Posts Tagged ‘fantasy fiction’

Today I have a dragon story to share. This fun fantasy short is borrowed from Myths of the Mirror, the blog of fantasy author D. Wallace Peach. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.

The Optometrist and the Dragon

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This is a passage from my first published novel, The Magister’s Mask, released by Dragon Moon Press in 2004. It’s the tale of a young sorceress, Shenza, who has been trained to use her magic in solving crimes. Among the unique creations in this novel is a sea serpent, Taisaris, which is sent by vengeful nature spirits to punish some foolish humans.

The Magister’s Mask is currently available in trade paperback or e-book. Enjoy!

Amid a geyser of spray, something huge broke the surface of the sea just beyond the breakwater. Thin shrieks came from the town behind them.

Here was another legend become real. It was shaped like an eel, narrow and long, with a many-fanged maw topping a powerful corded neck. Elegant, spiny fins threw plumes of spray in a hundred directions. Its hide was of a color with the sea itself, a green so deep it looked black in the gloom. When lightning flashed again, phosphorescent stripes blazed along its sides.

“That’s a…” Juss choked.

“Taisaris,” she (Shenza) finished for him.

It was said the Eleshouri created the sea serpents to control the currents and tides. But their monstrous forms housed a temper that could swallow up entire islands, and so they were banished to the utmost depths. Only sometimes they crept out to overturn ships and drag the hapless sailors below. Or they might be summoned by their masters, to punish some transgression.

The beast roared at the height of its arc, a bellow like the howl of cyclonic winds. Shenza stepped back and bumped into Juss. He steadied her, but did not speak.

Taisaris turned in the air with lumbering slowness. then collapsed back into the sea. Its fall raised a wall of spray that obscured the horizon. And then, what she had feared came to pass: over the breakwater, a long hump of water rolled swiftly toward Chalsett-port.

Shenza needed no more urging from Juss. She snatched up her travel case and they ran toward the safety of the terrace. Under their feet the boards of the pier trembled with vibrations that grew ever stronger and closer.

In front of them, dark-skinned backs of seamen and peace officers together dashed up the stairs. For Shenza and Juss there was no time left. The crack of splintering wood mingled with a greedy roar as the wave struck the lowest level of the town. Juss threw his arm around Shenza’s shoulders, flattening her against the vertical face of the tier above. A hard wash of cold bring pressed them against the stonework with bruising force. It came to her shoulders, nearly lifting her from her feet. A moment later the flow reversed. She could feel the suction dragging at them. For a terrifying moment her sandals slipped, but Juss’ strong arms helped her keep her footing. Then the pressure lifted and the wave fell back with a cheated sloosh. Sea-foam hissed malevolently as the waters drained back over the edge of the quay.

A few of my other books:

Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, Lucy D. Ford’s short story collection and Masters of Air & Fire, her middle-grade novel.

The Grimhold Wolf, my Gothic werewolf fantasy, and my epic fantasy, The Seven Exalted Orders.

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After the long-ago dragon of Ogden Nash’s Custard, here is a more contemporary dragon story. Dragon Was Terrible is a picture book, written by Kelly DiPucchio and illustrated by Greg Pizzoli. It was published in 2016.

The title character, Dragon, is terrible in the sense of playing naughty tricks. He annoys people in his Medieval village by making inappropriate noises, TPing the castle, and so on. Everyone tries to bring him in line, and everyone fails. That is, until a clever young boy devises a gentle solution.

This book is simple and fun, perfect for kids around Kindergarten. Many of Dragon’s pranks are similar to what a child would encounter when they start school and have to cope with the new rules and people from outside their own family. If you have kids or grandkids in that age group, they’re sure to enjoy Dragon Was Terrible.

A few of my other books:

Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, Lucy D. Ford’s short story collection and Masters of Air & Fire, her middle-grade novel.

The Grimhold Wolf, my Gothic werewolf fantasy, and my epic fantasy, The Seven Exalted Orders.

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Dragons are famous for having vast hoards of treasure, but sometimes I wonder why. If knights are always trying to kill you and take your treasure, why would you even bother with that? Surely a dragon could have a quieter, more secure life without a hoard.

Based on legends and contemporary fiction, here are some reasons that dragons keep hoards.

