CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
Trailer for Rivals
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Author Notes
Other Books by William David Ellis
Free!
Books to Come
Chapter 1
January 9, 1939, Germany
Harry woke to pain and cold. He tried to move and couldn’t. Chin to his chest, he gazed down the length of his body and saw he was strapped to a cold steel table. His body was streaked with bloody lines and seeping wounds, steam rose from the crude dark stitches that seemed to hold him together. He screamed. Through swollen eyes he stared at the sterile grey walls that surrounded him. He laid his head back on the table. His hair had frozen in small pools of blood, and when he moved, they pulled, ripping away the last vestiges of unsoiled flesh.
He was alone in the room. Then remembered he was naked and was grateful to be alone. His thoughts were as tortured as his body. He tried to swallow but his throat ached, scarred from the animal screams his torturers had wrung from him. Time escaped him, and he could barely recall his own name or how he had gotten strapped to the table.
As he lay on the table, he heard a moan, long and low. It was only the wind blasting through a solitary window ten feet from the ground, a single friendless portal out of his cell. If he cocked his head just right, and bore the pain, he could see through the small window into the sky that hid behind it. The wind poked him with frigid needles, its bitter fingers wrapping themselves around him, massaging his body with agony.
Longing for the darkness of hypothermia, he drifted, easing into its dark clutches, but then he heard through the chatter of his own teeth a song.
In the middle of his numbness, wavering between death’s invitation and pain, he heard the gentle trill of a redbird. He fought to focus on it, concentrating all the strength that was left in him to listen to the melody. The cardinal’s warble swept warmly across his frigid soul, soothing him through the cold walls of his prison. The song could not be bound by the cruelty of his cage. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he tilted his neck so he could see out the lonely window. Cold blasts pushed through the bars, but so did the redbird’s song. The notes were free and soared on hope. They lanced through the icy chains of winter’s harsh breath and warmed him. It hurt to smile. His lips were split and encrusted with blood, but he did it anyway. A warmth began to settle on him like a blanket toasted over a fire and then placed over a small child on a winter night. His shivers ceased.
As his body relaxed, the face of a beautiful raven-haired young woman filled his mind. She was tall and slender, with high cheekbones and creamy skin and a light sprinkling of freckles that streamed across her nose. She was dressed in Lincoln green. He thought he knew her; her name was on the tip of his swollen tongue. Yes!... Sarah!
****
688 AD
It was a beautiful day in North Africa. The morning sun peeked above night’s curtain, intent on bringing its bright warmth to the day. In the river valley where Kusaila’s people camped, Sarah Linscomb woke. She slipped through the flaps that acted as a door to her tent and took a deep breath. The air was still chilly from the desert night.
Sarah yawned, rubbing her tired eyes. She had not slept well. Dreams tormented her most of the night. Her mind told her she had made the right decision, but her heart wasn’t buying it.
As fragments of dreams kept haunting her, she tried to push them aside and concentrate on the day before her. But every time she paused or started getting into sync in one of the training exercises Liv had scheduled for her, she found herself caught up in a daydream. In those shreds of dream, she kept seeing Harry. Cold, shivering, and pale. The visions brought a bitter bile to the back of her throat.
She considered talking to Kusaila about them and was on her way to find him when she stopped midstride. Another vision gripped her. A beautiful red-haired woman with disquieting golden eyes stood in front of her, staring right at Sarah. The tall woman’s arms were crossed and her feral eyes were haunted with what one day would be called a thousand-yard stare. Then she smiled, but it never reached her eyes. Sarah shook her head, trying to push the vision away, when a familiar voice spoke. It was Liv, her embedded friend, the ancient book.
“The woman you are seeing, Sarah, is a witch. Her name is Belle Rodum.”
Sarah’s eyes widened and her breath caught. So this was Lizzy’s mother. Then her eyes narrowed to dragon slits usually reserved for her dragon form. Belle Rodum was beautiful. Too beautiful, actually. Too perfect. Probably artificial. Maybe it was a little witchy magic that kept the woman’s body in the perfect balance of athletic and feminine. Crossing her arms over her chest, Sarah circled the vision and let jealousy tangle her thoughts, but then she thought of Kusaila. “What a hypocrite you are,” she grumbled, angry with herself. She spun away from the vision. Had she lingered a second longer she would have seen the woman’s eyes shift from numbness to despair and her deceptive smile dissolve into dismay, and she would have noticed Belle’s lips mouth, Help him.
But Sarah didn’t see Belles plea. Her mind raged with her own frustration. I have made the right decision. I am in the right place. I do respect and love Kusaila; he and his people need me. Harry just needs to put a coat on and he will be fine. I’m sure the witch can keep him warm.
She shoved her clouded thoughts away, clenching her teeth, she kept walking. She needed a distraction, and that was when she saw Kusaila. He was speaking to one of his cavalry scouts. She approached and listened as he tried to make sure that his people had plenty of warning in case of another attack. The last attack had been devastating, and they had barely beaten it back. Kusaila had lost a lot of people in that battle. No one had been able to determine how the enemy had crept up on them unaware. It was disturbing and the rumors had flown like vultures, everything from spies to spirits, with witchcraft being the consensus of the gossip mills.
