Every Boy Needs a Dragon...

Centra, a foundling child grown to manhood, has no knowledge of his past. Raised to fear and distrust wizards, he is certain of only one thing - he is not one of those "spineless cowards."

He's wrong.

Awards & Honors:

5 flames from The Fractured Publisher!   2005 Dream Realms Winner!

"This was really a good story. Will there be a sequel?" ~ Chere Gruver

"A fascinating story, full of unpredictable twists" ~Kathryn Sullivan, author of THE CRYSTAL THRONE

 "Cute Young Adult fantasy written in the good-verses-evil sword & sorcery style..." ~KC Heath 

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They were doomed.

Huddled against sun-baked stone, Gaylen cradled her son Centra in a futile attempt to shelter him from the battle?from the clash of blades, the smell of blood, the screams. Wave after wave of men in black battle harness crashed against the thinning wall of their defenders. The Umbran commandos had ambushed their party at the mouth of the pass and driven them against the base of a cliff. They had no place left to run.

Centra stirred, but an improvised spell kept the toddler locked in slumber. She brushed the curls from his flushed forehead and kissed his brow. All she?d wanted was a little more time with him, a few more days until the wizards of the White Circle claimed him. Now, half a day's journey to the top of the pass and safety, she might lose him forever.

Twin drops splashed Centra's cheek. Tears. Gaylen squeezed her eyes shut to stop the flow.They had one hope. Despite the consequences, she would have to use sorcery. Though her arms already ached with loss, she kissed Centra again and laid him on a patch of grass near her feet.

She straightened and thrust her hands over her head. From memories she?d hoped to leave forever untouched, she summoned the words she needed. Power surged through her chest and erupted from her fingertips in a crackling blue arc. It rose above her defenders and plummeted into the black ranks. The ground shook, bodies flew, and a gap appeared. More power, more gaps, and always, more soldiers to fill them. Her fingers began to tremble and the world began to blur.

A blade sliced the guard in front of her, collarbone to hip. Hot blood splattered her face and broke Gaylen's concentration. She grabbed the man's shoulders and screamed a healing spell, but it was too late. He was dead. All her men were dead and her choices dead with them. All but one.

Words hammered her grief and rage into raw, barely restrained power. Wielding it like a scythe, she vaporized the men rushing toward her.

While her remaining foes hesitated, she crouched beside Centra. "My will to yours, so destiny chose; seek the Sisters of the Rose."

He whimpered in his sleep as if he understood the compulsion she?d placed upon him. Gaylen hugged him to her breast. "Forgive me, dear heart, and fare well."

The dizziness that always followed her sorcery washed over her, but she stood and hurled Centra into the air on a stream of words. The spell wrapped around him in a glittering shield and carried him over the top of the cliff to the shelter of the trees above.

Once he was safe, she lowered her gaze to the soldiers, who stood motionless, necks craned to watch her son's flight. Sorrow washed over her, sorrow, grief and guilt. So many men, so many deaths. She lowered her arms and spread them, as if to embrace her one-time enemies. "Now," she sobbed and burst into a storm of flame that engulfed them all.

High above, Centra dropped onto the root of an ancient oak, woke and began to cry.

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