1st 5 Pages January Workshop - Grigorova-Schaarschmidt Rev 2

Name: Lily Grigorova-Schaarschmidt
Genre: New Adult Fantasy
Title: Dragon Season

Pitch:
Something is wrong in the ancient country of Khania. People feel it but have no idea how to explain it: weird weather phenomena, mystics who can command the animals, see the future, talk to the dead. And weirdest of all – the flying children.

Asaen of Cranebirds is a student in Khania’s foremost university and in love with the country’s only princess – Sofiya Bahllaar. The two of them are in possession of a trio of mysterious books which seem to explain the strange occurrences and foretell a coming cataclysm.

Before they could decipher the Dragon Books, however, they find themselves on the run from an arcane organization that will readily kill for the knowledge in the books. Meanwhile, Khania begins to shake under the blows of a conspiracy to dethrone the royal dynasty.

Asaen and Sofiya’s only refuge turns out to be their controversial group of friends – Elena, the sole heir to a rebellious northern house, Boyan, a bon vivant and womanizer, and several of Asaen’s unsuspecting classmates, who are also dragged into what has become a cloak-and-dagger war for the greatest power ever to belong to man.

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It is the month of winds of the year 2207, and Elena of House Carnelian is galloping home. She is leaning close to her mare’s neck, her breath conjuring angry puffs of white out of the late-winter air. It has been six long years since she has last ridden down this old road, over its paving stones worn so smooth by centuries of hooves, wheels and feet that they look like mother-of-pearl. To her it feels like it’s been forever. But the land is welcoming her home. The stone heart of the hill, the fragrant bosom of the pine wood. She is their last hope. She is the last of the Carnelians.


Elena noticed the soarer as soon as she rounded the wide curve and found herself on the crest of Alya hill. It was a boy, at least judging by his breeches. His shadow had appeared on the ground by the road like a ghost from the past, haunting her on the threshold of her hometown. He was flying close to the thin dove-colored clouds, arms outstretched, oblivious to the young woman on the high white horse who was chasing him across the meadows.

It was the flying children that had made her country famous in the royal courts of the Federation. The miracle children of Khania. Some regarded them as a message from God. Others as incredible feats of nature. To Elena they were simply the joyous days of her childhood. Because she used to be one of them.

The soarer swerved and headed towards the open plain beyond the crest of Alya hill. His shadow glided over the uneven body of the hill, its outline rippling on the frosted earth. Elena leaned even closer to her mare’s neck and whispered:

“Faster, my girl!”

She knew it was silly to chase him. She was a daughter of Carnelian, the sole remaining heir to the greatest house of Khania’s northeast, and it was unbecoming to race through the hills with no good reason. But she simply had to see him, see that look on his face, of pure exultation. Long ago she had been the best soarer among the pack of flying children. She could ascend and dive the fastest, as light as the wind, defying all the laws of gravity and reason. Maybe because her ability had been so powerful, she had been the first to lose it. It had happened near her tenth birthday, she’d been left, desolate, amid the castle’s courtyard, feet glued to the ground. Such freedom was a hard thing to lose.

Marya, her snow-white thoroughbred, whinnied, irritated – the soarer’s shadow was pulling ahead. They were approaching the cliff-like east side of Alya hill which stood guard over the valley of the city. The shadow slid over the rocky edge and disappeared. At the very brink Elena pulled the reins. Then looked up.

The boy was only feet above her, descending swiftly through the grey winter sky. For just a second Elena managed to see his face. Young, baby-like roundness, huge dark eyes. And that triumphant look, which nothing less but absolute freedom can bring.

He whizzed by and sank beyond the edge. His shape sailed gracefully over the treetops before merging with the mist that hung over the city of Alshanai.

With a sigh for something irrevocably lost, Elena Carnelian jumped from the saddle. Her feet landed softly on the hard packed earth. She let her eyes sweep over the view before her, let it wash over her, and felt her heart beat madly in her chest. Her self-imposed exile was over. She was home.

The valley had wrapped itself in silence. A pale sun had emerged from the greyness of the sky, shedding unusual warmth over the land. Alshanai was a sprawling stone labyrinth against the foot of Alya hill, encircled by a forty-foot high wall. A gentle pre-evening mist was now drifting over it, but through the ashen air Elena could discern silhouettes of buildings and streets so familiar they plucked strings in her soul. In the middle of the city, on a soft rise she could see the central square, with the boyar castle and the clock tower on both sides. She squinted through the mist. The tower should have flown the Carnelian banner – the Rider Victorious in russet and bronze – yet no banner fluttered in the breeze. A twinge of unease made her frown.

How could it seem so long ago, and yet as though no time at all had passed! She had left Alshanai in a flurry of regret and tears, hoping what happened will be fixed with time and distance. But now, seeing the city, and smelling the hill, and breathing in the pine wood, she found it all still here, waiting for her.

Was he here? Along the east horizon, where evening was already draping its first veils, she could almost make out the outlines of the plateaus that surrounded Khania’s old capital. Somewhere there was the ancient seat of his House. Somewhere there, maybe, was Ivaylo…

Marya nudged her hand, and Elena tore herself away from the view. She opened her saddlebags, her fingers brushing past the stack of letters that were the reason for her return. She wouldn’t think about them now, or about the missing banner atop the clock tower. Now was the time to make herself presentable. She fished out a small mirror, round and pretty, engraved with a silver wood-nymph rose. Her lips were chapped after the long ride, so she moistened them with rose balm. Fatigue had drained the velvet glow from her olive skin; under her eyes, hazel, with the green-brown hues of winter woods, had gathered shadows. She pinched her cheeks to bring out some color and for a moment stared at the tiny star-shaped birthmark on her right cheekbone, just under the eye. In the courts of the Federation her dusky skin, flowing auburn curls, and this birthmark had won her a reputation as a southern beauty. Once, in the late morning of her youth, before the university, before the Federation, this star-shaped freckle had made Ivaylo call her “Errie” – after the brightest star on the east horizon. Because stars, he said, marked their favorites with their beauty …

She didn’t even feel her hands shake. The mirror simply fell through her fingers. Paralyzed, like in a dream, Elena watched its merciless flight to the ground, unable to stop it. Upon its impact with the stony ground, the mirror burst like a teardrop.

Then the silence was broken by a bird’s shriek. High in the sky above her wound a billow of crows. As though a single mind united the birds’ flight through the sky, turning them into a fierce genie writhing towards the valley of the city.

Two bad omens. Three, if she counted the missing Carnelian banner. Elena stroked Marya’s neck, trying to calm herself enough to resume this journey home. With an effort, she shook off the numbness and forced her eyes away from the hypnotic twists of the bird cloud. Then she jumped on the saddle and without a second glance at the shattered remains of the mirror galloped down the road to Alshanai.