As Sarah watched Kusaila speak with his soldier, she could not help but notice what a handsome man he was. He was dark-skinned, a member of the Berber race of North Africa. Tall with jet-black hair that had a wool-like texture. His eyes were green and startling. He was very muscular, a warrior, but gentle in nature. Sarah had experienced that gentleness personally as well as witnessed the way he treated his people with dignity while still commanding obedience, which was another thing she appreciated. A strong leader. He was first in battle and last to leave, and most significantly he was a dragon shifter. Just like her. He was her
mentor and friend and she owed him, and he needed her. Many people had built lasting relationships on much less. Sarah sighed. She was content. She was in the right place at the right time doing the right thing, if only she could get her dreams to agree with her.
Kusaila turned toward her and couldn’t help but smile. “And how are you today, my Sarah? Did you sleep well? Any dreams?”
Stunned by his question, Sarah could not keep the surprise from her face.
Curiosity manifested in his eyes and his head tilted slightly as he waited for her response.
Sarah was not prepared to share her dreams about Harry with Kusaila, and her awkward pause reflected as much. Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was only seconds, she replied, “I slept as well as could be expected, I suppose”—pausing to watch his response and buy her time to choose her words—“considering all that we have been through in the last few weeks, I mean…” A warm smile crept across Kusaila’s face, encouraging her. She didn’t notice the slight rise of his eyebrow. He watched her struggle with the truth, look back at him, make her decision—and then the dam broke.
“I do struggle sometimes with old memories and fear. My mind hurtles forward in a thousand directions while occasionally looking back, and that combination is not good for sleep.” Her reply was as honest as any veiled deceit could be. “How about you, Kusaila? Did you sleep well?”
“I slept the sleep of an honest man with a good conscience, my Sarah.”
Sarah shot him a what are you trying to tell me look.
Kusaila brushed it aside and continued, “Sarah, today we must explore another realm in the old manuscript.”
Sarah heard Liv growl, “Watch it, buster!” and laughed out loud.
Kusaila was also in tune with the living book. “I mean that wonderful wise book of profound counsel,” he added contritely.
“Suck-up!” Liv muttered, laughing.
“Ha!” Sarah squawked, embarrassed at her own outburst.
Kusaila shook his head, eyes twinkling. “There is no pleasing some people, and the older and more set in their crusty ways, the harder it is to do.”
Sarah tried her best to give Kusaila a look of warning, but he wasn’t catching on, so she said, “You better be careful. She has ways of getting even.”
Kusaila sighed and nodded. “As I was trying to say before Her Majesty interrupted, there are some very important lessons to understand. And by that, I mean not just to be aware of, not just to know by heart, but to incorporate into your very breath. But come with me; we need to shift form and continue this conversation in another place.”
With that, he took her by the hand and walked out of the camp. When they reached its edge, he looked down at her and said, “Follow me, my Sarah.” He ran a few steps, leaped, and was instantly transformed into his dragon self. Sarah followed on his heels. Together they pushed through the heavens and into the bright blue of the desert morning. When they reached a height where the air began to thin, Kusaila hovered, pointing with one of his wings. “Do you see that mountain on the horizon?”
Sarah was barely able to make out the hazy outline of a distant peak. “Yes, what about it?”
“That is our destination. Come now with all speed. Pour it on and show me what you have learned about flying!”
Kusaila dived, screeching like a monstrous hawk, moving faster and faster till his scales began to glow. With a small bend of his wings, his descent turned slightly upward and leveled off but his speed continued. Sarah had been practicing and stayed right with him, leading him by a dragon’s nose. He grinned and his huge teeth sparked as friction pushed against him. In a few minutes they had covered hundreds of miles. Kusaila began to slow by gradually extending his wings and allowing his tail to act as a brake. He turned upward and moved into a wide circle, blowing off speed in a series of smaller and smaller loops until he slowed to a halt and gently landed on the plateau of the great mountain.
Sarah sat on a rock in her human form, acting like she had been there for hours. Hands on hips, foot tapping, she looked up at him and said, “What took you so long?”
In response, he walked toward her, blew out a blast of flame, and transformed into his human self. Before she could react, he picked her up into his arms and kissed her. The heat from the transformation was still on his lips, but Sarah didn’t care and melted into his embrace. For a few moments they kissed, their passion mounting.
Sarah broke free, gasping. She gently placed a hand on Kusaila’s chest.
She knew instinctively that if she went any further she would not be able to stop. And something inside her also realized this was not the place or the time. Another lingering vision, barely perceptible, also troubled her in the middle of her embrace when all her thoughts should have been focused on the man who held her. She saw Harry. She couldn’t see him well and only for the most fleeting of seconds. He was chained and bloody and shivering.
Kusaila’s arms dropped to his sides; he pulled back slowly. He was puzzled. He loved Sarah and wanted to be with her in every way possible. When she pushed away it confused him. “What’s wrong?”
