Elizabeth Drakes's Site

Fantasy Romance

sorceresses

Short Story: A Dog of Her Own

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Lord Wrakar wishes she brought something like this home.

 

A Dog of Her Own

Andromeda kicked the dirt and crossed her arms over her thin chest.

It wasn’t fair.

She was bored and lonely. A dog would fix both.

Of course her grandmother didn’t want her to have one. She never wanted Andromeda to have anything nice. Laverra was still mad Andromeda had survived being born and angrier yet Andromeda’s father protected his daughter.

Andromeda glanced back at the upper windows of the gothic manor house looming behind her. It blocked out the faint trickle of sunlight that escaped the overcast sky and shrouded the grounds in gloom. The wards around the compound protected Andromeda from the outside evil, but they did nothing to protect her from what was inside.

She’d seen only six summers, but she already knew one day soon she’d have to protect herself.

Another reason for her to have a dog.

Her grandmother would be resting now, preferring to sleep during the day when her magic was weakest.

Andromeda snorted. Magic didn’t care if it was day or night, but her grandmother’s magic was fading. Laverra had deviated too far from Uzakiel’s path, and Rashalee had snared her in a web of lies, greed, and envy. The old woman would soon need a powerful blood sacrifice to appease Uzakiel.

She’d go after Andromeda’s father.

Andromeda wouldn’t let that happen, nor would her dog once she got one. Her father was the only one ever kind to her even if his studies absorbed so much of his time that he didn’t notice her most days.

She kicked the dirt again.

One of the human guards spotted her and hurried away, pretending he hadn’t noticed her.

Andromeda was used to it. She’d always been an ugly child with her too-big blue eyes and golden ringlets. But her father loved her, and people were nice to her because they didn’t want to anger Lord Wrakar.

One day, they’d be nice to her because they didn’t want to anger her.

The thought cheered her as she skipped down to the crypts. Dysentery had killed two human servants earlier in the week, and her father’s apprentices had laid out the bodies in the prepatory chambers with the flesh-eating beetles. Her father had no work for zombies at the moment, and after another week or so, one of her father’s apprentices would raise them for kitchen duties.

Fresh skeletons made the best house staff, and the apprentices needed the practice.

Andromeda liked the skeleton staff better than the human one. The skeletons never called her ugly, her father awful, or her dead mother stupid. And they always did what she told them.

Her grandmother wished Andromeda would be as well-behaved as the skeletons. Laverra could keep wishing.

Sitting on the edge of the mausoleum, Andromeda swung her legs. The crypts were quiet, like they always were. Like the manor house was. And the courtyards. And the workrooms.

She blew a golden curl from her eyes. Sometimes, she wished people would laugh. Smile. Even yelling would be better than the constant silence.

She wanted a dog. Needed it.

The crypts were situated in the most ancient parts of the family compound, and their family was one of the oldest in Oskelez. Andromeda wondered how old the bones moldering in the crypt were.

A smile teased over her lips as she thought of a way to ease her boredom.

Magic filled her, and she sunk it into the ground. It filtered over the bones of servants, then past the dust of her ancestors. Their presence intensified her own magic, and she giggled as a surge of power washed through her.

Harnessing it, Andromeda pushed the magic deeper. Burial sites from long forgotten wars lay further beneath the crypt. Deeper yet were the bones of peasants from a failed uprising.

Sweat beaded on Andromeda’s brow as she gathered the power of the dead to her, bolstering her magic and delving deeper.

Past the bones of noble knights and valiant priests who served gods she didn’t know. Deeper yet to the dust of slaves who’d built Oskelez and the bones of their masters.

The masters.

What is the seven hells were these creatures?

Things of nightmare. Things of…

Wait. Were those the bones of a dog?

A smile lit Andromeda’s face as she ripped the magic from the ancient dead surrounding the dog and funneled it into the beast.

Sweat trickled down her cheek as the dead fought her, resisted her.

She balled her tiny fists and locked her jaw. She was a necromancer of clan Xyrenia.

The. Dead. Would. Obey!

She tore the magic from them and slammed it into the dog.  Her dog.

The ground beneath the crypt shook, the dry earth cracking and tearing as a howl ripped through the silent afternoon and echoed off the magic wards.

Bone paws the size of caldrons punched through the ground, followed by two large heads and a massive body. The creature of nightmare stood taller than a man, and it tossed back both heads and howled.

Red pinpricks flickered in its eye sockets as it turned toward Andromeda.

She crossed her arms and waited.

The abomination studied her then lowered both of its heads to the ground at her feet.

