Eliza & The Paladin

By Lisa Gayle

Earth had become a noisome place. War. Disease. Death. No one was untouched, and there was no escape. The Alexander family, with a group of like-minded citizens, dare to leave it all behind and start over on a habitable planet in the Lyra constellation… but they don't make it to Lyra. An unimaginable event thrusts the pioneers into a journey of hardship, heartbreak, and adventure on an uncharted planet with no way back. Cheer for the intrepid settlers as they fight for a better way of life. Fly high with our heroine, Eliza, and Ero the Dragon Paladin. Join the alliance to defeat invading alien forces as they threaten the colonists' utopia in "Eliza & The Paladin."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667851624

Lisa Gayle

Lisa Gayle lives near Dallas, Texas with her loyal Doberman Pinschers Pell and Raven. She spends her days as an IT Program Manager and evenings wondering what trouble Eliza will get into next. When she isn't working or writing, she's renovating an old house in her home town or catching her favorite fantasy/sci-fi movies.

Book preview

PRAISE FOR ELIZA & THE PALADIN

"If you love dragons and dragon stories with multifaceted characters – human and dragon – and a plot ripe with themes of a dying Earth, space travel gone awry, survival on a far-away planet, war with humans and dragons allied, romance, and even a touch of religion, then Eliza & The Paladin is a must read."

- Lee Sneath, Writer/Editor

Lisa Gayle plops us in a mythical community called West, on the magical planet Covenant, where extraordinary characters struggle to thwart the wrath and vengeance of their archenemy.  I loved every twist and turn in this fascinating tale of sacrifice and survival.  You will too.

- Tank Gunner, Author

Lisa crafts a beautifully intriguing world of advanced science mingled with intricate fantasy that still manages to capture the essence of humanity.

- Katrina G.

Lisa has created characters with depth and interest, and led them through normal lives of love, disappointments, and tragedy into a world they previously could only have imagined.

- Virginia M.

A picture containing text Description automatically generated

Copyright © 2022 Lisa Gayle

Cover design copyright © BetiBup33 Design Studio; [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For inquiries or permission, contact [e-mail].

ISBN: 978-1-66785-162-4

Printed in the United States of America.

First edition.

In memory of Wayne Peterson

For my Mama. I hope I make you proud.

Originally,

Lisa Gayle

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE: There

PART 1: Here

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

PART 2: There

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-three

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

PART 3: Now

Thirty-nine

Forty

Forty-one

Forty-two

Forty-three

Forty-four

Forty-five

PART 4: Before

Forty-six

Forty-seven

Forty-eight

Forty-nine

Fifty

Fifty-one

Fifty-two

Fifty-three

Fifty-four

PART 5: Begin Again

Fifty-five

Fifty-six

Fifty-seven

Fifty-eight

Fifty-nine

Sixty

Sixty-one

Sixty-two

Sixty-three

Sixty-four

Sixty-five

Sixty-six

Sixty-seven

Sixty-eight

Sixty-nine

Seventy

Acknowledgements

Prologue

About the Author

PROLOGUE

There

Sorn cursed the foul weather. A fog so thick he could feel the dew on his face had settled over the mining compound. He paced around the guard tower platform and peered into the dense night, searching for signs of Dragons. The murk was impenetrable. It would be impossible to see them coming.

Despite two Dragon attacks, the excavation company refused to abandon the mine. The uranium was too valuable – the technetium, rather. The towers were fortified with powerful weapons, but they were useless. The best munitions bounced off the Dragons’ scales. Even the infrareds couldn’t detect them.

Sorn had five days left in his rotation and couldn’t wait to get off the dead, rocky planet.

A horn pierced the quiet, signaling the end of the shift. The slaves staggered out of the mine single file, fighting exhaustion to stay on their feet and avoid being flogged for falling behind.

Sorn leaned over the platform railing and watched them shuffle out, the Dragons momentarily forgotten.

