"Original Cyn" Cynthia Vespia writes fantasy novels with
edge including urban fantasy vigilantes and heroic adventure fantasy. Her characters are outcasts and anti-heroes
with depth and real vulnerabilities. Every plot is designed to give heroes a
challenge and villains a purpose. It's
escapism entertainment at its best keeping pages turning and hearts pounding.
Genre:
Heroic Fantasy and Urban Fantasy
Q&A
Q1: What is the name of your latest book
and what is it about?
My latest release is titled Rayna the Dragonslayer. It is the first novel in the exciting dragon fantasy
adventure series A Time of Dragons. It's
a symphony of sword and sorcery, high fantasy, and a heroic quest that is like
The Mandalorian merging with Game of Thrones.
Q2:
How long does it take you to write a book? How long does each stage of the
process usually take?
I’ve written books in as little as 3 months and as
long as 3 years. It really depends on the story I’m writing and if my Muse is
behaving! When I started my career, I was doing a lot of stand alone novels
which took less time to complete. Now, I write mostly trilogies and longer
series so the staging process is different. I like to flush out the main
components of each novel that is to come so I can make certain there is a pay
off for the reader throughout the journey. Initial outlines are usually the spark
of my idea coming to life and I whip those out in about 30-min to an hr.
Q3: What is your favourite type of
character to write?
I lean into writing anti-heroes and outcasts. My
characters have flaws and layers to their personalities. To me, it feels more
natural and real. No one in the world is a perfect person. It would be a
disservice to readers to write a character that they can’t relate to. Also, it
would be pretty boring. I also really enjoy delving into my villains to ensure
they have as much of a backstory and a purpose as the heroes do.
Q4:
Do you mine your own life for ideas, settings and/or characters? If so, please
give an example from your current book release where you have done this.
Yes, I often draw from real life experiences or
characteristics from someone I know. My hero Rayna is a compilation of strong,
determined women I’ve known throughout my life. I gave her a take no BS type of
attitude which I suppose came directly from me!
Q5:
What is something you wish you had known earlier on it your writing career?
There are a few things. I wish I had pinned down my
genre early on and stuck with it. I wish I had started a long series of books
with distinct characters that kept growing over the years. Mostly, I wish I
would’ve known just how important marketing and networking were at the onset. I
started writing and publishing before everything went digital. So, when the
shift came and everything went online I had to re-learn everything I knew
before. It still feels like I’m behind but all I can do is write good books
that readers enjoy.
Q6: What do you do when you find yourself
in a bit of a writing rut? Is there any strategy you find works for you to help
the words start flowing again?
When I’m stuck in a rut I will do anything but writing to get my creative juices flowing. That could mean working out,
reading, or even watching TV. To be honest, I’ve gotten some really good
inspiration from TV shows.
Q7:
You mentioned you give villains a purpose. How do you balance that without
seeming like their actions should be condoned?
What I mean when I say “purpose” is that the villain
believes in their mission, it doesn’t mean the reader has to condone their
actions. I don’t like when a villain causes chaos for no reason or the reason
doesn’t make sense. Even The Joker has his reasons for doing all the malicious
actions he does to Batman. A villain should be flushed out just as much as the
hero is or you wind up with a flat, one-dimensional character that makes
readers wonder why its taking so long for the hero to wrap this up!
Q8:
How would you describe your book’s ideal reader?
My readers have describe themselves. I’ve heard on
multiple occasions that my books are easy to read page turners. I take readers
on a journey with the characters in an entertaining way and I don’t waste time
with non-essential filler. We hit the ground running with action, character
drama, intrigue, and a little bit of humor if the moment strikes! Rayna the Dragonslayer is for fans of pure fantasy with interesting world-building,
creative characters including monsters, magic, and of course dragons!
Q9: What authors or books inspire you the
most?
I was first inspired by Dean Koontz. He was the
reason I wanted to become an author. C.S. Lewis, Piers Anthony, Robert E.
