I believe I promised an excerpt of my next story last week. And so, here it is! Clanless, set from the perspective of the young dragonkin warrior Dumu as he tries to earn acceptance into the prestigious Ntharl warrior clan! Have a read and let me know what you think of it in the comments below!

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The following is a work in progress and has not been edited nor proofread. The final product may read differently to what is presented below

Dumu stared up in awe at the great gate of Aradsar, wondering if he’d ever seen a structure so large. Two colossal redstone towers stood on either side of an enormous wooden door, each adorned with a long cloth banner coloured blue, emblazoned with a roaring, sand-yellow dragon with a thick horn jutting from its snout – a depiction of Gharamax the Storm Dragon, king of the Bluebane Alliance.

He stood before the gate with three hundred other dragonkin, all gathered from the disparate villages of the eastern expanses. Firescales, stormscales, rockscales like Dumu, dragonkin of all descents had gathered here as fresh recruits for the Bluebanes. Dumu towered a head and a half over all of them, a fact that had drawn no end of attention during the journey here. Yhirax, a sandscale that Dumu considered a brother, stood beside him as they eagerly awaited the opening of the doors, while Theera stood in front of them, almost like a guardian. Surrounding the crowd were Bluebane warriors, dressed in scale armour and blue cloaks, their faces impassive behind their helms.

Slowly, with a deep groan, the doors began to open.

Dumu had never seen a town quite like Aradsar. A human settlement, it was built into a narrow river valley within the hills and its buildings were chiselled into the cliffs and crags that enclosed it. The humans watched Dumu and his brethren warily from the windows of their stone homes and from the walkways of wood and stone connected the two sides of the valley. The river pooled into the centre of the valley into the shape of a teardrop, and colourful streamers were tied across the valley, bearing what seemed like a hundred intricate sigils.

“Those are the symbols of the dragon clans,” Yhirax told him, his ruby-red eyes gleaming with excitement. “There must be hundreds of them! Smithing clans, sorcerer clans, god clans…”

“And warrior clans,” Dumu finished, smiling.

Yhirax grinned with him. “More than we could possibly count. That one, there,” he pointed at one of the largest banners, hanging from a walkway. It was a dragon’s skull, white against black, adorned with two long, forward-facing horns. “That’s the symbol of Clan Ntharl, the strongest warrior clan in the eastern deserts! What I would give to be sworn in with them!”

Theera looked wary, as she often did. “Ntharl Jhex is mad,” the older leafscale muttered, her voice a deep rumble. “You’ve heard the rumours.”

“So? That’s all they are. Rumours,” Yhirax replied dismissively. “And they didn’t stop you from joining the Bluebanes.”

“Of course not,” Theera replied irritably. “I’m no coward. But I’m here to free my kin in slavery, not to join a clan.”

“Can we not do both?” Yhirax laughed. “Do as you will, but by the end of this war, I will be a clansman.”

“As will I,” Dumu agreed enthusiastically. Like Yhirax, he’d been dreaming of being accepted by a clan since the day he hatched. All three of them were clanless bastards, born to nameless parents and raised in a hatching-house. They had never known the family, the full bellies, nor the wealth that came with clanship… but one day I might. Any dragonkin could be sworn into a clan, either by siring a hatchling with a clan daughter or proving aptitude in that clan’s field of expertise. There had only been the Karyth hunting clan in Broken Egg village, where Dumu had came from, but he had heard, over and over, how his size and strength could make him a warrior, and the warrior clans were the richest and most powerful of them all. And what better way to prove himself to a warrior clan than by fighting for the Bluebanes?

They gathered in the centre of Aradsar, where a kin armoured in ivory white addressed them from atop a stone walkway. His scales were as black as pitch and his voice was low and coarse. “My fellow kin, I am Ntharl Jhex,” he declared to them all. “High Father of Clan Ntharl, Lord of the Bone Pit, and your warfang and your general. Like you, I joined the Bluebanes because I was sick of the foul Redblood mercenaries and the hypocrites of Providence! For years, we have been at the mercy of the slavers of the Red Sands, who take our brothers, sisters, sons and daughters to the black city of Ifenswalk as slaves! Through foul magics, they strip them of their dragonsbreath, what makes us dragonkin, and geld them like animals to make them docile! And what does the noble and honourable Providence of the First Eye do, this kingdom that supposedly forbids and condemns slavery?

“Nothing!” Ntharl Jhex spat the word with venom. “They do nothing! And why would they? They live in a paradise of grass and water, what do they care what happens to us lowly desert folk? Well, to Nihil with Providence and to Nihil with their king! It’s King Gharamax I serve now, and with you, we shall exact justice upon the Redbloods and their masters! Tonight, I shall hold a feast in our king’s honour, to welcome our new kin to the Bluebanes and to toast the victories to come!” And to that, the dragonkin cheered.

End of Excerpt