She met his beautiful eyes, knowing all the emotion they held was a gift to her. “Not here.” Her voice was breathy. “Not this place. It’s not time. It’s not right,” she whispered.
Kusaila’s confusion slowly turned into a sad smile. After a long moment, he exhaled and said, “You are right. This is not the time, but it is a marvelous place. It is a very Holy Place… Moses met with the Most High here. The law was carved with His fingers from these rocks. And something else happened here. Unknown to most humankind but cherished by dragon people.” Kusaila raised his hands in reverence, his voice brimming with awe. “On this mountain in the middle of the great glory, He created us from the great burning… dragons. Men were made from dust and He breathed into them life. In this place He took the burning coals and also breathed on them and made dragons. Legend has it that Gershom the son of Moses was here in that moment and was so enthralled with the sight of the first dragons he begged the Glory to let him be a dragon. And He did, but Gershom did not lose his humanity in the process. He only gained his dragonhood.”
Tears streamed down Sarah’s cheeks. She fell to her knees. A suffocating sense of unworthiness wrapped its dark tentacles around her. Fear swept over her, causing her to shudder. She wanted to cry out and run but realized there was nowhere on earth to hide from the revealing. Kusaila gently picked her up, holding her as she trembled.
“This place has that effect on people. It’s like everything we are… all our deepest secrets and hidden darkness. Things we hide from ourselves because we cannot bear to look at them are revealed here. It is a holy place and that very holiness is what causes the rocks to burn. It is that holiness that created us, Sarah. And,” his voice grew quiet, barely above a raspy whisper,“ it is why when a dragon person turns from the burning of the Holy they know only darkness, and it is a great darkness.”
“But you, my Sarah, are not like that. You have danced with the North Star, and if I remember what you told me, he has given you a song. Your own song! Do you realize, my Sarah, how rare that is?”
He pointed to a rock that looked like it had been struck by a chorus of lightning and bore the singe marks still. “Sit. We need to talk, and you have gifts to receive here.”
Sarah smiled up at him. “Gifts? Like Harry was given?”
Liv’s voice spoke to Sarah’s heart. “Different than Harry’s but just as good. Harry’s gifts were from the outside. Things that were not naturally a part of who he is. Yours are the birthright of dragons. They include the prophetic song. Of course, you already know a little about that. And the ability to dream and have visions and interpret them. Consider this to be a coming-of-age celebration where you receive your inheritance.”
Sarah beamed. “Nice!”
And then she realized exactly what Liv had said and she paled. “Dreams? Visions? You said dreams, didn’t you?”
“Yes, she did,�
�� Kusaila answered, leaning back against the huge stone.
When he didn’t explain, Sarah asked, “What kind of dreams?”
“There are all types of dreams. Some are just the product of too much to drink, others from the stresses of life. Sometimes those things, drink and stress, will activate powerful dreams that are trying to tell us something. Also, there are dreams where we see what is happening to others we love or miss.”
Sarah waited for more but Kusaila was quiet.
“Are there any other birthright gifts we have that can be released here?”
“One more.” He said nothing more and seemed to be waiting on her.
Impatient with his slowness to speak, Sarah pressed on. “What is it? Why are you being so closemouthed?”
“The gift is discernment, Sarah. The ability to read someone. The best of us can look at an individual and know immediately what they are thinking or hiding.”
She stared at him. Realization dawned on her that he was practicing that gift right now.
“You are one of the best, aren’t you?” She stood up, eyebrows furrowed.
“See, it is starting to work already. Yes, I am. I teach others how to understand and interpret what they sense.”
She frowned, stepped back, and slowly tilted her head. Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, “And what are you sensing from me?”
Kusaila’s eyebrow rose and he smiled. “I sense conflict, duty, grief, and a very strong will that once set on a course is harder to move than this mountain. Yet.” His voice grew quiet. “I also sense your mountain is shaking and not yet established. You are doing what you feel is right, but your heart is torn. And something else. I sense you have had some dreams. Dreams about your dragon rider, Harry Ferguson.”
Sarah’s knees grew weak she fought to stand. “How—how could you know that?!”
“Easy, Sarah. I know it because I had the same dream…”
Chapter 2
December 16, 1938
Belle Rodum was troubled by the city of Cologne. It had a strange feel to it, and an even stranger odor. Most people would never have noticed, but Belle’s senses were supernaturally enhanced. When she chose, she could ignore them, but she did not choose to at the moment. Ever since her last encounter with Harry, she had felt different. Her spirit companions from earliest childhood had abandoned her. They had literally run away screaming. She had no explanation for that, other than Harry had sent them away…and that troubled her. No one should have been capable of that. Yet they were evicted, like tenants who had not paid their rent. Now she was learning to live without them, and in so doing was discovering things, like the smell of Cologne. It was a very clean smell. Not a sterile clean like harsh bleach, but the clean that came from a spring thunderstorm. Or like sun-dried bedsheets that had been tossed on the clothesline throughout a breezy day.
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