Howard, those authors began my love of fantasy. These days I’m interested in
authors that bridge the gap between fantasy and reality like Jim Butcher or
Patricia Briggs.
Q10:
What are you currently reading?
I always read a non-fiction book and a fiction title
simultaneously For my non-fiction I just finished the biography of MMA fighter
and WWE superstar Ronda Rousey. Now I’ve started On Writing and Writers
by C.S. Lewis. For my fiction novel I turned to some older titles from an
author named Richard Kirk. He created a series of fantasy novels that follow a
female warrior named Raven. See the correlation? I read book one in Kirk’s
series years before and I remembered it well enough to want to write something
similar. Now, I tracked down the rest of the Raven series (which wasn’t easy!)
to be a little more motivated to write my own fantasy series.
Rayna the Dragonslayer is available as ebook, paperback and hardcover. Check out Chapter One at the end of this post. Find out more about Cynthia Vespia and her books by checking out her linktr.ee/originalcynwrites, or give her a follow on Instagram @originalcynwrites.
Rayna the Dragonslayer
A Time of Dragons I
Copyright © 2022 Cynthia Vespia
CHAPTER ONE - SEEKING the SLAYER
A sudden, fierce wind raked coarse sand across Captain Falkon’s
cheek as he made his way through the Red Waste. He traveled with an escort of
ten warriors far into the sprawling desert where it had been said no man had
ever returned. Here they saw the remnants of a once great city now sand ridden
and half-buried.
Cracked spires and fallen towers lay in ruin as they sat exposed to
the unyielding desert air. These remnants of history, now corroded by time,
marked the men’s passage through the Red Waste.
They galloped at length with the wind-gathered sand seeming to
chase them. Sometimes it met the bellies of their horses in a swarm of a
sandstorm. Still, they pressed on even as the dry sand clung to their sweat
covered faces.
The collection of swordsmen at Captain Falkon’s flank groaned as
the storm increased. Each one shielded their eyes and pulled up their mouth
guards so as not to taste the bitter red sand.
They were sea-faring men used to the gentle caress of an ocean
breeze. Out on the open water, exploration abounded in every direction no matter
which way the ship steered. Here the sand stretched on for miles with the
ruined city laying like a marked grave along the way.
Captain Falkon longed to have the shifting planks of a ship’s deck
beneath his feet as it routed through the pounding of high seas with full sails
billowing above. Duty called him back to Atharia, and recent orders brought him
to the red death they traveled through now.
Above him, the sky stood silent. No birds took flight overhead, not
even the great bird-of-prey from which he gained his name. Nothing dared breech
the sky now that dragons had returned to the land.
An aching spread over Falkon’s skin as the shimmering sun kept pace
with their journey. He longed to strip from his armor and slick his thirst with
a mug of cold, dark beer.
The desert stretched on for ages in each direction. Tales of lost
men going mad in the great Red Waste haunted Falkon. If not for his dedication
to the study of maps, they could’ve taken a wrong turn and wound up in the
desolation of Corinth at the edge of the world.
The men’s morale grew low, but Falkon insisted they press on.
Stopping under a strong desert sun threatened a deep slumber they would not
soon wake from. How many bones of men were buried deep beneath the sand, lost
to the sunken city? Falkon did not want to learn the answer to that question.
None of the men at his back would refute the manner of his orders
except for one. Valerios, his right hand and special counsel, often held
Falkon’s ear. Breaking formation at the back, he galloped up alongside his
captain. Matching pace with Falkon’s steed, Valerios updated him with a health
report.
“The men are waning under this accursed sun.”
“As am I,” Falkon replied, running a cloth across his dampened
brow.
“Any further and I fear dehydration will set in.”
Valerios was a scholarly man. He spent as much time studying
alchemy and herbs as he did honing his mastery of weapons. Falkon took his
advisement under consideration but dismissed it.
“They’re men, not boys, and I’ve built them to survive worse than
this.”
