Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  “You will not die, Ghy. Did we not train every day since I selected you? Have we not taken on jousters of all ranks in our sessions, and were we not the victors in the end? None of my dragons were killed in jousts, I just outlasted them. So, no, you will not die, but I may wear you out and then you will join the others in the retirement circle someday.”

  “This is your most important of all tournaments, and I fear I am not worthy of you. There were so many other more experienced dragons you should have chosen.”

  “That is true,” Siv said. She smiled at the slight stiffening of her ride. “Yet you are here precisely because I chose you. I wanted only the best, and you are the best.”

  Ghy visibly relaxed and closed her eyes, her lashes stroking Siv’s cheek as she nuzzled again.

  “I have something for you,” Siv whispered. She pushed up the sleeve of her cloak, and removed a bracelet-like adornment that matched the ring on her right hand.

  “My bonding ring!” The dragon flexed her talons and allowed Siv to slide the bracelet over one, equating its placement on the dragon to the ring on her humanoid hand.

  Dragon and rider extended their limbs to admire the matching oval stones that were more than adornment. Cut from the same diamond, the two gems held a power that would bind Siv to her wyvern, to connect their thoughts and movements during jousts, and in all aspects of their rapport. By the magical attuning of a matching ring worn by both rider and dragon, the pair were now bonded telepathically.

  Siv lifted the gorget at her neck to reveal a necklace with ten other rings. “These are the rings of your predecessors. Like the metal shaft of my lance, they hold memories of my competitions. Whenever we joust, these rings will be embedded in the handle of my lance, and through them, their magical memories will guide us.”

  “I am honored, my Lady. I will do my best to honor you and my predecessors.” Her sensors signaled another presence, which Siv ignored. Her unique eyes already knew who had arrived.

  In the far doorway, Rand Emberfang leaned against the frame, watching Siv’s bonding. Not only was her new dragon an impressive creature, but the Zeph herself was. Taller than most females of her kingdom, her every move exuded grace and fluidity, with air her strongest element. He’d long been attracted to her.

  Although they had never jousted against each other, Rand had seen many of her matches and knew her to be a formidable opponent. They’d engaged in flirtatious encounters off the field before, but this tournament would give him the opportunity to get to know her more—and likely he’d challenge her in the final match.

  He took long, quiet strides, enjoying the melodious blend of Siv’s calm voice mixing with the blue wyvern’s tinkling notes. As he moved closer, however, the chiming syllables turned into a roar as the dragon raised her head and blew out a fireless blast of hot air, knocking Rand flat on his back.

  “Good girl, Ghy,” Siv praised, stroking the beast’s neck. She smirked over her shoulder. “I would think you knew better than to disrupt a rider bonding with her dragon, Rand. Be glad we were finished. She could sense you were not a threat to me, or you may have been fried to a crisp.”

  Rand bounced to his feet, a slight look of shock on his face. “How did you know I was here?” He rolled his eyes skyward and added, “I forgot about those all-seeing eyes of yours.”

  “I saw you the moment you arrived.” Siv declined to mention that she had also felt the heat of his presence when he stepped to the open door. She had tamped down her power of air, allowing her own command of fire to blend with Rand’s so that he had no knowledge she was even aware of him.

  He took a few steps forward.

  Siv whirled on him. Ghymugras gave a warning snort, a puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “Why are you here, Rand, in this tournament in my kingdom? They will never name you the Grand Sentinel.”

  He shrugged. With a cautious hand, he reached to stroke the dragon’s long neck. “She’s already prepared to defend you to the death, isn’t she? She’s a beauty—like her rider.”

  “Spare me.” She elbowed the Fire Elf from her path. “Leave me alone, Rand, I have a tournament to win.”

  “I think I might have something to say about that,” he said, moving behind her as she reached for a bridle. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him.

  Siv hitched her breath, taking in the slightly smoky scent of Rand, aware of his strength, his essence—and of a firm pressure on her lower back.

