Dragon's Shield: DreamTide, #1

By Azalea Moone

Forced into exile for being a dragon summoner, Kohaku's problems only worsen when his dragon becomes inexplicably dormant. In attempt to find the reasons why, he runs into Sawyer, the handsome dragon hunter who freed him from persecution two years ago.

Sawyer's never forgotten about the gorgeous red-haired summoner from his dreams. He sets out to prove he's no longer interested in slaying dragons. Instead, he wants to gain Kohaku's trust and his affection, while he helps search for the key in the dragon's recovery.

However, there's another frightful magic at play, and suddenly things are starting to fall apart around them. Can this forbidden love develop while they face the evils coming their way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Azalea Moone
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393886211

Book preview

Chapter One

With Honor

Long, prickly grass tickled his bare legs as Kohaku paraded through the empty field. Familiar rows of trees around him formed a circle, cutting off the field from the rest of the forest. There was nothing visible here except the large pine trees atop the hill. The breeze blew strands of his crimson hair away from his neck, loosening the hair tie he’d meticulously fastened before this outing. The wind only added to the perfection this night was. With his red silk kimono—his mother’s last gift before her death—hanging upon his lanky body, Kohaku wandered further into the field until he reached the spot he’d frequented before.

A woven basket in hand, he stopped there and gently removed the thin sheet from the top. The ground was nothing more than earth where he stood, surrounded by the grasses and difficult to see from a distance. And other than trolls and fairies, he was the only resident for miles around.

He dipped his hand into the basket, pulling out a handful of red grainy powder. This night couldn’t be any more special.  Once a month, on a moonless night, Kohaku would venture here to enjoy the peace and tranquility – and to summon his beast.

Uncupping his hand, he let the powder gently blow away with the breeze. With a whispered chant and a tender puff of breath, the dust twisted into the wind. Mixing with the earth. With the night.

Kohaku’s lips curved into a smile. A flash from the midst of the powder brightened up the field for a brief second, then the loud roar made even the grass around him tremble. The creature above him stared back at Kohaku, its wings flapping in the air much like a bird’s, but it wasn’t a simple feathered fowl at all. Its shape took up most of the sky, its second growl even fiercer than the first.

The stunning red beast lowered his wings to hover just above the ground. Kohaku stepped forward. Hello, Malrith.

A huff blew out from the dragon’s nose, almost like a reply. He hadn’t spoken for years, but he lowered his head, allowing Kohaku to reach out and stroke his scaly hide with care. Once a month was too long between summonings, but Kohaku hadn’t much choice than to do so on the gloomiest of nights. He leaned in, rubbing his head against Malrith’s, and hugged it close. There was nothing greater than a friendship between a summoner and his dragon. More so the bonds that were created since Kohaku was a child, despite the difficulties since his first summoning.

It’d taken a lot of strength and determination to master. And when he did, at the tender age of eight, it took even more to persuade the fiery beast to accept him. Countless months of summoning Malrith led to the strange connection between dragon and human.

This was the way their relationship should be, but Kohaku wasn’t for sure. Of course, there had to be more dragons, more summoners out in the world, though he knew none other than himself.

Ready? he whispered.

The dragon snorted, nodding his large head.

Kohaku loosened his grip and stepped back. Quiet now. Take flight. He raised his arms out to the side as Malrith lifted his wings. He wished he could go with him somehow, but never had the courage to ask for a ride.

Wind whipped the grass as the dragon lifted into the air, higher and higher, almost as if he were becoming one of the stars. Kohaku imagined the beast’s echoing growl, and the land cowering in fear to his rumbling voice—if only he would speak. He soared over the field, then into the forest some yards before turning back toward Kohaku. This was Malrith’s opportunity to stretch his wings, and he turned and twisted in the air.

A privilege, maybe, but Kohaku still wished he’d known Malrith’s true purpose. The dragon had stayed with the boy of his own accord. They’d spoken of a few necessities such as of the witch who’d granted him Malrith’s power, but only when Kohaku could get anything other than a scorn out of Malrith. Then Malrith had stopped speaking altogether.

A little higher, Kohaku said.

Malrith nodded, lifted his wings to fly higher, but before he could move, he made a sudden deafening growl. Kohaku glanced up in worry, quickly noticing a thick twig jutting out from the dragon’s belly. No, an arrows shaft?

Kohaku’s heart hammered in his chest. There were hunters? Dangers. The witch’s words came back to him. A hunter was around, clearly watching this entire reunion unfold. Kohaku raised his arms into the air, repeating the summoning chant to bring his friend down from the sky. Luckily, the arrow had missed vital organs, but if he let his dragon linger for much longer...

