Authors: J. A. Pitts
Tags: #Fantasy Fiction, #Fiction, #Urban Life, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic
Honeyed Words
I’d like to dedicate this book to two of my oldest friends—Lucien (Lou) Cerwin and Alan Burstein.
Alan and I were roommates straight out of high school. For living with me, he very likely deserves a Purple Heart. Alan did a stint in the Navy, and ended up an engineer in the private sector.
Lou has been a supporter of my dreams since the day we met all the way back into the seventh grade. He’s always had a sharp mind and a flair for speaking it loud and proud. While we may not always agree on politics, I know he’s in my corner, no matter what. Lou retired from the Navy recently.
I’d like to thank both of these guys for the service they’ve done for our country. It isn’t everyone who can dedicate a significant portion of their lives so we can enjoy the freedoms we have grown accustomed to.
Both of these guys flew to Seattle for my book launch and have gone way above and beyond in the support and promotion of my writing. My life is richer for having them in it.
Acknowledgments
Here we are at my second published novel. Between the day job and everything else life tosses my way, I’m thankful that I have such a wonderful group of folks who support me in my endeavors.
First and foremost, of course, I need to thank my family—Kathy Pitts, my awesome wife and partner. By the time you folks read this book, we’ll be celebrating our twenty-second wedding anniversary. My son, Patrick Pitts, who’s become an adult when I wasn’t looking. I love all the help you give me in brainstorming the story. You are excellent. And my youngest, Emily Pitts. What a wonderful young woman you’ve grown to be. Thanks for the humor and the constant hugs. They make the day-to-day existence so sweet. Thanks for everything you do.
The fine folks at my day job have been very supportive. It’s wonderful to have so many people excited for all this. I’d like to call out Linda Ingram especially, for being so optimistic and wonderful about the books.
There are those who are quieter, supporting me day-for-day with their loyalty and friendship. These folks are hard to come by, and should never want for acknowledgment. My buddy Allan Rousselle has been that kind of friend. He’s a damn fine writer in his own right. He has a quick wit and keen insight into story. Thanks for all the help.
The first reader crew from True Martial Arts and beyond has returned with a passion: Dan and Jen Berg (and baby Elizabeth), Owen and Chelsea Wessling, and Toby Goan. I must also mention three very dedicated friends: Deb Kerekes, who’s read even my earliest dregs, as well as Rob Scott and Alecia Bolton. And I mustn’t forget some awesome authors: Brenda Cooper and Shannon Page. You’ve all influenced not just my novel, but my life, and I’m richer for the lot.
Once again, I want to thank my agent, Cameron McClure. I think Cameron’s influence on my work is excellent, but her impact on my growth as a writer, especially on the business side of things, is immeasurable. Thanks a ton.
The crew at Tor is astounding. My editors, Claire Eddy and Kristin Sevick; the art director, Irene Gallo, who always does superb work; and the whole support crew who remain nameless to me (I’ll meet them all someday) and yet they produce a wonderful product that just happens to contain my words. Thank you all for helping me see Sarah to a public viewing.
This is my second book with a Dan Dos Santos cover. I love the way Dan has with Sarah and the feel he has for capturing the essence of the story. The man has talent.
Finally, I’d like to thank all the readers, reviewers, and bloggers who found my book worth their time to discuss and promote. I truly appreciate the tweets and e-mails I get. It’s an amazing thing to find that the stories from my psyche have resonated with so many of you.
Contents
Praise for J. A. Pitts’s Previous Novel, Black Blade Blues
One
Jimmy Cornett, the leader of Black Briar, paced the length of the room, eleven long strides before turning and making the return trip. In his left hand he carried a highball glass with three fingers of Glenlivet single-malt scotch but had not taken the first sip.
His world had gotten a helluva lot more complicated these last six months. Running the farm and Black Briar was full-time work. He loved the reenactment and the swordplay, but until this spring, that’s what it had been: play. When the dragon attacked the farm with choppers full of trolls and giants, the thin veneer of it all slid right off the cracker.
His sister, Katie, had a better handle on it all. He’d always discounted her beliefs, nodding and patting her on the head. But they were definitely the children of their parents, and the secret world of dragons and myth should not have come as such a surprise to him. Of course, they had been rather vague on the whole “dragons will attack your farm in helicopters” aspect of it all.
He felt a tightening in his chest as he thought back to the battle just a few months earlier. Black Briar had been prepared, sort of. They’d trained for the various reenactment wars around the country. They were good, a well-considered mercenary house on the fringes of the stalwart Society kingdoms. While the Society of Creative Anachronism did things right, down to the linen shirts and hand-sewn boots, real steel weapons and man-to-man combat, nothing prepared them for fifteen-feet-tall giants, hordes of trolls, and a fucking dragon.
They may have come through okay, if not for that damn drake. Killed his best riders: Susan and Maggie. Mangled Maggie and burned Susan to the ground. So many fallen that long black night.
His wife, Deidre, still wasn’t home from the rehab center where she’d been recovering from the injuries she’d sustained. There was a damn good chance she’d never walk again.
Sarah had kept the dragon busy, let him rescue Deidre after the giants had broken through their defenses. But part of him blamed Sarah for all of this going down the way it had. Sure, she didn’t really understand that the sword she had reforged was the legendary Gram. Hell, only Katie had thought it possible, and even he’d laughed at her. It wasn’t until the dragon had kidnapped his baby sister, along with Sarah’s blacksmith master, Julie Hendrickson, that Jimmy had accepted the truth. All the crazy shit his parents had told him. All the history and stories were really true.
Didn’t mean he had to like it.
And he wasn’t alone. He had friends—friends who knew the truth about the world.
Stuart and Gunther sat on either side of a small table, each ensconced in a large leather wingback chair. They hadn’t waited and were sipping their scotch while Jimmy gathered his thoughts.
The room was filled with cabinets and display cases, bookshelves and weapons racks, which held a smattering of items: swords, tomes, scrolls, cups, necklaces, and trinkets. The northern wall was dominated by a huge world map.
Jimmy’s grandparents had commissioned the map from dwarven artisans in the early twentieth century, but it was based on a much older one, only known by rumor and hearsay. Each continent was laid out in meticulous detail. Political demarcations were absent, but geographical locations were noted in abundance. Remarkable about the map were the tiny lights that glowed from spots on every continent. Most were major cities; they’d figured those out early on. Some were obviously deep in ancient mountain ranges, and two were mysteriously in the middle of an ocean—one in the Atlantic and one in what is now called the Sea of Japan.
These lights, these pinpoints glowing in the shadows of the room, represented the dragons that ruled the world. Jimmy had first seen the map when he was nine. He remembered that day like many children remember the day they learn Santa Claus isn’t real or that their parents are human and fallible. He didn’t understand the ramifications of this knowledge at first, not even after his parents had disappeared. It took Sarah, Gram, and that damn dragon, Jean-Paul Duchamp, for the truth of the world to finally become clear.
He’d been in his room in a tent made from blankets, pillows, and a couple of ski poles. He had his flashlight and was reading comic books way past his bedtime. It was late, close to midnight, when he heard a commotion outside. An odd warbling sound echoed through the house. Jimmy scrambled out of the tent and jerked the bedroom door open. Katie was screaming, and his father was rushing toward the front door, pulling a leather harness across his shoulders and settling a long sword into the attached sheath.