Back home on Creetan, the company bribed prison wardens to maintain a steady supply of slave labor. The prisoners didn’t last long once they were put to work in the mines. Radiation poisoning was a deadly consequence of producing technetium from uranium. Harvesting prisons cost less than medicine, so slaves weren’t given antidotes.

For fun, the guards wagered on how many slaves would die on a given day. Sorn bet 15 deaths for coverage of the next shift so he could go hunting. He had been preparing his gear in anticipation. A group of large, four-legged beasts had been lurking around the compound from a distance. They were good at concealing themselves, so he couldn’t get a full look. He liked to collect trophies from every planet he worked on and was eager to get closer and take one down.

Confusion and vomiting were the typical signs of impending death among the slaves. Sorn counted seven slaves babbling. Three others were on their knees puking while a foreman lashed their backs for stopping. Five more before he could go collect his prize.

He heard a howl in the distance. Assuming it was one of his beasts, he ignored it. They hadn’t come into the compound before, so he didn’t consider them a threat.

Then came two deep trumpets. Alarmed, he spun around, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. 

A deafening roar rattled his eardrums. A hot plume of crimson and yellow sliced through the darkness at the far side of the platform. Flying splinters needled his face. The force of the blast hurled him over the railing while another firebomb landed where he had been standing. 

The fall dislocated his shoulder and shattered his wrist. He rolled over onto his back, eyes squeezed tight against the pain. His ears buzzed, muffling the sounds of chaos that had erupted around him. He took deep, steadying breaths, pushed himself into a sitting position, and opened his eyes.

It was raining fire. The din of roaring Dragons, explosions, and screaming was an Armageddon the company never could have prepared for.

Sorn counted at least two Dragons circling and burning anything that moved. Slaves and foremen writhed in agony or flailed their arms while trying to outrun their blazing flesh.

Others were being torn to shreds by dozens of his trophy creatures. Sorn got the full look at them he had craved. They were far larger than he first thought, and more savage in their mutilations than he could have imagined. 

Sorn knew he had to move. He could use the underground tunnels that connected the mine to the spaceport and get on a shuttle. He struggled to his feet and started in that direction, but stopped short.

The mine entrance had collapsed. He would have to get there above ground. He turned toward the port but stopped again.

In the distance, fleeing crafts exploded mid-air, illuminating the sky.

Sorn counted two more Dragon silhouettes circling the area, incinerating everything in their path.

He whirled around, desperate to find cover. The barracks were his only possibility. He pulled his blade out of its scabbard, prepared to fight his way out of the mayhem.

He stumbled toward the barracks, tripping over charred bodies and bloody limbs, and choking on the hot, smokey air. He didn’t get far.

The wide-open fanged mouth of his intended hunting prey emerged from the smog. Sorn drove his blade deep into the monster’s chest as his head was ripped from his shoulders.

For a moment, the din stopped.

A unified howl sounded across the land.

PART  1

Here

One

Captain Alexander, it’s time to wake up. 

The voice crept into Paul’s consciousness.  

Captain? Can you try to wake up for me?  

His mind was a fog, and his body felt heavy. Was the voice talking to him? It seemed so far away.  

Can you open your eyes, Captain?   

The voice was insistent. He turned toward it. The sensation of being unraveled traveled down his body as the sedative dissipated. 

He cracked his left eye open and winced at the bright desert sun shining through the window. He raised his hand to block the light, pulling an IV tube across his body. 

A soft, warm hand grabbed his arm and pulled it back down. 

Easy there, Captain. You don’t want to pull your IV out. 

He slid one eye open again. A blurred silhouette surrounded by a halo of light stood over him.

Nurse, please close the shades, the voice said.  

Once the light dimmed, he opened both eyes and looked around the sterile hospital room.    

Captain Alexander, my name is Dr. Grace Newman. Do you know where you are? 

What’s Audrey Hepburn doing here? Paul thought. Wait, she said her name is Grace.

Do you know where you are, Captain? Grace repeated. 

Puhl, he muttered. Pain shot through his jaw. 

