by J. A. Pitts
I’d like to dedicate this book to two of my oldest friends—Lucien (Lou) Cerwin and Alan Burstein.
Alan and I were roommates straight out of high school. For living with me, he very likely deserves a Purple Heart. Alan did a stint in the Navy, and ended up an engineer in the private sector.
Lou has been a supporter of my dreams since the day we met all the way back into the seventh grade. He’s always had a sharp mind and a flair for speaking it loud and proud. While we may not always agree on politics, I know he’s in my corner, no matter what. Lou retired from the Navy recently.
I’d like to thank both of these guys for the service they’ve done for our country. It isn’t everyone who can dedicate a significant portion of their lives so we can enjoy the freedoms we have grown accustomed to.
Both of these guys flew to Seattle for my book launch and have gone way above and beyond in the support and promotion of my writing. My life is richer for having them in it.
Acknowledgments
Here we are at my second published novel. Between the day job and everything else life tosses my way, I’m thankful that I have such a wonderful group of folks who support me in my endeavors.
First and foremost, of course, I need to thank my family—Kathy Pitts, my awesome wife and partner. By the time you folks read this book, we’ll be celebrating our twenty-second wedding anniversary. My son, Patrick Pitts, who’s become an adult when I wasn’t looking. I love all the help you give me in brainstorming the story. You are excellent. And my youngest, Emily Pitts. What a wonderful young woman you’ve grown to be. Thanks for the humor and the constant hugs. They make the day-to-day existence so sweet. Thanks for everything you do.
The fine folks at my day job have been very supportive. It’s wonderful to have so many people excited for all this. I’d like to call out Linda Ingram especially, for being so optimistic and wonderful about the books.
There are those who are quieter, supporting me day-for-day with their loyalty and friendship. These folks are hard to come by, and should never want for acknowledgment. My buddy Allan Rousselle has been that kind of friend. He’s a damn fine writer in his own right. He has a quick wit and keen insight into story. Thanks for all the help.
The first reader crew from True Martial Arts and beyond has returned with a passion: Dan and Jen Berg (and baby Elizabeth), Owen and Chelsea Wessling, and Toby Goan. I must also mention three very dedicated friends: Deb Kerekes, who’s read even my earliest dregs, as well as Rob Scott and Alecia Bolton. And I mustn’t forget some awesome authors: Brenda Cooper and Shannon Page. You’ve all influenced not just my novel, but my life, and I’m richer for the lot.
Once again, I want to thank my agent, Cameron McClure. I think Cameron’s influence on my work is excellent, but her impact on my growth as a writer, especially on the business side of things, is immeasurable. Thanks a ton.
The crew at Tor is astounding. My editors, Claire Eddy and Kristin Sevick; the art director, Irene Gallo, who always does superb work; and the whole support crew who remain nameless to me (I’ll meet them all someday) and yet they produce a wonderful product that just happens to contain my words. Thank you all for helping me see Sarah to a public viewing.
This is my second book with a Dan Dos Santos cover. I love the way Dan has with Sarah and the feel he has for capturing the essence of the story. The man has talent.
Finally, I’d like to thank all the readers, reviewers, and bloggers who found my book worth their time to discuss and promote. I truly appreciate the tweets and e-mails I get. It’s an amazing thing to find that the stories from my psyche have resonated with so many of you.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Tor Books by J. A. Pitts
Praise for J. A. Pitts’s Previous Novel, Black Blade Blues
Copyright
One
Jimmy Cornett, the leader of Black Briar, paced the length of the room, eleven long strides before turning and making the return trip. In his left hand he carried a highball glass with three fingers of Glenlivet single-malt scotch but had not taken the first sip.
His world had gotten a helluva lot more complicated these last six months. Running the farm and Black Briar was full-time work. He loved the reenactment and the swordplay, but until this spring, that’s what it had been: play. When the dragon attacked the farm with choppers full of trolls and giants, the thin veneer of it all slid right off the cracker.
His sister, Katie, had a better handle on it all. He’d always discounted her beliefs, nodding and patting her on the head. But they were definitely the children of their parents, and the secret world of dragons and myth should not have come as such a surprise to him. Of course, they had been rather vague on the whole “dragons will attack your farm in helicopters” aspect of it all.
He felt a tightening in his chest as he thought back to the battle just a few months earlier. Black Briar had been prepared, sort of. They’d trained for the various reenactment wars around the country. They were good, a well-considered mercenary house on the fringes of the stalwart Society kingdoms. While the Society of Creative Anachronism did things right, down to the linen shirts and hand-sewn boots, real steel weapons and man-to-man combat, nothing prepared them for fifteen-feet-tall giants, hordes of trolls, and a fucking dragon.