Andromeda clapped her hands together in delight.

“I’ll name you Orthul, and we’re going to be the best of friends.”

She skipped back to the house, her new companion at her heels.

 

If you liked this story, you might like to check out a free copy of my debut novel, To Love a Prince.

Mysterious Fireball Streaks Across the Night Sky

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A fireball in the night sky would at least draw me to my window, if not outside. I have a bit of self-preservation in me (some might call it cowardice).

But then I live in a world where fireballs at night are not the norm.

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But I’ve often wondered if people in a fantasy world where there’s magic would respond in the same way. Would they be startled and intrigued, or would they respond much as we do to an airplane passing overhead?

I suppose it would depend. Simply because magic is possible, doesn’t mean it’s everywhere. And it’s possible that some cultures would’ve adopted it more readily than others.

Long ago, back before I had kids, I played World if Warcraft for awhile. I remember when they first came out with Blood Elves and it was intriguing to play a character whose whole race depended on magic, especially after having played a Tauren in Thunder Bluff.

I imagine a fireball in Thunder Bluff would’ve been met with a lot more interest than one in Silvermoon City.

In the novels I’ve written or am working on so far, there is magic, but it’s the exception. While magic exists, it’s unusual for someone to know how to use it. It makes them special. Unique. Dangerous. So far, all of these works take place in roughly the same kingdom.

As I contemplate another story in the same world, I am considering setting it in a very different kingdom the revolves around the imperial elves of T’analear. This would involve creating a very different culture. One that not only has embraced magic, but takes it for granted.

Kinda like my kids do with iPads. Of course there are iPads and they have access to all of the information in all of the world. And cat memes. Those too.

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I imagine Prince Celadrius would be more annoyed than curious about a fireball streaking across the night sky, whereas Sir Marcus would be grabbing his sword and shield.

How about you? What’s your response to a mysterious fireball in the sky?

 

 

 

 

Heroine Analysis: Part 3

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After going through and thinking about what I like and dislike about heroines, I decided to take a look at the ones I’m writing. Trying to turn thoughts into action. But more than that, trying to be honest with myself.

If I’m going to put other authors’ work under my microscope, I should do the same to my own.

I don’t know why it’s so much easier to write passive heroines. I have done it numerous times in the past, and even as I wrote Knight of Valor, I had to constantly keep in my mind that the hero couldn’t just make everything better all by himself (like he did in the first draft).

Perhaps this is my upbringing in our current culture. Falling back on so much of what I’ve seen all my life. So I’ll have to fight doubly hard to exercise the damsels. But it’s a fight worth having.

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Knight of Valor

This book is complete and I’ve been working on trying to publish it. The heroine in it is a sorceress trying to stop a necromancer from sacrificing her soul.

  • Is she passive? –  She escapes from her master and actively works to get to safety. Even when her magic is weak at the beginning of the story, she always joins the fights to help the hero. She never mucks up the fights, either.
  • Do I tell one thing and show another? – This is harder for an author to fairly judge in their own work. I try very hard not to tell the reader anything. I try to focus on them liking the heroine through her actions – being a bit sassy with the hero when he deserves it, rescuing a dog, playing with children. I don’t see anywhere that I tell you she’s kind or strong willed.
  • Does she do stupid things? – I worked very hard on this and forced myself not to give in to the temptation to “make” things happen by the heroine foolishly leaving the hero no matter how insufferable he could be at times. The only action I could see actually being a bit foolish was when she frees some souls trapped by a powerful spell. It’s a risk, but a calculated one.

So, I think the heroine passes the: I won’t hate her if she’s someone else’s heroine test.

Now, would I like her?

  • Is she actively involved in solving her problem? – She fights for her soul and her freedom, up to and including making the deal to get a Knight to help her travel to safety. In the climactic showdown at the end of the story, it’s her actions that save both her and the hero.
  • Can you identify with her? – This is harder, I think. She’s a sorceress in a fantasy world. But perhaps you can identify with her not being strong enough and needing a bit of help but still being proud. Perhaps you can identify with her helping a stray dog. Or falling in love with someone she thinks she can never have. Or maybe that she can’t ride a horse well and hates camping. Those last bits might be a little reflection of the author . . .
  • No Damsels – I don’t think she ever comes across as a damsel in the story. Does she need the hero’s help? Yes. But is she also working hard and fighting alongside of him? Yes.  And, she even comes to his aide a time or three

So maybe I could actually like her even if she was someone else’s character.

At least, I’ve tried to craft that.