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  DRAGON WAR

  A Heartblaze Novel

  Book Two of Tyler's Saga

  By Shay Roberts

  Snowfire Press

  Please email [email protected] if you discover an error or experience any readability issues with this book.

  Dragon War: A Heartblaze® Novel

  Published by:

  Snowfire Press

  114 W Magnolia St, Suite 400-152

  Bellingham, WA 98225

  Email: [email protected]

  Copyright © 2018 by Shay Roberts

  http://heartblaze.com

  Cover design by Ravven: www.ravven.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from Snowfire Press.

  Trademark: Heartblaze is a registered trademark of Shay Roberts, and may not be used without written permission.

  ISBN 978-1-946994-14-1 (eBook)

  ISBN 978-1-946994-15-8 (paperback)

  1st Edition

  Dedicated to those who were left behind.

  Another Torment

  ROSEMARIE ALLEN

  I meet the cold gaze of the mind doctor sitting across from me.

  “I did not kill her.”

  He frowns with his thin, dry lips. He looks like a white crow.

  “But you buried her. In her own backyard. How did that make you feel?”

  “I felt sad she was gone. She was my mother here.”

  He leans forward, his frown deepening.

  “What do you mean by here?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He sighs and writes something on his notepad.

  “Rosemarie, do you understand that these memories you have of being alive in Scotland a thousand years ago are actually just fantasies?”

  “It was Pictland, or as some call it, Pictavia. And it was nearly two thousand years ago.”

  He puts down his pen, something he does when he becomes angry.

  “I can still hear that accent you’ve created. Are you working with the speech therapist?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll double your sessions.” He picks up his pen. “But I think we’re getting off track. Let’s get back to Mrs. Allen.”

  I feel my own anger rising.

  “You believe I killed her, yes?”

  His face remains blank. “Did you?”

  “She was a kind woman, elderly and confused. She thought I was her real daughter, the one who disappeared as a child. She took me in, fed me, and taught me English. I would never have hurt her. She died of old age.”

  “So, you allowed her to believe you were her daughter?”

  “I was a twelve-year-old child living alone in the woods. They called me wolf-girl. Game was scarce there, and the anima weak. I was starving. She left out food for me in her barn. After a time, I began to sleep there. And then she brought me into her house. Caring for me gave her pleasure, and I needed to be cared for.”

  He’s writing quickly now. I should not have used the word anima. He has asked me about it before. It’s an old word for the soul or spirit. I use it as a name for the spirit of the earth, the aliveness of the land. Saying it was a mistake. Soon, he will send me back to my padded room, where I will remain a prisoner until I deny my true heritage.

  The mind doctor has a sly smile.

  “How did you get the name Rosemarie?”

  “Mrs. Allen gave it to me.”

  “But that’s not a name from Pictland. What do they call you in your fantasies from the past?”

  I glance away. The truth is, I can’t remember. I feel ashamed.

  The mind doctor looks at my body and shakes his head. “You’re what, in your early twenties? And a stunning blonde. You could have had anything you wanted from this world, but you defaced your skin with those tattoos, and you defaced your mind with these delusions. The question is, why? What are you hiding from? When we figure that out, we’ll be done here, and you’ll be released from this hospital. Don’t you want that?”

  I should lie to him, tell him what he wants to hear. But I cannot give him the satisfaction. This is a battle I must not lose.

  He’s staring at my breasts now. I’m wearing the loose-fitting white top and pants assigned to all the prisoners. They hide the curves of my body, but he can imagine what is there. Soon, he will be rubbing my shoulders.

  He stands, walks around the desk, and steps behind me.

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  He touches me, as I knew he would. I ignore it as I have done before. This is the man who controls my fate. I must handle him carefully, like a dangerous beast.

  He leans down and whispers in my ear. “You have beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen that shade of green. So pale, they’re almost white.”

  I stand and move away from him.

  “I would like to return to my room now.”

  His face clouds. “If you don’t cooperate with the treatment, I’ll place you in our drug rehab. Enemas, purgatives, and a week of fasting.”

  This is no idle threat. He has done this to other women here. My anger explodes, and I bare my teeth like an angry wolf. The room seems to darken and shrink. All I see now is the mind doctor’s white crow face.

  Moving with the speed of a galloping horse, I close the distance between us. Before he can react, I grab his throat with the strength of an eagle, sink my fingernails into his flesh and tear out his windpipe.

  He collapses, face pale, eyes filled with shock and horror. He is not the first man I have killed in this new world. But I hope he will be the last.

  I sit in the chair, trying to control my trembling body. My clothes are red with his spent life. The orderlies will see me, and they will know what I have done. I will never escape here. I will never be free.

  Tears cloud my vision as the door opens behind me. Will I allow them to chain me, or will I try to kill them all? I leave it for my body to decide.

  I hear a woman’s voice.