Don’t try to speak. Your jaw is broken. 

"Why does Audrey ask me questions and then tell me not to speak? Grace. She said her name is Grace."

You’ve been in a car accident. Do you remember? Just nod your head. 

Car accident? No, that can’t be right.

He didn’t have time for this. He had to get back. He tried to sit up but intense pain shot through his ribs and pushed him back down. He gasped for air.  

Captain, it’s important that you not do that again. Your ribs are broken.  

Puhl. 

Please don’t try to speak. Your jaw is wired shut. 

I think he’s saying his name is Paul, the nurse said, holding up his chart. 

Paul nodded. 

Well, Paul, I order you to stay still. Grace smiled. 

"Lovely teeth. She looks just like Audrey Hepburn. She’s a civilian, too. I’m going to ask her out."

Grace pulled a syringe from her pocket. I’m going to give you morphine for the pain.  

Oooooo! Paul protested.  

Against his protests, Grace inserted the needle into his IV and pushed the plunger. The Marines always complained the most. 

The opiate oozed through his body and the pain washed away. Paul sighed and settled into the peace of the medication. 

Muh-ee ee, Paul muttered. 

The nurse giggled.  

What’s so funny? Grace asked. 

I think he just asked you to marry him, the nurse replied. 

Grace appraised her patient. It was her turn to be on call in the ER at the field hospital when he was brought in by two other Marines. They had been on their way into town on a two-day pass. The Marines in the car behind Paul said he veered off the road and hit the only tree within a hundred miles in the god-forsaken desert. They guessed he must have fallen asleep. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so the impact forced his ribcage into the steering wheel. His nose and jaw were broken from hitting the windshield.   

Though bruised and swollen, he was a handsome man. At least 6’2", all muscle and grit, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes …  

Grace admonished herself for her unprofessional thoughts and turned away. She had burn patients to care for and didn’t have time for girlish nonsense. Still, she couldn’t help but sneak a last look over her shoulder as she left the room. 

Two

Roberta sat across from her mother at the kitchen table and waited, the white plastic stick face down between them. Her knee bobbled while she chewed her fingernail and studied the patterns of the faded linoleum floor so she wouldn’t have to look at the stick. The instructions that came with the pregnancy test said to wait three minutes. She used the time to contemplate how much trouble she’d be in when her Daddy got home if the word on the stick was the wrong one. 

The wind-up timer dinged. Roberta flinched. Her mother picked up the stick, read the word, and put it back down on the table face up. She took two long gulps of cheap beer, lit a cigarette, and exhaled in Roberta’s face.

How stupid can you be? her mother asked.

Roberta didn’t need to look at the stick. She knew what the word would be.

I love him, Mama, she whispered.

Her mother tipped the can up and drained it. I’ll make an appointment to get rid of it.

What? No! I want to keep it.

You’re 14 years old. How you gonna take care of it?

I don’t know. I was hoping you would help me.

I obviously can’t take care of you. ‘Sides, your Daddy won’t allow it.

She went to the fridge to grab another can and sat it down next to a clutter of empties.

Who’s the boy?

Roberta hesitated.

Her mother slammed her palm on the table. Who did this to you, Robbi?

Dean Long.

That kid that just got out of juvie?

Roberta nodded.

Her mother leaned back in her chair and sighed. Oh, Robbi. You got yourself in a world of hurt, girl. He’s nuthin’ but trouble.

No, Mama. He’s nice to me. He said he loves me.

Yeah, your Daddy said he loved me too. Look at what his love does. She pointed at her purple eye.

What will Daddy do when he finds out?

What he always does.

Roberta put her hands over her belly. Tell me what to do.

Get an abortion.

Roberta’s lip trembled. No, Mama. I can’t.

Then leave. Go before your Daddy gets home. I ain’t takin’ a beatin’ for you.

But … where will I go?

Maybe Dean will marry you since he loves you so much.

Three

Grace laid her straight flush down on the wheeled bedside table. I win again. You can’t possibly be this bad at card games.

