It had grown late enough in the day that torches had been lit along the walls in the great hall. Drace proceeded into the hall and saw that Vashti and Ka’Ril had already arrived and were taking seats on the raised platform. Continue reading “Dark Lord of Kismera (cont’d)”
Dawn found Drace flat on his back, dreaming of an extremely large panther talking to a woman, whose features he couldn’t clearly see. He got the impression she was beautiful, but it was like looking into a mist. Everything seemed vague as he walked towards her for a better look. Something buzzed his face and he tried to brush it away. He bumped his nose with the back of his hand and instantly came awake.
“Damn it all to hell!” he swore quietly and rolled up onto his knees. He cupped his nose with both hands, and gritted his teeth as pain radiated through his head. When the pain subsided, he sat back on his heels and ran his hands through his tangled hair.
Drace sniffed in exasperation, which he instantly regretted. He gingerly cupped his nose and fought back tears of pain. “Great! he exclaimed. Now I’ve got to watch out for the Ku Klux Klan and Bambi! It gets better and better. I’ll be glad when I wake up from this crazy dream.”
Vashti gave him a slightly amused look before commenting on his outburst. “I do not know of that clan,” she said, “Clan Lionblade holds these lands. They are fierce protectors, and probably already know we are here.”
Once recovered, he straightened then stalked over to her. “Jesus Christ woman!” he swore, gingerly touching his nose. “Are you trying to kill me?” He made a noise of frustration deep in his throat. “Damn it to Hell and back!”
Vashti solemnly shook her head at the display, letting him vent his frustration.
“Okay, okay,” he paced as he gathered his thoughts. “Why the big show? Why have me get clobbered and take that spill? Wait a minute!” He rushed back to Pride and inspected the horse nose to tail. Except for a small scrape on one knee the horse was fine. Continue reading “Dark Lord of Kismera Pt. 7”
“Get a grip MacKinnon,” he muttered to himself. “Freaking out isn’t going to solve anything.” He took a deep breath to get his temper under control and looked up at Vashti, “What the hell is going on? How did we get out here?”
Vashti knelt down and put a hand on his arm. “Listen to me, my Lord. There are some answers that I cannot give you now, but I will try to explain some of this.” She patted his arm gently and then gave it a little squeeze, “Let me get you some water. I think you could use it.”
Drace nodded mutely thinking he could use something a lot stronger
than water. Continue reading “Dark Lord of Kismera Pt. 6”
Chapter Two
“Lance!” Drace screamed through his helm. The cry seemed lost to Joe over the sound of pounding hooves.
Drace bellowed again, “Joe, drop your lance!”
Joe continued to carry his lance too high and showed no signs of having heard the warning. Is he trying to take my head off? Drace wondered. The lance would splinter if it hit breastplate, but it wouldn’t hit his face. At the last possible second, Drace knew he was in trouble and involuntary jerked the reins back hard. The sudden pain in Pride’s mouth caused him to check too quickly and he stumbled. At the speed Pride was running, he could not regain his footing and started to fall. Things turned from bad to worse. The fall felt like an eternity and Drace tried to brace for the pain.
Shit, shit, shit! thought Drace in that split second it took Pride and him to go down. Now he knew he was going to get the lance in the face. He jerked his head to the side, then saw bright lights, and then nothing. Continue reading “Dark Lord of Kismera Pt. 5”
His father had been killed six years ago in a car accident; then his mother six months later had succumbed to cancer. Drace now owned the farm and was leasing it to a friend from college and her husband; they trained show jumpers. Drace’s goal was to return someday and breed horses like his parents. He was toying with the idea of adding Friesian horses to the farm. He was saving his extra cash with hopes of purchasing Pride in a year. Pride’s owners were talking of retiring him from the show, then possibly selling the horse afterwards. Drace had already talked to them about being first in line to purchase the twelve-year-old stallion. For three years, Drace and Pride had been performing at the theater. The first year doing a dressage demonstration, then the medieval tournament was added. To Drace, all that time together made them family; parting company would be difficult.
“Thanks, Vashti. See you tomorrow,” he said as she gathered up the discarded towels. “Hey, where did you say you were from again?” he asked before she left.
Vashti was a puzzle who Drace and Joe had been trying to solve for the last week. Drace’s previous assistant, another college youngster, Kevin Blackwell, had called in sick and no one had heard from him since.
Drace MacKinnon, The Black Knight, current hero and champion of the Las Vegas hotel and casino, The Normandy, spun his big black horse in a tight circle. He galloped the horse around the arena and brought it to a sliding halt in front of an elderly woman of about eighty. Her granddaughter and grandson were seated on either side of her. He removed ribbons with tiny bells from the trapping around the stallion’s neck then sidestepped the horse close to the railing. He extended a gloved hand to her, crimson and black ribbons trailed from his fingertips. As she reached for the ribbons, he caught her hand, leaning over, and raised her hand to his lips; he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.
Tamara H. Hartl 