  “Oh dear, what happened here?”

  I turn to see a brown-haired woman in a gray pantsuit. She doesn’t appear frightened or angry.

  I speak in my defense. “He put his hands on me. He threatened me.”

  She nods, closes the door behind her, and casually steps over the mind doctor’s body. She sits in his chair and examines his notes.

  She shakes her head, eyeing me with sympathy. “I understand what’s happened here, and I’m sorry we didn’t come for you earlier.”

  I’m confused, but my body has stopped trembling. This woman has a calming effect.

  “Who are you?”

  She pushes the notes aside, reaches over the desk and offers her hand. For some reason, I take it.

  I suddenly feel like I’m falling. The sensation is familiar, but I can’t remember why.

  Moments later, I am in a different room, still holding the hand of the woman in gray.

  For some reason, my body aches. That too seems familiar.

  The mind doctor’s office was empty and dead. This room is different. Rich wood covers the walls, and several artifacts stand on display: a fierce mask, a statue of a fertility goddess, and a slab of rock painted with a hunting scene.

  I turn to the woman in gray. “Where am I?”

&nb
sp; She releases my hand and points to a chair covered in leather.

  “Please have a seat. I’ll explain everything.”

  I shake my head. “I should not. The blood will stain your chair.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll have it cleaned. Sit. We’ll have new clothes for you shortly.”

  I sit on the edge of the chair, trying not to profane it with the mind doctor’s blood.

  The woman rolls a chair out from behind the desk and sits next to me, her hand resting gently on my arm.

  “My name is Ms. Luvalle. I work for an organization called Specta Aeternal, or SA for short. I apologize for whisking you away with no explanation. We needed to get out of there.”

  “How did you bring me here?”

  “I’m a time traveler. And so are you, though you may not know it yet. Those memories you have of the past are quite real. That was your actual childhood. Forget what those psychiatrists told you.”

  “Ms. Luvalle, I know my childhood is real. But it is good to hear you say it. Can you explain what you mean by time traveler?”

  “At some point in your life, probably in response to a catastrophic event, you jumped from classical-era Pictland into modern-era Scotland. When psychiatric treatment failed there, you were sent to the States for experimental treatment. But you escaped your handlers and fled into the wilderness. Shortly thereafter, you were taken in by Mrs. Allen.”

  I shake my head. “I do not remember being sent here from Scotland.”

  She nods sadly. “After Mrs. Allen died, you were committed to a mental institution, where they used electroconvulsive therapy. It’s damaged your memories, but they will return in time. The important thing is that you’re safe here. You’ll no longer be abused by that hospital.”

  I take her hands, my tears flowing again.

  “Thank you for rescuing me. Please tell me, what is this specus—”

  “Specta Aeternal. We are an organization of time travelers. We protect the timeline from exploitation. I’ve been dispatched to recruit you, if you’re interested in joining us. First, you would need to attend the Time Academy and learn to control your power. If you pass your classes and graduate, we’ll gladly welcome you into our ranks.”

  None of this makes any sense. It feels like it’s happening to another person. I stand, overwhelmed. I need to go somewhere, to do something, but I don’t know where or what.

  I’m disgusted by the psychiatrist’s poisonous blood against my skin, so I tear off my clothes.

  Standing in my underwear, I look for a door. Where is the door? I must run into the forest. I must find the anima and suckle from its breast. I am a child of the land, and I must return there.

  Ms. Luvalle puts a gentle arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, Rosemarie. You’re not a prisoner here. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. But first, let’s get you a shower and some clean clothes. Let me take care of you. Let me be your Mrs. Allen.”

  At the thought of that poor dead woman, I burst into sobs. I loved her so much. Burying her was horrible. I felt so scared and lost. Only days later, the police found me in her house, and my nightmare at the hospital began.

  Ms. Luvalle hugs me and leads me to the door. It was right in front of me, but for some reason I could not see it.

  What awaits me on the other side of that door? If it’s a trap, I believe I will die. I cannot endure another torment.

  Chosen One

  TYLER BUCK

  “What the hell are you doing in 749 CE? You’re supposed to be in 542.”

  The man yelling at me wears a black robe with runic designs embroidered in silver thread on the cuffs and collar. His head is bald on top, but long white hair hangs from the sides and back. His wrinkled face flames with irritation.

  What the hell? When I broke the beacon stick, I was expecting Ms. Luvalle to pick me up, not Gandalf’s evil brother.

  I extend my hand. “Yeah, there was some trouble. We had to move the temple to 749. I’m Tyler Buck. But you probably already know that.”

  He ignores my offer to shake hands. “Fortunately, the beacon stick tells us when you are, as well as where.”

  He glances over at the gemstone dragon sculpture, and the human heads on the mantel.

  “Hwedoists.” He spits it like a curse.

  This guy is starting to piss me off.