They may have come through okay, if not for that damn drake. Killed his best riders: Susan and Maggie. Mangled Maggie and burned Susan to the ground. So many fallen that long black night.
His wife, Deidre, still wasn’t home from the rehab center where she’d been recovering from the injuries she’d sustained
. There was a damn good chance she’d never walk again.
Sarah had kept the dragon busy, let him rescue Deidre after the giants had broken through their defenses. But part of him blamed Sarah for all of this going down the way it had. Sure, she didn’t really understand that the sword she had reforged was the legendary Gram. Hell, only Katie had thought it possible, and even he’d laughed at her. It wasn’t until the dragon had kidnapped his baby sister, along with Sarah’s blacksmith master, Julie Hendrickson, that Jimmy had accepted the truth. All the crazy shit his parents had told him. All the history and stories were really true.
Didn’t mean he had to like it.
And he wasn’t alone. He had friends—friends who knew the truth about the world.
Stuart and Gunther sat on either side of a small table, each ensconced in a large leather wingback chair. They hadn’t waited and were sipping their scotch while Jimmy gathered his thoughts.
The room was filled with cabinets and display cases, bookshelves and weapons racks, which held a smattering of items: swords, tomes, scrolls, cups, necklaces, and trinkets. The northern wall was dominated by a huge world map.
Jimmy’s grandparents had commissioned the map from dwarven artisans in the early twentieth century, but it was based on a much older one, only known by rumor and hearsay. Each continent was laid out in meticulous detail. Political demarcations were absent, but geographical locations were noted in abundance. Remarkable about the map were the tiny lights that glowed from spots on every continent. Most were major cities; they’d figured those out early on. Some were obviously deep in ancient mountain ranges, and two were mysteriously in the middle of an ocean—one in the Atlantic and one in what is now called the Sea of Japan.
These lights, these pinpoints glowing in the shadows of the room, represented the dragons that ruled the world. Jimmy had first seen the map when he was nine. He remembered that day like many children remember the day they learn Santa Claus isn’t real or that their parents are human and fallible. He didn’t understand the ramifications of this knowledge at first, not even after his parents had disappeared. It took Sarah, Gram, and that damn dragon, Jean-Paul Duchamp, for the truth of the world to finally become clear.
He’d been in his room in a tent made from blankets, pillows, and a couple of ski poles. He had his flashlight and was reading comic books way past his bedtime. It was late, close to midnight, when he heard a commotion outside. An odd warbling sound echoed through the house. Jimmy scrambled out of the tent and jerked the bedroom door open. Katie was screaming, and his father was rushing toward the front door, pulling a leather harness across his shoulders and settling a long sword into the attached sheath.
“Dad?” Jimmy called. His father paused at the door, his face grim. “Go help your mother,” he said, then turned without even waiting to see if he complied. The front screen slammed with a bang that startled him.
He turned to the sounds of Katie’s cries. His mother came down the hallway carrying his screaming two-year-old sister in her arms.
“Come on, Jim. Hurry.” She waved at him, cradling Katie to her chest.
At the end, near the library, there was an open panel, one he’d never noticed before. She sat Katie on the ground. “Take her hand,” she said to him, holding out her own. Katie loved Jimmy, and leaned into him, quieting.
“Don’t make any noise,” his mother said before kissing him quickly on the forehead. “I’ll come get you when it’s safe. Go down the stairs. We won’t be able to hear Katie there.”
“But, Mom. What’s going on?” He was horrified. They’d never acted like this. “Where’s Dad going?”
She knelt down and cupped her hand against his cheek. “He’s going to protect us,” she said. “I need to go help him. Can you be strong for me, James?”
When she called him James, he knew it was serious. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll keep Katie safe.”
She smiled at him, which filled him with warmth. “You are brave and strong.”
“Me, too,” Katie piped up.
Their mother smiled worriedly and kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, popkin. You are brave and true. Now, go.” She shooed them onto the dark landing. “Just go to the first bend. It’s seventy-three steps. You’ll be safe there.”
The door shut with a quiet click. Jimmy pulled the penlight from his pocket and strained to see down into the void.
“Come on,” he whispered.
“It’s dark,” Katie whined. “I don’t like it.”
“We’ll be safe.” He squeezed her hand as they crept down into the unknown.
He counted the seventy-three steps and stopped at the first bend. He sat down, his back against the wall, and pulled Katie into his lap. She snuggled up against him and whimpered quietly.
“I’m gonna turn the light off,” he said, stroking her hair. “Save the batteries.”