  1. Pure greed. Some dragons, such as Fafnir, are created in a contest to claim an accursed treasure.
  2. Pride. Dragons often seem to relish the high status of owning a huge treasure. Smaug, in The Hobbit, would represent these dragons.
  3. Nutrition. In some books, dragon parents collect coins and other metal pieces, and feed them to their young. The minerals help baby dragons grow their near-invulnerable scales. E. E. Knight’s Age of Fire series is a good example.
  4. Preservation. Dragons who gather tomes and manuscripts might be dedicated to saving knowledge of the ancient past. They may also find that having a hobby helps them they stay alert and active over the decades.
  5. Obsession. In a few books, such as Jessica Day George’s Dragon Slippers, all dragons are born with an irresistible urge to collect. They don’t all gather the same things, though. In George’s book, the main dragon character has an enormous collection of shoes.
  6. Remembrance. A long-lived dragon might save mementos from lost civilizations or friends in their past. More aggressive dragons could keep trophies from their victories against various enemies.
  7. Hunting Lure. In my short story, Hoard, a dragon named Carnisha keeps a hoard in order to attract looters. She then feeds them to her babies.

I’m sure there are more reasons. Why do you think dragons gather hoards?

A few of my other books:

Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, Lucy D. Ford’s short story collection and Masters of Air & Fire, her middle-grade novel.

The Grimhold Wolf, my Gothic werewolf fantasy, and my epic fantasy, The Seven Exalted Orders.

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My featured book for May and June is Too Many Princes, published in 2007 by Dragon Moon Press. Of all my novels to date, Too Many Princes features dragons in the most prominent role.

These dragons are long-lived, though not truly immortal. In addition to their terrifying physical attributes as dragons, they have great magical powers. Among the most important to the story, they can change their shape at will. However, there’s a catch.

The dragons’ curving horns are the seat of their power, so they can’t change the horns without risking their power. Thus, although they can impersonate humans, there must be some way to hide their horns or their true identity as dragons will be plain to see.

Some dragons regard humans as friends, to be nurtured. Others view them as chattel to be conquered. You’ll meet both sorts in Too Many Princes.

At ten years old, this book is out of print. However, I have a few copies in my personal inventory if you’re interested. To whet your appetite, here’s a brief excerpt that introduces one of the principal dragon characters, Yriatt.

She seemed to be another Urulai, clad in a brown leather dress, but her garment was stitched with some shiny stuff, and she wore a fabulous head-dress of two great, twisted dragon horns. Sheer veils fell behind it and passed beneath her chin. Those horns and her night-dark hair were draped with beads and fine chains that winked as she moved. She had an angular face, not beautiful but arresting. Her eyes were the deep gray of wet slate. 

“Welcome.” Her voice was deep for a woman’s and her Cruthan was perfect. Like her attendants, she gave no smile of greeting, but remained stern and calm. “I am Yriatt, mistress of Hawkwing House.”

Eagerly, Lottres began, “I am Lottres of Crutham, and…”

The woman interrupted his fawning. “I know.”

A few of my other books:

Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, Lucy D. Ford’s short story collection

Masters of Air & Fire, Lucy D. Ford’s middle-grade novel

The Grimhold Wolf, my Gothic werewolf fantasy, and my epic fantasy, The Seven Exalted Orders.



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One of my big finds in 2016 was Enchanted Conversation: A Fairy Tale Magazine. It’s part small press, part blog, part art catalog, and all-around fantasy paradise.

Editor Kate Wolford does an amazing job of collecting contemporary short stories for her bi-monthly electronic magazine. There’s a theme list, with each issue always based on a traditional fairy tale. Those of you who write should definitely take a look at her submission guidelines. I always enjoy the stories and look forward to new issues.

Once or twice a week, her blog highlights classic 20th Century artists whose work shaped the popular image of fairy tales. This is something I especially enjoy, because the visual aspect has been a key driver of the genre. These days, we might think of fairy tales and music, since Disney’s approach of doing fairy tale musicals has become dominant. However, it’s the artists of 100 years ago who really brought fairy tales into the form we most think of. I enjoy seeing the less common images Wolford discovers.

Although the emphasis isn’t specifically on dragons, they do often turn up in fairy tales. So if you enjoy traditional folk stories and fairy lore, take a look at Enchanted Conversations. I know you’ll enjoy what you find there.

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Part 2 of The Dragon’s Ghost, by Lucy D. Ford

It was if Alysona walked in a dream. The moor was quiet, without an insect’s buzz or the stealthy rustle of hares in the brush. The sky, too, was empty of birds. Only her footfalls and an occasional mew broke the silence.

It was hard going for Alysona’s stumpy legs. There was no path, but she knew the way. She came here several times during the year, to gather horehound for cough syrup and madder roots for dye. Perhaps that was how she had come under the Palloes’s eye.

She shook her head. “Too late to worry over that.”