Paul laughed as much as his wired jaw would allow. He was an expert poker player and the reigning base champion. If Grace knew the truth, she wouldn’t spend so much time with him, so he let her win. 

The intercom squelched, interrupting the mood.

Dr. Newman to Ward 3. 

Grace sighed and collected the cards. Duty calls. I’ll check on you tomorrow after the procedure to free your jaw. It shouldn’t take long. Afterward, you can talk as much as you like about leaving, but not until your ribs are healed. 

Grace left the room, the scent of her perfume trailing behind. Paul breathed deep.

By then, Paul knew all about Dr. Grace Newman. He had used his time wisely while laid up in his hospital bed; he had ordered a background check on the good doctor, using his military intelligence contacts. The results surprised him. Grace was the only child of Dr. Xavier Newman. Xavier was a brilliant biochemist and environmentalist who had developed a rapid chelation compound to neutralize radioactive contaminants. The compound’s effectiveness against multiple environmental hazards made Xavier an overnight tycoon, as governments around the globe clamored to clean up the ravages of recent wars. Upon his death, Grace inherited it all. 

Paul wondered what the wealthiest woman in the world was doing in a war zone. He intended to ask her as soon as he could speak. 

Grace didn’t come to his room after his procedure as she had promised. When an aide came to deliver his breakfast the next morning, he asked about her. 

Is Grace on duty? 

The aide looked puzzled. Who? 

Dr. Newman. 

I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I’ve heard that name before. 

Paul was confused. Grace had visited him every day since he woke up in the hospital over a week prior.  

Paul worried the rest of the day and had trouble sleeping that night. Around 2:00 am, he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, breathing deeply through the discomfort in his side. He grabbed his IV stand and stood up. His bare behind peeked through the opening of his hospital gown as he shuffled out into the corridor. The aide at the nurse’s station was busy stocking the supply cabinet and didn’t hear him approach. 

Where is Dr. Newman? Paul barked. 

The aide jumped and spun around. 

What? Who?  

Dr. Newman. Where is she? She’s been in my room every day. You’re the second person to not know who I’m talking about. 

I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know anyone by that name. The aide looked as though she were about to cry. 

Paul! Grace rushed toward them.

Relief washed over him.

Why aren’t you in bed? You shouldn’t be up. 

Where have you been? he demanded. 

I’ve been working, Grace retorted. You aren’t my only patient, you know. 

She put her arm around Paul’s waist to support him and steered him back toward his room.

You said you’d come by after my procedure, Paul said.

I’ve been tied up on my ward. I see your jaw is working just fine, though. You didn’t waste any time yelling at everyone. She eased Paul back down onto his bed. 

No one here knew where you were. Hell, they didn’t know who you were. I was worried.

Why? There’s nothing to worry about. 

I can’t protect you here. 

Protect me from what – 19-year-old nurse’s aides?  She pulled a syringe from her pocket.

Don’t give me that! Paul snapped. You need to go back to the states. 

I can’t just leave, Paul.  

Yes, you can. You’re a civilian. You can do whatever you want. It isn’t safe here. 

I’m a chemical burn specialist. I have patients in the burn ward. 

You need to go back to the States, Paul repeated. 

"I can’t just abandon my responsibilities here. You of all people should understand that. I’ll leave as soon as I’m no longer needed and not one minute before. You have no authority over me, Captain."  

Paul was frustrated with her stubbornness. It wasn’t safe for her here, even so far behind the front line. He had to get back to complete his mission. If he was successful, she would be safe. 

I apologize, Grace. I shouldn’t have yelled. I was worried … and I missed you. 

Grace’s cheeks pinked. Truth be told, she had wanted to be there when he woke up from his surgery, but a new group of burn patients arrived, and she couldn’t leave. She hadn’t slept in two days. Her own exhaustion was to blame for her short temper. 

Well … I’m glad to see your procedure went well. I better get back to my ward.  

Paul reached for whatever he could to keep her from leaving. If you’re a burn specialist, why are you treating car accident patients? 

