A Dragon and Her Girl
Page 1
A Hemelein Publications Original
Copyright © 2020 by Joe Monson and Jaleta Clegg. Except for brief excerpts in the case of reviews, this book may not be reproduced in any form without prior written permission of the publisher. All stories published by permission of the individual authors or their estates.
Story and content copyrights on page 290.
The stories in this book are works of fiction. Any names, characters, people, places, and events in these stories are products of the authors’ imaginations, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
Published jointly by Hemelein Publications and LTUE Press as a benefit anthology for Life, the Universe, & Everything, an annual science fiction and fantasy academic symposium held in Provo, Utah. Proceeds help students to attend for a greatly reduced price. We appreciate your support.
Cover artist: Kaitlund Zupanic, kaitlundzupanic.com
Cover art, A Dragon and Her Girl, copyright © 2019 Kaitlund Zupanic. Used by permission of the artist.
Editors: Joe Monson and Jaleta Clegg
Cover Design: Joe Monson
Associate Editor: Heather B. Monson
Interior Design and Layout: Marny K. Parkin
ISBN 978-1-64278-002-4 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64278-003-1 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019953737
First Edition
First Hemelein printing, February 2020
Hemelein Publications: http://hemelein.com/
LTUE Press: http://press.ltue.net/
LTUE Benefit Anthologies
Trace the Stars
A Dragon and Her Girl
Twilight Tales (forthcoming)
Edited by Joe Monson
Join the Space Force Now! (forthcoming)
A Universe of Stories (forthcoming)
By Joe Monson
Hemelein Discovery (forthcoming)
Edited by Jaleta Clegg
Wandering Weeds: Tales of Rabid Vegetation (with Frances Pauli)
Soul Windows (with Frances Pauli)
By Jaleta Clegg
Dark Dancer
Autumn Visions (collection)
Brain Candy (collection)
Llama Tell You a Story . . . (collection)
Altairan Empire series
Nexus Point
Priestess of the Eggstone
Poisoned Pawn
Kumadai Run
Cold Revenge
Jericho Falling
Obsidian Tears
Chain of Secrets
To Linda Hunter Adams
For teaching so many of us the basics (and more) of
editing, writing, and publication.
Your influence reached farther than you knew.
Contents
Foreword: The Dragonlady of Crandall House West
A Game of Stakes
Max Florschutz
Dragon Soap
M. K. Hutchins
Li Na and the Dragon
Scott R. Parkin
High Noon at the Oasis
Jaleta Clegg
The Wild Ride
Christopher Baxter
Rising Star
Michaelene Pendleton
The Diamond-Spitting Knight
S. E. Page
Amélie’s Guardian
Bryan Thomas Schmidt
Aer’Vicus
Jodi L. Milner
Loyalties
Josh Brown
Ash and Blood
Hannah Marie
Therapy for a Dragon
Sam Knight
Taking Wing
Julia H. West
Lullaby
John D. Payne
Rain Like Diamonds
Wendy Nikel
Here by Choice
Gerri Leen
Dragon’s Hand
David VonAllmen
Take out the Trash
Melva L. Gifford
Burying Treasure
Alex Shvartsman
Dragon in Distress
Mercedes Lackey and Elisabeth Waters
Contributor Biographies
Acknowledgments
Story and Essay Copyrights
Foreword:
The Dragonlady of Crandall House West
The science fiction symposium, Life, the Universe, & Everything, wasn’t the only amazing thing to come out of the “Class That Wouldn’t Die” at Brigham Young University. The same group of organizers also created their very own semi-pro science fiction magazine, The Leading Edge (now simply Leading Edge).
From its first issue in 1981 to the latest (issue 75 in February 2020), it published—and continues to publish—some amazing fiction by pros and amateurs alike. It even won a Chesley Award for its April 2001 issue (edited by Brandon Sanderson, no less), featuring cover art by James C. Christensen.
For many years, TLE (as it was affectionately nicknamed) was housed in Crandall House West, a former residence-turned-Humanities-Publication-Center located to the west of the iconic Centennial Carillon on campus. One of the driving forces behind the “HumPub” was Linda Hunter Adams.
Linda always reminded me of weyrwomen such as Moreta and Lessa in Anne McCaffrey’s Pern series, though I don’t know that I ever discussed the series with Linda. The weyrwomen in those stories were strong leaders, compassionate (in many cases), and basically ran everything in the weyrs. They knew what they were doing and were happy to help others learn what needed doing. Everyone in the weyrs looked up to them and respected them. The HumPub was Linda’s weyr.
Linda was fiercely protective of her weyr. She handled no end of political wrangling with the leaders of various other weyrs at the university. She stood up for what the students thought was best for the books and journals produced at the HumPub, gently guiding her students and interns through the ins and outs of the publishing business. With expert skill and grace, she walked the line between professional/academic advisor and the slightly-eccentric aunt everyone wishes they had. During the time I worked on TLE (off and on from 1993 to 1998), Linda was a constant fixture there. Her passing in 2016 had a huge impact on all TLE and LTUE alumni.