A wart grew on the horizon, green with grass but capped by a dark sheen of stone. Venge Hill. She headed toward it, defying gusts of wind that whistled in the gorse bushings. Perhaps an hour passed before she put the hamper down and sat on it. Her rest was fraught with worry and dark questions.

Were her visitors truly the notorious Palloes, tyrants from local legend, or were they ghosts of some sort? No one had seen the Palloes in ages. And what did they want with a dragon’s bone? Nothing good, Alysona was sure. Only, perhaps, if the dragon’s power kept them in check, they hoped his bone would set them free. She picked up the hamper and struggled on.

Details of the tumbledown keep were clearer. There was the high watch tower, and a great black maw where Cazarluun had torn through into the ancient mine. Despite the hard walk and her warm shawl, Alysona shivered. She had never liked been this close to Venge Hill.

White stones ringed the broken mount, like stitches at the edge of a rough green quilt. Low blocks were spaced between slim and straight ones, a double row weaving like the coils of a monstrous serpent. Soon she was close enough to spot heaps of other stones, slouched like shoulders or hips. The largest of these had great gaping windows.

Eye sockets of the dragon’s skull, if the legends were true. Alysona had always taken them for simple stones, their purpose lost to memory. Now that she was nearer, she could see the curves and planes. They were, in truth, a dragon’s bones.

Despair washed over her. “How can a teeny woman such as myself carry those great things?” Daisy huddled under a gorse nearby. Alysona answered for herself. “I’ll have to find a smaller bit.”

Ribs and vertebrae passed in a slow march. Surely there were little bones in the tail, or perhaps a toe. She did find a foot, skinny and clawed like a cock’s, but even the least back talon was as long as her arm.

Alysona leaned against a gigantic shoulder blade and gazed down the endless row of ribs. If only she could go home, forget all this! But Euryx had planned too well. She could never live with herself if she didn’t save Brynn. Daisy came to rub her ankles, encouraging her.

“I can’t believe you came this far,” Alysona said. The cat cast an anxious eye up at her. “If you can do it, so can I.”

Eventually she came to a bundle of long, skinny bones, some of them well sunk into the earth.

“The dragon’s wing,” Alysona guessed.

Following one of the stretchers out, she spied a smaller spur at the end of it. A wingtip claw. It was only the length of her hand, quite a tiny bone relative to the rest of the skeleton.

The claw was cool and smooth, not spongy like other bones. It seemed untouched by the decades since the dragon entered its final rest. She pulled, but the wingtip clung stubbornly to the bone.

“Forgive me, Cazarluun,” Alyzona murmured. “This is what I have to do.”

She set both hands, twisted and tugged, and finally wrestled the claw free. It was heavier than it seemed. She bundled it into the hamper, adjusted her shawl, and set off back the way she had come. Daisy trotted ahead, ears working nervously.

A chill breeze stirred the brush. It sounded like a harsh whisper all around her.

“Give me my bone.”

No one was there. Alysona would have seen them. Still, she hunched her shoulders up to her ears and walked faster.

Movement caught in the corner of her eye. White mist or steam wafted from the rib bones as she passed. Daisy was growling again. Something brushed Alysona’s face, like cobwebs in the dark, and there was a faint odor of char.

She swallowed a a sour taste in her mouth and hurried straight up the hill. Her stunted legs made it a tough climb, while her shoulders burned with the hamper’s weight. More stones were scattered all the way up slope. These were not white but dark, blackened by ancient fire.

Wind pushed from behind, a louder hiss in her ears. “Give me my bone.”

It was definitely a voice, low and dangerous. Alysona risked a look over her shoulder. White vapors clotted together at the base of the slope. The ghostly shape had a long neck edged with saw-toothed spikes, mighty wings, deadly talons. The great head had horrid, hollow eyes.

A ghost — the ghost of Dragon Cazarluun!

She charged up the steep hill, though her short legs were stiff as wood and her heart pounded in her throat. Slabs of masonry blocked her way. She scrambled around them, stumbled, kept on.

“Give me my bone!”

“I can’t,” Alysona panted. The hamper dragged, its weight slowing her.

Other voices echoed soft and sinister from up ahead. “Well done, Alysona.”

“Hurry now.”

“Your dear Brynn is waiting.”

The Palloes — this was all their fault! She struggled on, gulping breath, as anger renewed her strength. How could she get rid of them? For she knew, if they got what they wanted, they would keep coming back to her. Brynn would never be safe.

Daisy bounded past, orange fur bristled to twice her usual size. The slope trembled as something awful rushed up behind them.

“Run, Daisy!” Alysona yelled.

“Give me my bone!” roared the dragon’s ghost.