  “Don’t tell me you’re my ride. I’d rather have Ms. Luvalle.”

  His milky eyes bore into me.

  “She’s otherwise occupied, but she alerted me to your summons. For some unfathomable reason, we’re extending you VIP treatment. Do you know who I am? Of course you don’t! Everything you know would fit inside a carbuncle on my arse. I am Zulien, Deputy Director of Recruitment for Specta Aeternal, and Chief Academic Attaché at the Collegium Chronos. As a director, I’m often tasked with unpleasant responsibilities, but none have ever including being sent to fetch a forked-tongued dracoform. This is a new low for me, and I blame you entirely.”

  Zulien reaches out his dry, bony hand. I know I’m supposed to take it, so he can jump me to the Time Academy, but I hesitate. What have I gotten myself into?

  When Ms. Luvalle bribed me with fried chicken and recruited me into SA, she made the organization sound interesting. They’re the time police, keeping the forces of evil from changing history. To join, all I needed to do was complete my Hwedoist training and then attend the Time Academy.

  My Hwedoist training is done, and I’ve said goodbye to Ayana, my exotic friend with benefits. I’ve learned how to fight, to time travel, and to take dragon form. Now I’m due for three years of training at the Time Academy. I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to learn there, some kind of time police stuff. I probably should have asked more questions before agreeing. But I owe SA. They cleaned up the temporal rupture I created and helped out my mom.

  Zulien snaps his spider-leg fingers, creating a pop that echoes through the temple chamber. “This ship is sailing. Take my hand, or I’ll happily leave you here with your barbarian cultists.”

  Reluctantly, I grab his hand. I’m probably going to regret this. But staying here with Ayana would be really awkward now. And I want to find this Rosemarie, the mysterious woman who’s supposed to be my soulmate.

  His hand is dry as paper, but surprisingly strong. I feel the familiar falling sensation as we jump.

  Moments later, we land inside what looks like a gothic castle with modern light fixtures. The air smells like antiseptic, and I hear the hum of activity.

  We’re at the intersection of two great stone hallways, standing on a white circle of stone, inlayed with small black stones that form the symbol of an Egyptian eye. The words SPECTA AETERNAL encircle the eye.

  Passersby nod respectfully as they pass Zulien. They wear black-and-gray military uniforms, with their names sewn over their hearts and symbols of rank on the right. They also have an Egyptian eye on each side of their collars. All of them look busy and stressed out.

  I’m fine, but Zulien takes a moment to recover from the jump. He must be even older than he looks.

  I wait for him to get steady before I speak.

  “This isn’t the Academy.”

  He makes a rude noise. “Of course not. This is SA headquarters. We’re two completely different organizations. The Academy trains our potential agents, and this is where they serve if they graduate and are selected. We’re just here now to equip you.”

  He motions for me to follow, and we pass down an arched hallway, our footsteps echoing loudly. Too loudly, really, almost as if the floor was built to make noise.

  I glance into a large room as we pass. Inside are about twenty uniformed people huddled around monitors displaying 3D images. The technology looks more advanced than anything I’ve seen.

  The people in the room are stone-faced. I’m guessing there’s some sort of crisis.

  I call out to Zulien’s back, “What’s happening? What time period is this?”

  He speaks without turning. “We’re handling an eme
rgency. And the time period is classified.”

  “What emergency?”

  He shows me the back of his hand, cutting off any further questions.

  After a turn down another hallway, Zulien stops at a wooden door. It opens automatically at his approach.

  As he sweeps inside, he calls to a stocky, uniformed man.

  “Quartermaster, our guest has arrived. Outfit him at once.”

  The Quartermaster nods almost imperceptibly. I can tell he doesn’t like Zulien.

  The room is narrow and deep, filled with chests, lockers, and racks of hanging clothes.

  The Quartermaster finds a steel box labeled Buck. It seems they’ve been expecting me. He opens the box on a table, and Zulien frowns at the contents.

  He grabs a handful of clothing from the box and shoves it into my arms.

  “Remove those Hwedoist rags and don your Academy uniform. First-year students are green, second-year blue, and finalists are royal purple.”

  I check out the clothes. Leather boots, green tights, and a long, green belted tunic.

  “No underwear?”

  He shakes his head. “Those are nano-textiles. Cut resistant, waterproof, capable of warming and cooling. They not only clean themselves, but they also clean you. And they’re comfortable enough to sleep in.”

  I put the clothes on as Zulien waits impatiently. They look medieval, but they’re the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn. Once I’ve belted my tunic, I pull the hood over my head, drawing a scowl from Zulien.

  I start to attach my old pouch to my new belt, but Zulien stops me.

  “Take whatever you have in your pouch and transfer it to this one.”

  He hands me a cool-looking pouch that attaches to my belt and leg, hanging at my side like a holster from the Old West. I move my crystal claw weapons from the old pouch to the new one.