The stories selected for this volume of the LTUE Benefit Anthologies were selected with Linda in mind. We picked stories we think Linda would have loved. These stories feature strong women and girls doing hard things, going on difficult adventures, making tough decisions, and interacting with dragons in various ways. Basically, women like Linda, fighting the good fight—whatever the odds—in order to make sure their important people and places are protected and guided.
As with Trace the Stars (2019), all of the stories were donated by the authors (and the cover art by the artist) to help LTUE continue to let students attend for a greatly reduced price. If you see these creators anywhere, please thank them for their generosity. We couldn’t do this without them. We hope you enjoy the stories in A Dragon and Her Girl as much as we did.
Before you go, I recently found this filk song in my archives (translation: I was cleaning a room). It has no attribution, but it appears to have been written on the occasion of Linda’s retirement from BYU. Whoever the author is, thank you! This song is wonderful! If you see this, feel free to contact me on the Hemelein website and I’ll update any future editions with proper attribution.
“Linda Hunter Adams”
(sung to the tune of “Maria” from Sound of Music)
She’ll dot the i’s and cross the t’s
And give the words a stare.
Then briskly rolling up her sleeves,
She’ll plant a comma there.
In this whole world, there’s never been
An editor to compare
Wit
h BYU’s own Linda Hunter Adams!
She has a reputation for
Enhancing people’s prose.
And with her own panache and flair,
She teaches what she knows.
And day and night, she never stops—
She goes and goes and goes.
We’re going to miss our Linda Hunter Adams!
I’d like to say a word before we’re through:
She opened a pub at BYU!
Chorus:
You are a legend, Linda Hunter Adams.
No one would dare to try to take your place.
One of a kind, that’s Linda Hunter Adams.
A style of your own, with a splash of flamboyance and grace.
Think of the published authors you have nurtured.
Think of the generations you have blessed.
And think of the students who
Admire and worship you.
You’re like a mother hen upon her nest.
Oh, you are a legend Linda Hunter Adams.
Now, cherished colleague, you deserve a rest.
In her office there’s no space
For her guests to have a place.
She’s been known at times to even lose her keys.
And her phone just rings and rings.
Sometimes she is late for things.
And to send her emails, well, it ain’t a breeze.
Student journals—see them grow,
For she never can say no.
And she always is surrounded by her “kids.”
She’s a mentor. She’s a guide—
With disciples at her side.
She’s inspiring! She’s untiring! She’s a whiz!
Repeat Chorus
Thank you for your support of the symposium.
Joe Monson
February 2020
A Game of Stakes
Max Florschutz
Departure
“Ah, Victoria,” her father said as she lifted the last of her luggage into the coach. “It pains my heart to see you go.”
“I know, Papa,” she said as she turned to look at him. “But it will only be for a short time. A few months, half-a-year at most. The length of a short campaign, nothing more.” She wrapped her arms around her father, hugging him through the stiff, black greatcoat he always wore.
“I know, Victoria. But this is different. With those, I left you. When you deigned to let me do so, that is.” His arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
She wanted to bury her head in his chest. Not that it was easy to do so, not since she’d inherited her mother’s height. She had to settle for resting her head on her father’s shoulder instead and smiled.
“Do you remember the Sicarian campaign?” she asked.
“How could I forget?” Her father’s chest shook with a short laugh. “Your mother was furious. I thought she’d never speak with me again. But this . . .” He finally unwrapped his comforting arms, stepping back and resting his hands on her shoulders. “This is still different. This time, my Victoria, you are leaving me.” He smiled. “And on a campaign of your own.”
“Papa, seeking a husband is hardly a campaign.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. “It isn’t. It is far more difficult.” For a moment a faint look of sadness slipped across his face, whether at her departure or at the mention of her late mother, she couldn’t say. “But Victoria, are you . . . certain . . . that this is how you wish to go about it? Hiring a dragon?”
“It’s a novel prospect, Papa,” she said, taking one of his massive hands in hers and pulling it gently from her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Nothing is set in stone, you know that.”
Her father nodded quietly. “Aye, I do.” One of the first lessons he’d taught her. “But, are you sure you could not do the same here? My Victoria, you’ll be putting your fate in the claws of a dragon.”
“My fate will be in my own hands, Papa,” she said. “The dragon is just a means to an end. A way to let the world know that the daughter of the famous Count Artares is seeking a companion.”
“You could do that here, my daughter,” he said, stepping back and giving her a better view of the honor guard around them. “You don’t have to go to this dragon.”
She smiled. “No, Papa, I must. It is because I am the daughter of Count Artares, the Wolf of Artares, that I must go.” She stepped back, up onto the footstep of the coach that would take her away. “Don’t you see, Papa?” She let out a little laugh. “Men are more ready to meet with a dragon than they are with the Wolf.”