Keeping ahead of the enormous wraith, she dashed through empty archways. Shattered towers were bare to the sky; halves of rooms held weathered furnishings. Then a courtyard where the ground suddenly dropped away. She skidded, fighting for balance.

A crumbling stairway led down into the gloomy pit. Howling wind pulled on her skirt and shawl, trying to drag her in. Three tiny, bald heads looked up from far below. She could hear them perfectly despite the distance.

“Come, join us,” coaxed Firiss Palloe. “We’re all waiting.”

Alysona trembled, uncertain. If she stayed, who knew what the dragon would do? But if she went in there, she wouldn’t come out — at least, not as the person she wanted to be.

“Why are you stopping?” Gevant Palloe demanded. “Give it to us!”

Daisy wailed and darted off, but Alysona’s head snapped up. Only one thing had ever defeated the Dwarven sorcerers — the wraith that was almost upon her. She dug frantically in her hamper.

Far below, Euryx Palloe raged, “No time for your sniveling — throw the bone now!”

The dragon’s ghost lunged, tail whipping and talons outstretched. “GIVE ME MY BONE!”

The little woman raised the wingtip that seemed to weigh as much as all the world. She screamed, “THEN TAKE IT!”

She hurled the claw into the pit. Seconds later, a blast of white and icy air roared past. It dove after that bit of bone. Alysona dropped to her knees, watching the dragon’s ghost plunge down and down. Three eager faces, alight with malice, looked up for their prize.

Then a mighty roar. The earth bucked and stones toppled into the pit, while indescribable howls and flashes echoed up from below. In the depths, three shrieks suddenly cut off.

Moments later, a pure white flare headed back up. Alysona scrambled backward, frantic to get away from the edge. Light rose, dazzling her. She cowered, covering her face, while her eyelids pulsed red with the glare.

Terrified, Alysona dared to peek between her fingers. The dragon’s ghost hovered, glaring at her. Spectral scales glinted, claws flexed, and vast wings beat with all the claw tips in place.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “They made me —”

The dragon’s ghost snorted. “Go home, mortal.” It soared upward, spiraled wide, then curved back to settle around the base of Venge Hill.

Was it really over? Had she survived this nightmare of a day? Alysona didn’t believe it until she felt a furry ball shivering against her hip. She stroked Daisy’s head, sharing comfort, and tried to organize her thoughts.

Even with the dragon’s permission, she couldn’t go home. Her husband was still down there — or she desperately hoped so. Blinking against the after-image of the ghostly glow, she crawled to the edge.

“Brynn?” she called, desolate. “Brynn!”

Ragged shuffling came in answer. Could it be human footsteps? She peered down, hardly daring to hope. Far below, a figure in a night shirt ran up the stairs.

“Alysona,” he croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Brynn!” Alysona ran down the steps. They met on the nearest landing. Her husband swept her up like a little girl, while she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought they would kill you.”

“Who? Oh.” Brynn set her down, paling as he realized where they were. “What happened?”

Alysona took his hand and pulled him up the stairs. “They stole you. Those awful Dwarves!”

“I don’t remember,” he murmured, stunned.

“They wanted me to bring them a bone from the dragon’s skeleton,” Alysona explained bitterly.

“I thought I saw a dragon. It was fighting the Dwarves.”

“I gave them a bone, all right. Only I tricked them.” She smiled with fierce joy. “Cazarluun wanted his bone back, you see.”

“Is that what all the racket was about?” Brynn chuckled. “At least I have a good reason for walking about in my night shirt.”

Alysona smiled, relieved to hear his calm good sense. “Don’t worry, I brought your things.”

Once they reached the top, she passed him clothes from the hamper. Daisy pranced around, rubbing any knee or ankle she could reach.

“She came, too?” Brynn asked, surprised. Daisy trilled up at him.

“Every step,” Alysona said, “but it was the dragon’s ghost that saved you.”

Brynn gazed down with pride as he buttoned his shirt. “No, it did not. You did it, love. You saved me.”

She blushed. Brynn had always been the strong one who protected her from superstitious villagers. Now she had protected him. It felt strange, but good.

“To have and to hold,” Alysona said.

“Always.” He bent to kiss her, then pulled his boots from the basket.

While Brynn finished dressing, Alysona pondered whether other changes were due. Instead of hiding and letting Brynn do for her, she might just walk into Witherow with him next time. Let the folk get used to seeing her. Once they heard of this adventure, they would know there was no evil in her. Besides, she had survived wicked sorcery and a dragon’s ghost. How scary could a few villagers be?

Soon they walked down the slope, hand in hand. The many white stones were once more set firmly in place. Daisy trotted ahead with her tail high, leading them home.


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