“Sasha, I’m fine. The staff here-” Arkin started.
“Needs to change your dressings, and they’re done all wrong. Let me take a look at you. Sit still,” Sasha commanded.
He didn’t argue with her, and she suspected that he was happy to have her there. She looked him over and then told him to sit up so she could have a look at his chest. He sat up and she unwrapped the dressings, which really did need to be changed.
“Barnin, would you be a dear and get me some hot water, a cloth, and more bandages?” Sasha asked.
Barnin looked doubtful. “They won’t give them to us normally.”
She looked at him. “But I’m sure they will be happy to give them to House Evindass, don’t you think?”
He looked happy about being able to use the power of their name, but then she thought better.
“On second thought, just the hot water and a rag.”
There was a large laceration across his chest. The wound was bleeding slightly and she knew that it went almost to his ribs. It wasn’t a clean cut either. She peered closely at it. The blade that had done it was only moderately sharp, but otherwise it was straightforward. Soon Barnin was back with the requested supplies and a smile that told her he had taken advantage of being her errand runner. She took the water and rag and cleaned around the cut. When she was done she looked at it appraisingly.
“Sasha, there’s no way you can fix this with magic. you don’t have enough strength,” Arkin said.
“But he does,” she said, pointing to Legon.
“But I don’t know how to fix it,” Legon said.
“But I do,” Sasha responded.
She smiled and accessed his mind and then his magic. She hadn’t ever done this before, but she knew that dragons often used another’s minor in their own spells, so it should work. Legon’s reserve, while depleted, was still vast compared to her own. The power felt clumsy to her, but she concentrated on the spell and a ruby glow appeared under her hand. She moved her hand over Arkin’s chest and the muscle and veins flowed together. When she was done she popped another power pack and looked at Arkin’s healed chest.
He smiled broadly at her. “Thanks Sash, but I think you missed a mole. There used to be one right there.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome, and I didn’t miss a mole. Those things are horrid. you’re better off without it.”
He laughed and directed his words to Legon. “So, Un Prosa, I hear you were good in the fight, and that you have a date with Ise.”
They talked for a while and then Arkin decided he felt good enough to get up and leave. They went back to the dragon dome and spent the rest of the night talking about anything other than the battle.
After a few hours Sasha’s vision started to blur with fatigue. She leaned back on the couch and her eyelids began to droop. The others were talking about their coming trip to the Elven lands, and she wanted to stay awake, but eventually and reluctantly she closed her eyes.
Sample: Legon Ascension: Book Two in the Legon Series
Taken
“No matter how hard we try to ignore it, the world we don’t recognize is still there.”
-The Exiled Captain (Author Unknown)
Rachel made her way home. She’d spent a lovely day with Timothy, her one true love—or at least that’s what her sixteen-year-old heart told her he was. She trotted home letting her dress swirl around her and waved as she passed her best friend Pamela’s house. Pamela was more of a tomboy with her tough attitude and meaty frame, but Rachel thought she was wonderful.
Dinner was normal. Rachel daydreamed and her mother and father tried to talk to her, but, like most teenagers, she wasn’t much for sharing. The night was cool when she went to bed, so she closed her window and settled into a dream of Timothy. She sighed in contentment.
A sound woke her…what was it? It sounded like screams from outside. Still half asleep, Rachel went to open the window when her father burst in the room.
“Rachel, Rachel honey, come on, we need to leave!” he said frantically.
Why did they need to leave? With a snap of her father’s fingers she thought of everyone in town talking about the Iumenta that had been watching them.
Feeling scared, she moved with her father to the living room.
There was yelling and more screaming outside. Her mother was downstairs putting food in a bag. The door of the house burst open and Rachel’s father shoved her into a closet as four black armored figures entered the house.
She heard her mother scream and her dad yell “Get off my wife!” Then there was a thud, the sound of something being dragged, and her mother screaming “NO!” Rachel, her heart pounding, knelt, looking out of the crack at the bottom of the door. A pool of blood made its way to her and she saw just a glimpse of brown hair that matched her father’s. She moved to the wall, clamping her eyes shut, “No no no no no!” she whispered.
There was a sound from upstairs. What was it? Another cry that sounded like her mother…was she still alive? Fear and the need to stay alive finally won out. As she opened the door of the closet and confirmed her father’s death and mother’s absence, she bolted for the door.
Shame filled her as she left her mother to whatever fait she was enduring, but Rachel had to run. The streets were pandemonium. People in black armor were hacking people to death. Men’s, women’s and children’s bodies littered the streets. She slammed into one of the black figures and screamed as he raised a war hammer to hit her. Then, with a crunch, the man fell to the side, revealing Pamela with a skillet.
“Come on, we need to get to the town center to make a stand!” Pamela was a fighter.
They ran as fast as they could to the town center where a small band of men and women were making a last stand. Pamela joined the fight, swinging her skillet with as much force as she could muster. Rachel, watching the people get slaughtered, sank to the ground. Finally, the majority of the town’s people were lost, and those that were left were injured or gave up. Counting Rachel and Pamela, there were maybe ten people left.
The black figures surrounded them and Rachel was sure that she was going to die or be dragged off like the other people she had seen. The figures parted and an Iumenta walked up to the survivors, his gray skin fading in the moonlight and his yellow eyes boring into Rachel’s.
To find out more about his book go to: www.NicholasTaylor.co
About the Author
Nicholas was born and raised in Denver, Colorado. He didn't want to write until October of 2007. While he was driving around with a friend and said "hey, I wonder if I can write a book." So he thought he would try and write outline and see what happens. He has written two books that are in podcast form, and has over 80,000 downloads on his podcasts.
Other Titles by Nicholas Taylor
8810
Join Bill Morison on his journey through corporate America, as he learns about auditing insurance and just how irritating people can be. This book contains office related humor, inspired by the author’s experiences in navigating through corporate life.
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