  Either her armor had activated under her cloak to protect her from Rand—or his body had activated of its own accord.

  Chapter 3

  The Reckoning

  Siv took a deep breath at the entrance to the waiting room, where candidates for the tournament gathered before they were granted access to the council. With a deep breath, she flung the cloak aside and pushed open the massive double doors.

  Small clusters of contenders dotted the room. Siv’s eyes focused straight ahead, but with her ability to see in all directions, she noticed the gaping jaws and wide-eyed stares of the males. For just a moment, a flutter of nerves invaded as she endured the gawks and murmurs. With a deliberate but imperceptible summoning of the power of air, she set the delicate materials flowing, crystals maintaining their designated places. One jouster tripped over his own feet. Another dropped his lance. As he bent to pick it up, he bumped into another, sending a row of males toppling.

  First mission accomplished. Siv relaxed. I’ve got this.

  The gong signaled the warning to fall into formation, and the jousters scrambled to line up.

  A warm breath danced along her gorget, and Rand’s voice whispered in her ear, “What a nice surprise. How pleased I’ll be when we march.” He leaned closer. “I’ll have a most delightful view of your—crystals.”

  In response, Siv unfolded her wings to their full glory, pushing Rand to the side. With a flick of her wrist, she hefted her shield and lance. Her gaze swept over the other weapons. Every lance was fitted with blunted padding called a coronal in place of a pointed tip, but the shaft could still break off and pierce armor.

  Ahead of the competitors, sentries pushed open the large doors leading to the council chambers. Two directed the jousters to walk in single file toward the council table, sending half to the right side of the black strip dividing the room. The remaining competitors would fill the left half.

  As Siv entered, murmurs increased to waves of sound that crashed into a crescendo of shouts and clapping as more spectators became aware of her clothing.

  Because of her wingspan, she had more room on either side of her than many of the other contenders. She struck a stoic pose, feet planted apart, one arm holding her shield chest-high, the other holding her lance.

  Standing at the podium, the Secretariat began the tedious process of his welcome address, announcing names of the important guests and spectators, then the thirty-two competitors.

  As the ancient secretary droned on, Siv scanned around her without moving her head. Many jousters stood as motionless as she, while others fidgeted. Who her opponents would be depended on the results of the other match-ups. She’d seen tournaments where an unexpected rival beat champions because of sheer hubris.

  She noted five potential threats, including the usurping contender from Piironious. It would be a pity if she and Rand were paired in the first match. She aimed her gaze to her right. The red Fire Elf stood out among the pale blue skins of the Mesolanders, in skin tone and size. He was a worthy opponent and for a moment she wondered if she would think less of him if she were to beat him in the tournament.

  She cleared that thought immediately and shut down her hormones to concentrate on the task at hand. The Minister of Internal Affairs stood to read the rules.

  “Thirty-two names have been etched on the Sphere of Intent. Contenders will be paired at random for the first round and will compete in an elimination match. Riders will charge each other, pass, make a U-turn at the opposing end and charge again. Riders will make up to three passes t
o determine a winner of the match. Each winner will then go on to the next round. The last two remaining contenders shall face-off in the final match-up.

  “The rules are simple. The winner of each match-up shall be determined by any one of the following incidences, whichever occurs first.

  “Rule One: This is not a battle to the death, but an elimination match. A rider whose lance breaks or imbeds in the armor of an opponent is considered to have dealt a deadly blow and deemed the winner.

  “Rule Two: A rider who causes another opponent to become unseated and to fall off his mount, whether or not the fallen rider lives or dies, is declared the winner.

  “Rule Three: A rider whose lance pierces the armor of an opponent, whether or not the opponent lives or dies, is declared the winner.

  “Rule Four: The failure of any of these events to occur in the match will result in a draw and those contenders will go on to the next round.