All the doctors take turns being on call. It was my turn when you came in. That’s all.  

She was almost to the door when Paul said, Audrey Hepburn. 

Sorry?  

You look like Audrey Hepburn. The actress. 

She shook her head. 

Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Funny Face? From the Hollywood golden era? 

Grace giggled at the compliment. The string of attraction pulled taut, and a palpable vibration passed between them.  

Good night, Paul. I’ll try to check on you tomorrow.

Four

Paul finished lacing up his boots and slipped his dog tags over his head. He was desperate to get back, but there was something he needed to do first.

Grace walked into the room, looking solemn. She handed him the discharge papers. You look strong, Paul. We’ll miss you around here. Best of luck and stay safe. 

She extended her hand. Paul took it but didn’t let go. We? Or you? 

Why does he have to smell so clean? And stand so close? Grace wondered.

He brushed a strand of long hair off her neck. He noted the silky texture as it slid between his fingers. My doctor has advised one more night of rest. For my healing. I’d like to spend my final night of rest and healing with you. 

Yes. Yes. I do believe one more night of rest will complete your healing. Definitely. It’s for the best. She took his discharge papers back, scribbled something, and laid them on the foot of his bed. Shall we go then? she asked. 

Paul and Grace were married the next morning in the hospital chapel. They walked hand in hand out into the thick desert air, their hearts racing, crazy in love, shocked at what they’d done.

Paul stopped and took Grace by the shoulders. Grace, I need you to do something. Please, don’t argue. Just do as I ask. His face was serious and his fingers held her tight.

You’re frightening me. What is it?

I need you to return to the States. Now. 

Why? What’s happening? 

Grace, please just do this for me. I need to focus on my work, and I won’t be able to if you’re here. 

Grace was torn. She had duties here, but Paul’s energy was intense. She sensed that there was something he couldn’t tell her. My patients … She stopped when he strengthened his grasp. OK, she said after a long pause. I’ll leave on the next flight out. 

Paul sighed and released her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her neck. 

Paul, there’s something you need to know. About me. Something we’ve never talked about because, well, we just met two weeks ago and your jaw was wired shut for half that time. 

That you’re filthy rich?  

Grace was shocked. How did you know?  

Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you. For now, I just need you on the first flight out of here. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. 

Paul dropped Grace off at the emergency entrance and pulled away, watching her wave goodbye in his rearview mirror. He hoped she did as he asked and returned home. 

Five

Paul sat alone in his field office with his back to the door, staring out the window at the side of the sand-colored metal building next to his. His reader rested on his lap with the words ‘TOP SECRET’ scrolling across the screen in blood-red letters. A blank box beckoned him to enter a password, but there was no need. He had already read the report and seen the horrific images it contained.

Paul heard the cold thump of General Ervine’s boot heels striking the hollow floor as he made his way toward Paul’s office. Paul was never comfortable around Ervine. He thought the General had the demeanor of someone who had seen too much, and it had killed his soul a long time ago. Even the way he walked was dispassionate.

Ervine tapped on Paul’s door frame. Why aren’t you out celebrating? The war is over.

Paul ignored his question. Did you know about the civilians? The women? The children?

Yes. Ervine’s indifferent tone matched his dead heart.

Paul sprang to his feet and threw his reader against the wall. Our mission was to fly drones across enemy lines and emit an electromagnetic pulse to disable their missiles. You assured me that once they were offline, we could win this war without firing a shot. Where did those people come from? They were slaughtered! 

Did you think the war stopped while you were laid up in the hospital? While you were recuperating, the enemy moved their own people into our path. They were tools. Their leaders knew they couldn’t win even before we disabled their weapons. They surrendered after they shot the civilians from behind and then blamed the massacre on us. Pretty clever strategy, actually. If they could make it look like we killed entire families without mercy, maybe our allies would turn against us and demand leniency. 

Did they? Are our allies against us?

"Some are asking a lot of questions, but the important thing is that we won. The politicians can figure out the