Once the beast was back on ground, Kohaku darted to Malrith and yanked out the arrow. The sharpened steel arrowhead was all he needed to know the hunter was one of the king’s men. With a grumble, Kohaku repeated the chant again, releasing the dragon from its true form back into the pile of red powder. As if by its own will, the powder floated back into the basket.

In the distance, grass rustled underneath heavy boots. Kohaku gripped the basket tight with one hand, gripped the bottom of his kimono with the other, and ran back toward the forest. No one but his mother had ever witnessed him summon his dragon. It was dangerous, and he had tried to keep it private. But he had known it was only a matter of time before someone found him.

As he made his way into the dense forest, the cracking of sticks beneath boots grew louder, as did the clanging of chains. The hunter was gaining ground, despite Kohaku’s speed and familiarity with the forest he grew up in. He increased his pace, skipping past thick brush, his naked feet cracking branches as he ran. But the footsteps followed closely behind. His body quivered, heart beating so loud it thumped into his ears. He’d never make it home...

Among the thick hanging trees, he spotted his home sheltered among the forest vegetation.

Halt! A command reverberated across the trees.

Kohaku’s hand ached, he’d been gripping his basket hard the entire time. He wasn’t about to stop at some stranger’s authority. This was his life and for all he knew, this might be his last breath.

A crunch from just behind him warned that the hunter was close, about to touch him with his dirty, bloody hands. Kohaku kept his sights on his escape route. He crashed into the door, hands and face flat against the wood, dropping his basket in the process. He could barely catch his breath.

I said halt! The voice came again, dark and controlling. Kohaku blinked, eyes widening when he attempted a side-long glance at the hunter. He stood only feet away, his sword pointed straight at Kohaku. Come away from the door and face your fate.

Kohaku swallowed. My fate? W-what is it I’ve done?

You’ve been charged with treason, the hunter said.

On what grounds? Kohaku closed his eyes, fearful of what the answer might be.

For summoning a dragon.

Wh-what’s wrong with it?

Those despicable creatures are forbidden in Anscien. The hunter’s voice never wavered. Now step away from the door.

Kohaku trembled in fear. The witch warned of dangers. She was evading someone when he’d met her, so he should have known this day would come. A hunter, one of the kingdom’s finest most likely, would find him eventually. Hiding the summoning within the darkest of nights worked just as long as it needed, though he still hadn’t learned much at all in the fifteen years since being given Malrith.

Kohaku took a breath, calming his fear and his beating heart. He turned on heel, facing the hunter. Then, kill me now.

The hunter, clad in a studded leather tunic with chainmail to protect his upper body, stood there unmoving.

The quiet air hurt more than the accusation. What do you wait for? If you intend to kill me, then do it. I know I will die with my honor still intact.

Still, the hunter tarried. His silver sword glistened in the moonlight off its sharpened side, his armor was just as magnificent, not leaving a blind spot for a stray blade to penetrate. The hunter’s head and face was shadowed by a chainmail coif, leaving only the chin and lips visible in the pale light.

Do you not wish to kill me here? Shall I follow you to the castle, then? Kohaku grunted. This hunter showed no strength in his convictions. Kohaku’s frustrations grew. Know that I’d rather die than give up my responsibility. Dragon summoner. Shall I fall to my knees and beg for your sword—

The hunter lowered his arm, dropping the sword on the ground. Go.

Come again? Kohaku tilted his head.

The hunter straightened. I said leave. Abandon this dwelling and move lest more hunters come to take your life.

You’re letting me—

Hurry. The hunter turned toward the distant sound of trotting horse hooves on grass. They’ll catch you within the day. With that, the hunter picked up his sword and darted off, disappearing back into the dense forest.

Or sooner?

Kohaku sucked in his bottom lip. This man, this hunter, had guts letting him go like that, but why? Never mind that. Deep down, Kohaku prayed a word of thanks to the man, then escaped into his house all the while making plans to leave his childhood home.

Chapter Two

The Hunter’s Duty

The unruly beast soared above the land, huffing large fiery breaths against the castle walls, scorching everything in sight. People screamed for mercy as bodies burned into ash. Archers shot countless arrows, knights launched large, flaming ballistae at the dragons, but their attempts failed to stop its attack.

Another large creature on the other side of the castle huffed a poisoned breath of green gas. Groups of knights dodged what they could in order to protect the king, but a fog of toxins had already overwhelmed the throne room. The king grasped his throat and sank down on the floor.

