Sara's Fire: Tales of the Dragonguard

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Ipromised you another story about dragons, and here it is. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that this story is longer than the first.

Several thousand words longer.

Sometimes, more words are needed to get the story across to the reader. This was one of those instances.

Enjoy all the words!

AYA’S DRAGON was quite fun to write. It was something very different from my original genre, which is paranormal fiction. It made me think differently about how things would work with the characters I created. I already tend to micromanage my characters, and with this story, that was not any different. I used to think that was a bad thing, but then, I can’t be the only person who has been mentally dragged out of a story by some plot aspect that made absolutely no sense.

Yes, even in a universe not based on our own reality. I am weird that way.

With SARA’S FIRE, the main character’s natal culture is the opposite of Aya’s, so that will naturally affect Sara’s life and her worldview. Aya had to fight to get what she wanted in her life. Sara’s situation is a much different situation.

I wrote things this way to reflect the way the real world is today. If you think about it, culture is different not just between countries, but even between individual cities and States. What is normal and acceptable in one is anathema in another. This is also reflected in local idioms, so where in AYA’S DRAGON, Our Heroine referred to her mother as mama, in SARA’S FIRE, the common idiom for the female parent is mum.

Such is a society in general, which can be a shame, depending upon circumstances. I don’t believe that societies should be homogeneous, but I do believe they should be more tolerant of difference within their own communities. It is my hope that such a thing will be a part of our near future in the world and not just a pipe dream.

But I digress.

Never fear, gentle readers. There will be more dragons in your future, and I have not forgotten about Aya, Sentinel, Drannar, and Clarion. While they are not the focus of this story, they are still present, to one degree or another.

The series is currently planned to consist of four stories, each with at least 26,000 words. The next story, on which I’ve already been working, is called KAL’S HEART.

Before you ask, yes, there will be a softcover omnibus edition offered when the series is complete, but be aware that the purchase price will reflect its greater size. The eventual e-book omnibus version will also have a higher price. It will, after all, be four stories all collected into one e-book.

Thank you again, my dear beta readers, for all your help. PickleNick, Mister Moose, James, Jill, and NJ – you rock!

A particularly grateful nod goes out to the wonderful Daniel, Keeper of Kitchens and Fine Beer. Your thoughtful suggestions have helped to make some of my writing go along much more...er...smoothly.

What beer pairs best with Fire-breathing dragons? Inquiring minds want to know. My current favorite is Wreck Alley, a dark and tasty Imperial Stout.

If you’re old enough to drink legally, look it up for more information – and then try some.

Special thanks go out to Ekaterina, Cynthia, Annisa, Nancy, and all the beautiful ladies at 80k.

Now, on to what you really want...

DRAGONS!

1

S ara! What are you doing, girl? Stop fiddling with your hair and go help your sister! Patience was gone from the speaker’s tone at this point, and there was no more opportunity for procrastination.

Sorry, Mum, Sara called back over her shoulder and sighed. She twisted her long, curly mass of locks into a plait, then folding the resulting braid in half and binding it all together with a tight band close to her skull at the back of her head. She sat back and turned her head a little to the side, examining the result.

Here and there, untamed hair ends poked out throughout the otherwise tidy braid, but they were contained enough to keep them from being an annoyance. She gave a quick nod and smiled at her work that was reflected in the mirror, pleased with the results. Just finished. I need it up off the back of my neck. It gets in the way if I let it hang there.

Really, young lady, I don’t know why you spend so much time on it. If it’s such a bother, cut it short, her mother said, not for the first time, nor even the tenth. Your sister has been far more sensible about things that way!

Once again, the advice was ignored as though it was a passing breeze. Comparing one sister to the other was never a wise thing for Sara’s mother to do. As well as her daughters got along, there still existed a small amount of tension between the two that was just an example of the normal sibling rivalry that crosses the myriad iterations of sibling relationships that exist in the vast multiverse. Sara’s normal response was to drag her feet when she was compared to her industrious and driven sibling.

I know, Mum, but I like to wear it long when I’m not working, she said, stepping out the solid mahogany door and out into the dawn’s weak light. Another blistering day in the shop, helping her older sister forge an order of horseshoes and mending some items.

And short hair makes my face look odd, she muttered under her breath as she closed the bottom half of the door behind her. She kept her voice low to keep her mother from hearing her, but still had the satisfaction of knowing she had said something aloud.

I’ll bring a hot dinner down to you both at noon, Sara, her mother called after her through the top half of the Dutch door. No need to come up to the house, I know you’ll be busy working.

Thank you, Mum, Sara looked over her shoulder and called back with a broad smile on her face, now feeling upbeat. A hot dinner sounded so much better than a slab of stale bread topped with a smear of butter or preserves, which was their normal dinner fare. It did not help that it was their habit to devour the scant meal between hammer blows at the hot forge. It was a reason to be happy. I’ll let Pharis know!

With the top edge of the sun still only just peeking over the horizon, little more than a few spears of golden light reaching into the sky, the morning air remained a bit chilly. Never one to enjoy the cold, Sara moved quickly toward the warmth of the smithy, which had been built about twenty meters from the house, where there would be less chance of random sparks igniting the thatch that covered the roof. Judging from the sounds coming from inside the smithy, Pharis, Sara’s older sister, was already hard at work within.

Always one to complete as many orders as possible in the day, she would have started the farrier’s work order as soon as she was done breaking her fast. On a normal day, that meant having a portion of whatever was left from the previous night’s meal accompanied by a heavy mug of steaming black tea that had been sweetened with a drop of honey and lightened with a bit of cream that had been provided by one of the two cows the family possessed.

Sara stopped just outside the heavy door and looked inside the glowing interior of the smithy. She noted that her sister had pulled her own short length of hair back at the nape of her neck, twisted it into a stubby braid, ragged and singed hair ends sticking out all higgledy-piggledy from its edges, and bound it tightly in a wide dark ribbon of indeterminate color. The leather cap her mother continued to insist she wear to protect it hung, long-ignored, on a far wall, where it had begun to collect random cobwebs.

Even at this early hour, beads of sweat already glistened on Pharis’ broad, unlined forehead, her hands and cheeks filthy from her labors. Sara’s sister had never been one to ease into her workday. She dove into her work each day like the early bird hunting for its first worm to break its fast.

Sara was not surprised by what she saw, as her sister was less concerned with appearances, and more intent upon getting to her forge and to working as early as she could each morning. Pharis had never been one to cling to the dictates of appearance and fashion, instead preferring to wear clothing sensible for whatever occasion she faced.

The same was true of her diet when left to her own devices. Sometimes, when she was in a particular hurry, Pharis would grab up whatever was close to hand and munch on it as she took the pebbled path to the smithy.

Their mother tried to keep nourishing foods close by for those mornings but was sometimes irritated when Pharis would grab part of a loaf of the previous day’s bread accompanied by a thick smear of butter, rather than the dried fruit and nut bread or savory meat pasty her mother would leave on a plate, under a napkin for her dutiful daughter. It was always a bone of contention between the two.

Pharis had explained many times to her mother that she did not feel that she needed anything so special and that she would do just fine with the simple fare she substituted. Predictably, those reasoned arguments fell on her mother’s selectively deaf ears.

To Isleni’s way of thinking, a piece of unaccompanied bread and butter did not and could not provide the kind of energy a person needed to stay active for an entire morning. Having been