  “Rule Five: Competitors may invoke any of the elemental arts: air, fire, water, earth, or necromance: life, death, undeath, afterlife. However, The Council will declare one magic art as exempt during each round. No rider may utilize the art that has been exempted. The art of water has been disallowed in the first round.”

  The Secretariat introduced the Senior Delegate and then called Tudoriax to the podium.

  “Are you ready?” the Senior Delegate asked the jousters.

  Nods and affirmative responses signaled a unanimous response.

  “The tournament to select the new Grand Sentinel of Mesolands is now open. Riders, report to the staging areas.” Tudoriax slammed the bone gavel on the podium.

  Tremors shook the stadium, startling several jousters. Quakes continued. The black stripe dividing the room began to split. The round chambers fanned out in two equal halves that swiveled on a turntable mechanism underneath. The wall disconnected at the stripe, opening onto the great outdoor arena where the waiting citizenry of Mesolands filled the seats. Cheers arose as the two half-rounds locked into place opposite the grandstands and the dignitaries faced the ordinary citizens of Mesolands.

  At each end, huge projection screens floated, soon to light up with the names of the contenders for each match. Huge doors beneath the screens hid the rider, dragon and their flight guard who would enter the arena when called forward.

  Though the tournament area—known as the list field—was groomed for a ground competition, this event would be conducted in the air. As Mesolands was a floating plane, the stadium was constructed with a moveable bottom which opened to the galaxy.

  Daylight brightened the sky above, the dark universe stretched below as the field slid open to reveal the endless void into which many an unseated jouster had fallen. Some were rescued by their dragons, others by use of one of the arts. Some disappeared forever.

  Sixteen contenders filed downstairs to the East Stage, Siv and the fifteen males in her group headed to the West Stage. As they passed through the doors leading to the staging area, an apprentice jouster handed out darkened red crystals. Resembling scrying stones, the chips would glow and reveal the rider’s number moments before that match was to begin.

  Siv folded her wings to get past the archway, and the male Zeph before her turned abruptly. She nearly ran into him.

  “You’re not going to win, Siv.” Dakrus Orkon leaned in with a leer and dropped his gaze. “You think you can distract us with your gauntlets bearing trophies from your past conquests. Or with your clever costume.” He aimed his finger to jab Siv’s chest. Before the tip touched her, a fist-sized section of spiked armor clamped on his finger and he let out a yell.

  “Let me go, let me go.”

  At her will, the metal slowly released his fingertip, leaving scratches but no bleeding—this time.

  “What kind of dark arts magic are you using?” Dakrus asked as he shook his hand.

  In response, Siv poked his chest with her forefinger. “I suggest you keep that digit—or any of your appendages—to yourself before it becomes the next finger on my gauntlet.”

  Before Dakrus could answer, the giant floating monitors in the staging area lit up. One showed the pending scoreboard, while another showed the arena as scrying drones panned the crowds.

  A sentry entered the area and shouted, “Inspections!”

  The competitors formed a line, holding shields up and lances to their sides. Examiners scrutinized every weapon to ensure that the sharp tips for battle had been replaced with blunted coronals.

  A piercing vibration permeated the air and a jouster held up his crystal. The number “1” blazed gold.

  “I’m first!” He stepped into the passageway to wait for his flight guard to lead his dragon to the gates. As soon as he mounted, he raised his lance to signify his readiness. The doors parted and the team soared into the arena to face its competition on the list field. A modest chorus of cheers broke out.

  “It’s always better to get it over with early in the elimination rounds, isn’t it?” Rand’s warm breath brushed her cheeks as he leaned closer to her.

  “Is it?”

  “If I touch your shoulder, will your armor chomp my finger like it did Dakrus?”

  Siv turned. “Why don’t you try it and see, Rand?”

  The Fire Elf narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “Now is not the time. I’d like to know more about this armor later. But how can you wear something so sheer and revealing, yet it can turn to the sturdiest of metal? Is it allowed?”

  “It’s never been worn in a tournament before, so I doubt it is disallowed. But as I’m bound by the rules of being covered from neck to toe, I am perfectly legal.”