Her father smiled back at her, though she could see the tears in his eyes. “I know,” he said. “But I want you to be safe, my Victoria. Give the word, and your guard will stay with you and this dragon.”
“I know, Papa.” She set a palm at the hilt of the sword that hung at her hip. “But I will be fine. I love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, Victoria. Stay safe. And, good luck.”
“I will, Papa. And thank you.” She swung open the door of the carriage, but didn’t climb in, instead hanging from the side of the coach, looking out over her father’s estate and the guard arrayed there. They’d likely be on the move soon, hired for another campaign. There was only one thing left to do.
She threw up a fist. “For honor, and for victory!” she cried.
The guard, three dozen strong including the ones on horseback behind her, threw their own fists up. “For honor, and for victory!” The coach began moving forward, but she stayed hanging in the open door from the side, as was custom, until she had cleared her father’s estate. At last, when the hills outside the coach gave way to farmland, she ducked inside and sat down, her mind and heart both racing.
“For honor, and for victory,” she repeated quietly. “I will not let you down, father.”
The dragon was waiting.
Arrival
The lair of Dostoy the Mighty was nothing like the name, or popular stories, suggested. The coach moved up a well-cared for gravel road, which in turn led to what could have been a simple estate home carved into the rocky face of the mountain itself. In fact, Victoria thought as the coach came to a stop, it likely hadn’t, but the architects had taken great pains to ensure that it looked as though it had. But her eyes could see the faint jutting changes in the rock, the distant seams that could be used to perhaps find a weakness to exploit.
Draconic architecture, she thought, eyeing the high-vaulted windows and wide doorways. Or human? It certainly wasn’t one of the other races, not that they had much to do with humans outside of border trade with the edges of the empire. The stone had been carved with simple reliefs, repeating patterns that added a pleasing aesthetic. She almost could have forgotten that it was home to a dragon, if not for the large size.
And, of course, the dragon himself standing by the front doors, waiting to receive her.
He was smaller than she’d expected. She gauged him to be somewhere between ten and eleven feet long—maybe a dozen at most—though it was only a rough estimate given the distance between them, and it was hard to tell with him sitting on his haunches, tail wrapped tightly around him. The tail would easily add another ten feet, maybe more. He held his wings tightly folded against his back, and while she knew dragons used magic to fly, she’d heard more than one old campaigner mention that their span was often larger than it appeared to be at first glance. She looked up at the dragon’s raised muzzle—
And stopped in surprise. His eyes were looking right back at her and her coach, keen and inquisitive. More than one of her father’s soldiers had spoken of dragons as “dumb brutes,” but there was no mistaking the way those eyes were picking over her retinue, pausing here and there before moving on. This was a thinking, intelligent, aware being.
Her coach pulled to a halt, halfway across the wide open gravel clearing before the dragon’s home. She took a deep breath. This was it. She stood, hunched in the interior of the coach, and then with great care opened the door. The dragon�
�s eyes met her own as she stepped out, once again displaying a depth of intelligence and awareness that was surprisingly human, and then to her shock he bowed, spreading his wings as he bent low.
“Lady Victoria Artares.” His voice was not quite as deep as she’d been expecting either, and bore an accent with traces of the northern nobility. “I welcome you to my lair and home. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiled. Most would have said “with the daughter of the Wolf” rather than “you.” It was a small difference, but it helped ease her heart that she’d made the right choice.
“Dostoy the Mighty,” she said, holding her voice steady at the title. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” For some reason, when she’d exchanged letters with him, she’d been envisioning a mighty, commanding figure of red. But in truth, he was more a light tan, like faded tree-bark. “Was my payment received?”
“It was, Lady Victoria,” Dostoy replied, coming out of his bow at last.
From the corner of her eyes Victoria saw several of her guard sitting in ready positions, their hands within easy reach of their muskets and crossbows.
“Will your guard be joining us?”
He had, she realized, noticed as well. Of course he would have, she thought. It’s been only thirty years since things were put to rest between our species. As well as they could. There were soldiers in her father’s army—likely in her own guard—that had gone against dragons during what the dragons called the Bad Days, when they were little more than pillagers and looters, blights across any kingdom that found itself beset by one. Before the dawn of the New Age when inventions had leveled the battleground between them, and forced a truce. The dragon himself would likely not remember those days, given that he was three years her junior and hatched after the truce, but the scars of those centuries ran deep.
“Guard,” she called. “Ease. We aren’t among foes here.” Several of her followers nodded, lowering their hands. Good. They would follow her orders. “And no, Mr. Dostoy—”
“Just ‘Dostoy,’ if you please,” he said quickly. “Just Dostoy.”
“Very well.” She nodded. “Dostoy, they will not be joining us. They will, however,” she said, turning and gazing at them, “be camped some miles away, just to serve as a precaution against overenthusiastic suitors.” There were towns with inns nearby, of course, but that would mean a higher public profile, and neither she, nor her father, wanted that.