The city was engulfed in the dragons’ flames; while on the ground, their summoners commanded them on. Outfitted in extravagant armored pieces and lavish weapons, the summoners battled Anscien’s best knights, laying them out in puddles of blood.

One man, a summoner, the greatest of them all, stood out among them. His young face unsullied by the carnage, and his gorgeous red locks curled down his back. The man’s armor was made of hard red scales like those of the dragon he controlled, and in his hands, a long silver sword trickled blood to the ground...

Sawyer gasped. His eyes popped open, his body covered in a layer of sweat. Those nightmares had afflicted him for as long as he could remember. Though he hadn’t one for a week, this dream was the same as the previous. The dragons would burn the castle, and the summoner, proud of what he’d accomplished, would eye Sawyer with killing intent. What exactly was the significance of his dreams, he couldn’t figure out. But he’d never forget the day he’d urged the summoner to escape. And for what reason?

The man hadn’t begged for mercy like the others had. No, he was too formidable in his passion as summoner. Sawyer couldn’t bring himself to restrain him, couldn’t cut him through. For the first time, he’d turned his back on the one thing he trained so hard to master—the killing of summoners and their dragons.

It was a mistake to let him free. With a sneer at the thought, Sawyer stood and stomped out the burning coal leftover from last night’s fire. It was time to get back to his mission. After throwing on his cloak and brushing the dirt from his clothes, he hopped up on his horse and rode back onto the path into Raifut.

A rickety wagon wheeled past him, carrying hay bales and wooden kegs. The driver, an old dwarf with spotted-silver beard, waved as Sawyer galloped past. As he grew closer to town, more wagons passed him, one complete with hanging tapestry and hand-woven blankets. Another carried large vases, and another with baskets of apples, oranges, and other goods.

Raifut was as lively as ever this time of year. Located on the bank of the Wyst river; merchant boats, pillagers, and wandering travelers all made their way to the bustling village. Pubs, inns, and cafes lined the main road, inviting tourists to visit their inner dwellings.

He tied his horse up at the closest stable near the road and joined the crowd. A woman brushed past him, cradling a bushel of grain like a child. Gossip and laughter came from all directions. Merchants on the side of the path yelled to passersby to sell their wares—fresh foods and handmade clothes. A wooden stand with blankets hanging on all four sides intrigued Sawyer, but he didn’t have time to rummage through.

The Rooster’s Crow, a dingy pub for sailors and mineworkers, would be his stop. In this early morning, the only patrons would be shipmen, discussing cargo routes and drinking their share before going back to their vessels. Reports had warned of a traitor making his appearance there.

A sorcerer’s been plaguing the village of Raifut, Chancellor Elis had whispered just four days ago. Using his magics to steal from drunken townsfolk on their way out of the pubs. I assume he’s weak considering such antics, so you should simply be able to arrest him. He had handed Sawyer a pair of magic binding wrist bands. Relieved he wouldn’t necessarily have to draw blood this time, Sawyer kept the bands on his belt, but just in case, he had sheathed his best sword at his side and kept his hunting knives concealed in his boots.

But a sorcerer in Anscien? Uncommon, considering the ruling by the king. This man must be a traveler. If Sawyer could have questioned the chancellor further, he would have, but he knew his place. His duty was to follow orders, not question them.

Sawyer stepped away from the horde and casually walked up the stairs. Opening the door, he was met by a lutist who played a happy melody to awaken the few patrons. A din of laughter came from a corner table, where three men in filthy tunics drank their morning pints and spoke of shipping trades. At the counter, the barman ran a cloth across dingy mugs.

He stepped in, letting the door close gently behind him, and blinked at the change in lighting. Flames from the candles on each table swayed in the slight breeze. He squinted and focused as best he could around the tavern. The bartender set his cloth and mug on the table, then nodded at Sawyer in accord. Sawyer casually sauntered to the bar and sat down in front of the bartender.

Are you one of the king’s guards I called for? the barman asked.

You have a sorcerer scaring your patrons? Sawyer kept his sights on the door.

Yes, but where are the other guards? This man ain’t nothing to sneeze at.

I work alone. He turned in the stool. So tell me the story. What’s going on?

The barman snorted. They didn’t tell you? He’s a sorcerer, with a magical black cloak and stick on his back. He comes in here, pickpocketin’ and causin’ a ruckus. You just wait, he’s a morning bird, I tell ya’. Be here real soon. The barman picked up his mug and cloth again.

It sounded suspicious to Sawyer. Why would