign swung in the breeze: The Land Where Dreams Come True.

She pushed open the door and handed over her wad of cash, impatiently scrawling her signature at the bottom of many pages of legal bumf.

It wasn’t until she found herself sitting in a narrow white bed that she even wondered how her dreams might be made flesh. But flesh they were, that came to tear and torment. Her tortured screams ripped the air about her head.

The white coated ‘nurse’ looked down on her without a shred of compassion.

“We’ve never had one die on us before…”

©️jj 2018

Transgressor Trilogy – New Covers by Ian Bristow

Ian Bristow talented artist, musician and author tells the Working Title Blog how he created the covers for each of the books in Transgressor, Fortune's Fools first trilogy: The Fated Sky, Times of Change and Dues of Blood.
WTB: These covers are photo-manipulated designs. Can you explain what that means?

IB: Absolutely. Photo manipulation is the process of taking a photo (free of copyright) and making changes to fit the needs of whatever art you are creating (I use Photoshop). In this case, the goal was to reach a look that felt sci-fi, yet low-tech world. How one approaches the process will depend on how well they paint on the digital platform (if they do at all). I do a lot of painting over the top of the photos I manipulate, so essentially they are half painted, half the photo underneath. In the case of the first and last covers, I 3D modelled the ships to add more customization. This isn’t common practice for a photo-manipulator. They would usually go and find a copyright-free image and use that. But I like to make things as unique as possible, if and where I can. You will also notice the laser fire on the second cover, which is painted in, as well as the cannon. Again, these are just things to fit the needs of the cover and make the work unique.

WTB: Which was the most difficult cover of the three to create?

IB: The first one was the most difficult because the focal point is the ship, which meant quite a lot of messing with placement as well as getting the shadow cast and lighting correct to ground it in the scene. Additionally, there was the matter of searching for the look that would encompass the entire trilogy. This tends to make the first cover in a trilogy the hardest. Or at least the most time-consuming.

WTB: Which is your favourite of the three covers?

IB: I have reasons why I like them all, as I do with all my art because I invest in it. But since that doesn’t answer the question, I will say I think my favorite is the third one; for two reasons. One being the subtle ship in the sky really turned out how I envisioned it and that feels good. And two being that I was able to take the original scene and change the season to winter by painting in snow. That was something of a challenge to get right, and I was pleased with the outcome of it.

The new covers are available from today and The Fated Sky is FREE until Friday to celebrate!

If you would like to find out more about Ian Bristow's cover designing services, go to Bristow Design or look for Ian on his Website, check out his awesome timelapse art videos with his own original music on YouTube or follow him on Twitter.

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Five

Rupert booked them a holiday. 

It sounded romantic, until Laura found out that the Camel Trail has nothing to do with camels and everything to do with cycling. Seventeen bloody miles of cycling.

There was worse to come. She learned that the next day they were to pedal thirty miles from Padstow to Fowey. 

Breakfast time, bright and early, and Laura was nowhere to be seen. Rupert went to wake her, with an indulgent smile on his big red face.

The note read ‘Camel Trail gave me Camel Toe. Gone home…’

As far as I know they never spoke again.

©️jj 2018

Coffee Break Read – The Power of Theatre

From The Fated Sky part one of  Transgressor Trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook

They rode in silence through the streets of Alfor. The townsfolk moving quickly aside to let the Warlord and his entourage pass and then standing to watch as they went by. Some cheered half-heartedly, but most had sombre faces. Durban nodded and grinned at people he knew and caught a small wineskin thrown to him by one, a gorgeously dressed young man, whom he rewarded with an extravagant blown kiss. But he was fully aware of the dark and hostile glares which were directed at the man beside him.
Then someone yelled from the back of the crowd: “Gut the murdering bastard!”
And like a flame touched to dry tinder an ugly murmur spread quickly and rose, as the braver or more foolish amongst them, hurled abuse at Jariq.
“Baby-butcher!”
“Rapist!”
“Murderer!”
The voices seemed torn at random from the seething heart of the throng, as though the bitter hatred had swelled up and found tongue through a few individuals who spoke for them all. Durban glanced curiously at Jariq, who was riding stiffly in the saddle, his face set and his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. Only the slight tightness of his lips betrayed his feelings.
“I never realised you were so popular,” Durban observed in an undertone. “Does this happen often?”
The Vavasor’s lips curved now into the grim travesty of a smile.
“Only in Terzibrand – I did not think to hear it in Alfor.”
“Don’t you think you should silence them?”
Jariq gave a brittle laugh.
“What’s the point? They’d only shout louder next time.”
“Your men are getting angry.”
It was true. The outriders of Jariq’s elite troupe were eying the crowd to pick out the source of the shouting and throwing appealing looks towards the Vavasor, eager to avenge the insults to their commander in blood. Then a stone flew out of the throng to glance off the Vavasor’s burnished metal vambrace. As Durban watched, he saw something within Jariq snap like a brittle twig and the Vavasor reined in his pony so sharply that it reared up in protest.
“Death of the gods,” he roared. “Must I put up with this cowardly babble?”
The crowd grew oddly quiet and the Warlord’s entourage ground to a jumbled halt behind them. They were about level with the entrance to the plaza and a knot of Zoukai had joined the throng. Durban felt the exultation of a master playwright, watching the first performance of his prize production. He had stopped his own pony a few paces behind the Vavasor, leaving Jariq alone centre stage, trembling with rage. His mount was now sidestepping nervously beneath him, its stubby ears flattened against its head. His words could incite a riot or initiate a massacre and at that moment Jariq looked quite prepared to do either or both. He took a breath and raised his voice to reach to the back of the crowd.
“The Fair is over. The entertainers are gone. Is this how you must now amuse yourselves? Bringing shame on your city and your Castellan by insulting the Most Honoured One, Qabal Vyazin and his retinue? Go back to your homes and your daily business. Be grateful that your sons and daughters do not know the meaning of war. Be grateful that the Warlord protects the people of his kinfolk and will stand between you and an army of conquest when the time comes.
“Only a foolish man will set a lapdog to guard his house. If you want protection for your children and your trade, you need men of spirit, men of war and not gelded eunuchs.”
His eyes raked the crowd as he spoke, challenging and defiant and Durban could see none brave enough to meet his gaze.
“Ride on!” Jariq’s voice rang out incisively and the Warlord’s escort resumed its interrupted passage through the city.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Start a Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