Alright, final post before going overseas! Sorry this one was a bit late, I spent the weekend doing some last-minute shopping for Japan. Quick progress update, as always. A Matter of Faith is more or less through its second draft, Clanless is virtually done with only a couple of bits left to go through beta reading. All in all, some good progress is being made, and I hope to do some more while I’m on vacation!

I thought I would just keep it simple with today’s post, so because it’s been a while since I’ve done this, I’m going to leave you all with an extended preview of Clanless! Let me know what you all think in the comments below! And of course, remember to follow me on BlueSky or subscribe to the blog so you can be notified when the full thing hits the virtual shelves!

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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

“Stand to attention, all of you!” their instructor snarled at them, his voice like gravel being crushed underfoot. “You are not in your little village militia anymore, you are in the Bluebanes!”

Dumu blinked at him blearily. Along with the other initiates, he’d been dragged out to the training grounds outside the town, in a field of dirt and stone dotted by canvas tents and wooden dummies. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Theera stood attentively beside him, while Yhirax, still recovering from the other night’s festivities, looked like he was a breath away from falling over. The other initiates didn’t look much better, sleepy and drowsy though they were.

Their instructor marched up and down before them, a severe glare on his face. The older, green-grey dragonkin had stoney eyes, spines running down the length of his back and a deep blue cape slung over his shoulder, complimenting his steel breastplate. “I am Ntharl Graax, your tutor in the ways of combat,” he introduced himself. “I have been saddled with the thankless task of turning you soft-scaled, clanless children into warriors worthy of the Bluebanes. As such, I expect you to obey my every command. I tell you to sit, you sit. I tell you to fight, you fight. I tell you to piss, then you will whip out your cock and piss.”

Dumu heard a snort of laughter from one of the gathered warriors, a large she-warrior with bright orange scales. He heard her murmur something under her breath to some of her fellows, some kind of joke. Graax heard as well. As she turned back, he suddenly leapt forward and struck her across the jaw, knocking her to the dirt heavily. The initiates around her cried out in alarm, and Dumu heard Theera curse. Dumu just stared at the motionless she-warrior with his heart in his throat, feeling like he’d just wandered into the pen of a rabid beast.

“Do not think that I will tolerate mockery from any of you!” Graax snarled, whipping around to the rest of them. “None of you will do so much as breathe in my direction unless I ask you to! This is your lot as initiates, until such a day that I deem you proper warriors! And make no mistake, while you answer to Clan Ntharl, none of you are of Clan Ntharl. Impress me or my brethren in combat, and we may deign to give you our name, but that is an honour that you must earn. Now pick up your weapons, all of you! Your training begins now!”

And so it did. Dumu found himself training alongside Yhirax with the axes, while Theera was separated from them to learn the way of the spear. The drills were simple, but horribly repetitive. Swing your axe, from your right, not your left, advance, swing from the left this time, advance. Keep your shield up, cover your head, use your dragonbreath, retreat, advance, then start all over again. Over and over, they repeated the same movements, until Dumu could perform them off by heart. Even for one of his size, it was exhausting. By the end of it, his whole body was arching, his nostrils were filled with dust, and he felt about ready to pass out from the heat.

After the drills, Graax gave them but a few minutes before moving on. He had them spar against each other with blunted weapons and wooden shields, fighting in pairs and cycling between each other at his barked command. The matches were much less tiring, Dumu found. None of the other warriors could break his guard, and it was an easy matter for him to throw them away without too much effort. He didn’t press his attacks, however, fearful that he may hurt his partners by accident. All he could do was keep them back until it was time for them to cycle to the next.

It was during the sparring that he saw her. She appeared suddenly, without announcement, standing beside Graax like a shadow. Her scales were as dark as smoke, her limbs long and lean, and her eyes a bright, piercing yellow. She wore a silvery dress with flowing sleeves, with a green striding spider emblazoned on her chest, and though she wasn’t as broad as he was, she was just as tall, meeting his eyes at his level. He found himself stunned by that alone.

The roar of his sparring partner bought him back to reality. Spinning around, he saw the blue-scaled dragonkin rushing at him, training axe raised high. His heart leaping, Dumu pulled his shield up, catching the blow just in time. He reared back, then shoved his whole weight forward, throwing the warrior on his back. Dumu stepped away as his partner crashed into the dirt, catching his breath.

“Enough!”

Everyone came to a halt. Dumu turned to see Graax storming towards him, the darkscale woman following him. Though Graax didn’t stand any higher than Dumu’s collar, he couldn’t help but tense up as the instructor approached.

“What kind of warrior steps away when their opponent is on the ground?” Graax snapped, glaring furiously up at Dumu. “Finish him!”

“I …” Dumu stammered. “He’s one of us, noble teacher, I can’t—”

The punch came so quickly that Dumu didn’t realise what had happened at first. He staggered back, blinking at the stinging pain in his mouth. “Do you think a Redblood would let you stand if you fell before him?” Graax snarled at him. “I don’t care who he is to you, in this moment he is your enemy, and you are his!”

The darkscale woman touched him on the shoulder. “Do not be so harsh, father,” she said in a cool, calm voice. “He demonstrates loyalty to his kin. That should be rewarded, not punished.”

“Hmph.” Graax stepped back, glaring daggers into Dumu. “Start again! And this time, I don’t want to see you stop until my daughter tells you to!”

Dumu turned to the other warrior, who was already back on his feet. He raised his shield and braced himself, trying to keep his axe from shaking in his hand.

The warrior charged forward with a war cry, swinging his axe into him. Dumu blocked, then blocked again. On the third swing, he caught the blow and threw his foe backwards. Trying to remember the drills from before, he stepped forward and swung. His opponent tried to catch the blow with his own shield, but Dumu’s strength made him buckle and lose his footing. His was vulnerable for a moment, only for a moment, and Dumu brought his axe to swing …

And he hesitated.

He saw a blur as his opponent took his opportunity to strike, and the next he knew, Dumu was on the ground. His head was ringing, a stinging pain was burning on the side of his maw, and he could feel blood dripping down into his open mouth.

The darkscale woman was beside him in an instant. She knelt down and touched his face where the axe had struck him, her mouth curved into an unreadable smile. Dumu blinked up at her dazedly, trying to push himself up …

… and almost leapt out of his scales when a giant emerald-green spider crawled down her arm towards him.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the woman as he moved to swat it. “Moxa means no harm.”

“Moxa?” Dumu asked dazedly.

“My familiar,” she said cooly. Slowly, she lowered her arm towards him, placing the spider gently on his wounds. Dumu flinched as its spindly legs crawled across his scales, like tiny little needles, but the creature did not bite. Rather, it began to spin a web across his wound, with warm, sticky silk. When it was done, the woman touched it and uttered a sharp, quick word. The wound stung a little more, then not at all. As he stood up, the silk dried and scattered to ash, and where he touched his scales, there wasn’t even a scar.

“There,” the darkscale purred, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Is that better?”

“Aye …” Dumu murmured, wondering why his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Good. Whenever you are hurt, I will be there to make you better. Remember that, my giant.” She stepped away, and suddenly Dumu remembered that he was in the training yard, with half a hundred fellow warriors. Those nearest to him seemed to be staring at him, including his sparring partner, and Dumu felt himself shrink under their angry glares. What did I do?

“Now,” the darkscale spoke, her voice cracking like a whip. “Do it again. And try to hit him this time.”

End of excerpt.