Author: Tamara Rivers

I gaze from side to side as Ward Amon guides me by my arm along the main, winding cobblestone street of Adytol. Behind us trail Ward Thorn and Ward Volkan, who I hear muttering to each other even now, and I flinch. I can feel their frustration toward me, their sharp glances on my back as we walk. But I’m not ready to agree to be a Ward yet.

The bustle of Adytol takes my mind off the heavy decision waiting for me—I stare at buildings who have windows full of all sorts of baked goods I’ve never seen before, a street merchant selling a wide variety of freshly-picked fruits and vegetables, an entire store dedicated to shoes—shoes that line so many counters in the window!—and so much more. Children run in packs, chasing each other with mock swords and wooden planks as shields.

“I’m Ward Mortimer!” one little girl declares. “Come, Undabouclier!”

(more…)

I tremble from head to foot before the awe-inspiring majesty of Kalteratem. Weakened from my walk here to this landing at the top of the Wards’ palace, I stagger on my feet, in shock. Ward Veremund takes my arm—and Kalteratem’s massive head comes forward and supports me on my right side. His scales, which are as large as cows in some places of his body, are cool to the touch.

“Easy, Estelle,” Kalteratem says. He gives me a gentle nudge toward Ward Veremund, who guides me to where a stone chair has been set beside a large stone table.

I sit, unable to look away from Kalteratem. Hearing a chuckle, I finally pry my eyes away to see Ward Mortimer headed my way, Ward Thorn following.

(more…)

Over the sound of Boyce’s family and friends chatting with the weary but relieved patient, I hear a door latch come undone. “Ward Veremund!” one of the woodsmen exclaim.

I turn to see Ward Veremund standing in the doorway to the simple stone room, observing us. Everyone except me bows their head respectfully. Is that the normal reaction one has to a Ward? Or is that just because it’s the leader of the Wards? I decide I better bow my head, too.

Ward Veremund walks up to Boyce, patting him on the shoulder. “How are you feeling Boyce?”

(more…)

From a haze of darkness, interrupted only with flitting visions of dragons—both good and bad—I feel a presence and open my eyes. There’s a stone ceiling above me. Confused, I peer around. I’m tucked under the blankets on my cot, which has been returned to the medical room, and set in the corner. At my side is a woman with a few strands of gray in her blonde hair, and the faint wrinkles on her cheeks and along the corners of her eyes deepen as she smiles at me.

“Good morning, Estelle! I’m glad to see you awake. I’m Jaye.”

“Hello, Jaye,” I whisper.

Jaye holds up a ceramic plate with fried eggs on a biscuit, along with apple slices. “Are you up for some breakfast?”

(more…)

As I gather my blankets around me and lay down on the cot set out in the sun, Ward Veremund sits in the same wooden chair he had used inside the medical wing. Astralux curls around the other side of my cot, making sure not to block out the sunlight that filters down over us. One of the two ladies that had helped Ward Veremund carry my cot out here returns with a cup of hot tea, which I gladly accept, thanking her.

“Well, aren’t you a dear!” the woman says. “My name’s Karen.”

“I’m Estelle,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Karen.”

“And it’s nice to meet you! It’s always good to have more Wards.”

I make myself smile, flinching on the inside. I still don’t even know what it means to be a Ward—what it all entails—and what little I do know, I’m not sure I’m ready to be one.

(more…)

Chapter 3: A New Home

“Estelle Brand,” a voice calls, a whisper in my mind’s eye.

From a distant darkness, I see a bright white light. A star, suspended before me. It grows brighter and brighter, and despite the weariness that lays on me, I reach for it.

“There we are,” a voice says, deep and warm.

(more…)

I hold a hand over my mouth in horror as Vladykar Eder’s purple-barbed whip snaps at Ward Mortimer. His right eye still drooping, the heavy-armored man steps to the side and uses his gleaming shield to deflect the whip. Still, he’s wearing down—the venom from Vladykar Eder’s Dragon Weapon is badly affecting Ward Mortimer.

Undabouclier, like his bonded human, is also struggling. The purple liquid goo that Velenosever breathes has seeped into the dark blue-plated dragon’s wounds, and Undabouclier favors his front left leg. Astralux is doing everything she can to keep Velenosever away from him, and narrowly avoids getting blasted by the orange dragon’s breath. Undabouclier swings the heavy bulb at the end of his tail, but Velenosever jumps over it, chuckling.

“Is that all you have?” Velenosever asks. “I thought this might actually be a challenge.”

(more…)

I can feel the fear from the Wards around me as we gaze up at the Vladykar pair hovering in the night sky. The rider has shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair that contrasts with his rich tan skin and the dark armor he wears. Despite the youthfulness of his face, I feel a sense of hidden power from him, like I did with Ward Mortimer and Vladykar Lochan, and there’s a malicious glint in his eerie purple eyes.

Then there is his dragon. While Undabouclier is larger in build, this dragon is almost as big around and half again as long, his spiked-tipped tail curling in the air behind him. His shield-sized scales are a vibrant orange with purple at the tips, and his eyes are the same eerie purple as his rider. The long thin spike on his tail is followed by a series of similar spikes all the way to the bridge of his nose, and he has three pairs of short horns that arch along his brow just above his eyes to his temples. Somehow, it reminds me of the eyebrow piercing that his rider has in his left eyebrow.

“Ward Mortimer!” the Vladykar rider says, his voice smooth. “Undabouclier! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

(more…)

I’m still reeling from the smell of troll—which lingers on us despite hours of walking through the forest—when Ward Mortimer calls a halt to our day’s walk.

“We made some good distance from the trolls, and I think rest would be best for everyone.” Ward Mortimer has Undabouclier lie down on his haunches, just like a dog does, to check the wound on his left shoulder. “Just to be sure we can fly tomorrow.”

Astralux inhales deeply, stretching her wings out, and I feel a dull pain in my back. “I can’t wait to fly again!”

(more…)

I fight from screaming in fear as Undabouclier charges forward toward the trolls. I also fight not to throw up.

These trolls, who are easily three meters tall, have sickly green skin covered in hairy, yellow-green warts that bulge out all along their shaggy bodies. They are clothed, barely, in loincloths made of animal skins that are crudely sewn together. Long, yellow, cracked nails protrude out from their thin fingers, and match their strange rectangular shaped teeth as they open their mouths and roar at the dragons. The troll that Undabouclier is headed for has beady yellow eyes with black irises and pupils. He wipes his bulbous nose with the back of his left arm and then raises a club in his right hand, made of what looks like a tree limb that was broken down into something more wieldable.

But it’s the smell that I can’t get over. The trolls literally smell like they’re carrying rotting meat. Maybe the trolls themselves are rotting? I’m not sure, but it’s revolting.

(more…)