“I want Momma.”
“She’ll be back soon,” he said and clicked off the light.
As his eyes adjusted, he could make out a glow coming from below.
“Pretty,” Katie said, slipping from his lap.
“Katie, wait.” She scooted down the stairs on her bottom, one riser at a time, and he followed, holding his breath. Where the stairs ended they found a room full of treasures, lit by the glowing dragon lights.
He’d found out later that a group of refugees from Vancouver had stumbled onto the farm, harried and wounded, triggering some sort of alarm. His father had come to the strangers’ aid, helping fight off a giant and getting mostly dwarves, along with a few humans, into the barn before the sun rose.
It was later, days after this incident, that his father had accompanied him down to the bunker and explained to his son the meaning of the map.
It held hundreds of lights. Some glowed brightly, while others flickered and waned. Only one had grown dark in recent memory. Jimmy pulled his thoughts back to the present and paused in his pacing. He dragged his finger along the bottom frame of the map and stared upward. The map rose from just three feet off the ground to near the ceiling, putting the light for Vancouver out of his reach.
Gunther and Stuart had the best view of the map, sitting a dozen feet away, against the opposite wall. The first time they’d seen the map, three days after Jimmy received the news of his parents’ disappearance, they had commented on how much the map reminded them of the night sky.
“So damn many,” Stuart growled when no one had spoken. “The bastards feed off us like maggots. It’s about time we began to do something about it.”
Gunther winced and sipped his scotch.
Jimmy turned, his face flushed with anger. “And what do you propose?” he said, sweeping his right arm to encompass the entire map. “Do you honestly think they’d sit idly by while we…” He paused, struggling to keep his anger in check. “We can’t just hunt them down. This isn’t the Middle Ages. They’re practically immortal, have learned to adapt in ways we can only guess at. They don’t even look like dragons most of the time. They control multinational corporations and some entire countries, for god’s sake. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past one of them to use nukes if push came to shove.” He looked between the two men, feeling the desperation crawling in his belly. “Most of us don’t even know they exist. Can you imagine what the common man would think if he learned we weren’t at the top of the food chain?”
Gunther sat his glass on the table, took up his cane, and struggled to his feet. They watched him, saying nothing. The vivid memory of Gunther being smashed to the ground by a giant’s cudgel was still too fresh in their minds.
“You overestimate their power,” Gunther said, stepping toward the map and pointing at Vancouver with the head of his cane. “They’ve ruled us for so long that we’ve forgotten ourselves.”
“Amen,” Stuart said from his seat. He’d worn his anger on his vest since the spring. Since they’d lost so many friends in the battle with the dragon, Duchamp, and his minions.
Gunther nodded. “We were part o
f an event that has not happened in written history. Not since St. George have we even heard rumors of a human destroying one of them. Now one of our very own has stepped into legend.”
Jimmy flicked his hand toward Gunther and barked, “Bah. We were lucky.”
“Were we?” Stuart yelped. “We lost twenty-seven good people. You think that’s lucky?”
Gunther leaned on his cane with both hands firmly covering the worked bull’s-head handle. “I grieve as you do,” he said, turning to his friend. “But this is nothing compared to the wholesale slaughter in the Dark Ages. Entire villages wasted, broad swathes of countryside slaughtered in the great migration.”
Stuart growled low in his throat. “So says your order,” he finally voiced. “There’s proof of the Black Plague, you know.”
Gunther sighed and glanced at Jimmy.
“Plague, famine, war, and worse,” Jimmy said, his voice even. “My father explained it to me as well. One does not discount the existence of the other.”
“We’ve read all the notes Jim’s parents left us and have researched on our own over the last thirteen years,” Gunther offered. “Nothing prepared us for Sarah.”
They fell silent at that. Jimmy turned, facing the map, his eyes falling on Iceland, the last place anyone had seen his parents. Gunther watched the two of them—friends and compatriots—slowly turning his head from one man to the other, waiting for the thunderheads that had been brewing for weeks.
“Deidre will be home soon,” he said. Jimmy nodded once and took a deep drink.
“About damn time,” Stuart said. “Black Briar is too quiet without her around to keep us all in line.”
Jimmy snorted a quiet laugh. “She’s worried no one needs her.”
Stuart leaned back into the thick leather chair, his anger visibly fading. “Tell her that we miss her and that if she doesn’t get back here soon, we’re gonna let Gunther start using her kitchen.”
Then it was Gunther’s turn to laugh. “I will not risk that woman’s wrath,” he said. “I’ll go up against giants and dragons, but Deidre scares the hell out of me.”