  “Lethal is more like it,” Rand said with a wink.

  Groans rose from the group. Siv turned to the monitor in time to see the competitor from their group struck by his opponent’s lance. The blow unseated him, but his tether prevented him from falling into the void. The dragon swooped low and extended his tail to push the rider back into the saddle. The winning team took a victory lap as the losers sailed to the sidelines for treatment. The scrying drone zoomed in on the rider’s arm, dislocated by the violent clash.

  “Oh.” Siv winced. Match 1 was over.

  “Fifteen more to go,” someone shouted.

  One by one, Siv’s competitors answered the call of their crystal, until she was the last rider in the room. Several riders from her group had already joined the first rider on the eliminated side. Rand and Dakrus had easily dispatched their opponents on the first pass.

  She wondered if the matches were truly random, but if the council had tried to sway the outcome of Siv’s competition by making her wait until last, they had failed.

  Unstressed by the delay, she had studied the matches on the big screen, assessing the skills of the winners. Her crystal squelched and glowed red.

  Round 16 was about to begin.

  She entered the hallway, where Nyrin and Ghy hovered.

  “It’s about time they called us,” the flight guard grumbled. She turned the reins over to Siv, who leapt into the saddle. She extended the lance to full length and ensured it was locked in place.

  “Ghy, are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Nyrin?”

  “Ready.”

  “Wings out.”

  Each extended their wings to full span, and rose on the air. As soon as the gates opened, Siv and Ghy, guided by Nyrin, flew to the starting line, met by cheers and claps.

  The opposing team entered from the other gate, but instead of settling at the starting line, the flight guard led the riding duo in a series of flips and somersaults before they landed in place.

  Cheers broke out louder than Siv’s team had received.

  “Should we respond?” Ghy asked in her melodic tone.

  “Not now, girl. We’ll have our moment to showboat.” Siv patted her mount’s neck.

  Nyrin buzzed with energy as she motioned for the animal to place her feet on the starting mark. Once in place, Siv steadied the lance upright.


  The showboating team flipped again and flew into position. The opponent raised his lance.

  At the signal to charge, Siv lowered the lance, balancing the unwieldy weight by tucking the base under her right armpit and aiming the point to the left of the dragon’s head. Ghy shot forward and increased speed. Siv’s rounded eyes gave her an advantage of seeing distance and closeup. She noted her opponent’s glance drift toward the crystals shifting across her breasts.

  When his gaze returned to the task at hand, it was just in time to see Siv’s coronal aimed at his chest. His eyes widened as her lance caught him under the breastplate and lifted him out of his saddle. He jerked over the back and tail of his mount, with only his tether keeping him from falling into the void.

  And just like that, Match 16 was over.

  “Is this our moment?” Ghy asked.

  “It is indeed.” With that, Siv nudged her dragon into a backward somersault to the delight of the spectators and guided her toward their gate.

  The umpire signaled that Siv won the match-up. Her face appeared on the monitors.

  Thunderous cheers rumbled from the civilian spectators.

  Council members sat in stony silence with arms crossed.

  The crowd quietened, waiting for Tudoriax to declare the winner. He rose and paused. Finally, he extended his arm toward her in acknowledgment.

  The civilian side of the stadium erupted in more cheers, rocking as thousands and thousands of spectators stamped their feet in approval.

  Nyrin circled and landed on Ghy’s head, then knelt to kiss the thick hide. She then skied down the neck toward Siv. She grinned. With wings fluttering at full speed, she levitated and flew to kiss Siv’s forehead.

  Siv smiled, then clapped her hands. “Calm down, girls, we still have a long way to go.” The trio entered the gateway, the heavy doors closing on but not muffling the thunderous applause.

  A tight-jawed Tudoriax sat and heaved a deep breath. He angled his head toward one of the sentries and gave a slight nod. The sentry responded by tapping the butt of his lance on the floor twice.