“I suppose if you can last in this Red Waste, then we have nothing
to worry about,” Valerios replied with a smile.
The two of them had a good laugh at Falkon’s expense. He allowed a
certain amount of levity with Valerios. They had been friends since they were
boys getting muddy out by the ports and dreaming of adventures. Having a laugh
with Valerios now and then kept Falkon from growing weary under the weight of
duty.
“Still, I wonder if a brief rest might rally their spirits.”
Falkon examined Valerios’ face to deem his intent. Beads of sweat
filled his dark beard and his usual tan features pinked up under the scorching
sun.
It wasn’t the soldiers who waned under the heat; Valerios wasn’t
faring well himself. Still, Falkon reminded him of the severity of their
mission no longer as his friend, but as his Captain.
“King Favian himself tasked me with this undertaking. It holds such
importance that time is of the essence. There shall be no rest until we reach
the town of Theopilous. Now fall back in line. I shouldn’t hear about the
damned heat again.” He waved Valerios back. “Tell the men to drink their own
piss if they’re that thirsty.”
Valerios gave a slight nod of his head and then rejoined the rest
of the pack. It didn’t matter that King Favian was his father; he was the ruler
of Sandhal and soon all of Atharia. That meant Falkon would carry out his
orders without question. It was an honor to be leading the charge on such an
important issue.
If Falkon were to ask anything of his father, it would be why they
needed to trek so far from Sandhal to find one lone woman. Give him the ten
good men at his back and they would make quick work of any threat to the
kingdom. What could a woman warrior do that he, as captain of the guards, could
not?
Perhaps Falkon would see how this woman fared behind closed doors.
After he sated his hunger and thirst, she could satisfy his other cravings.
Although, sell swords of the female persuasion were usually too homely to
bother with. Maybe he could throw a rucksack over her head and enjoy her that
way.
Thoughts of gratification gave Falkon new vigor. He pressed his
horse into a hard gallop, forcing the men behind him to do the same. The burst
of speed brought a stream of hot air over him like a slap to the face. Falkon
grimaced but continued on.
At his back, he heard a rumble. The horses jeered, and the men
sounded out in surprise. Falkon slowed his horse and angled it around to see
the disturbance.
One soldier had fallen from his horse; a victim of the blazing sun.
The others surrounded him, trying to encourage his rise.
“Leave him,” Falkon called. “But take his horse.”
The soldiers seemed surprised, but did as they were told. Falkon
returned to his gallop, content with his decision. If a man couldn’t ride, they
didn’t need him. No sense wasting time trying to get him to remount and nursing
him back to health. Soon, the soldier’s pleas for mercy were nothing but a
distant memory.
Powering on made all the difference. Only a short time later,
Falkon saw refuge in the distance. The harsh sands gave way to scrub grasslands
and a direct path into Theopilous.
They never actually left the Red Waste, but rather the city seemed
to spring up around them. Falkon trotted his horse onto the leveled stone
streets with great relief. When he at last turned to look back, only a hazy
view of structures told the story of a once great civilization now swallowed
beneath the sinking sands.
The city of Theoplious had been built on the remnants of that old
world. As Falkon and his men rode deeper inside the city, they found large
columns of obsidian structuring the walls. It encircled the perimeter, casting
down dark shadows which brought relief from the intense heat. Falkon would’ve
thought the city itself a mirage if not for the unmistakable smells of spiced
meats on the air.
Theopilous was well known for their trade markets. Merchants from
all corners braved the journey to barter their wares. The town also housed all
manner of thieves and murderers, some still with a bounty on their heads.
Regardless of its reputation, Theopilous remained a welcome sight
after such an arduous journey. Falkon looked back over his shoulder and called
out to his soldiers.
“Look men, we’ve reached our destination!”
They cheered his words and raised their swords high. A long journey
to be sure, but the satisfaction from seeing it through made Falkon smile. Now
all he had to do was to find this woman and bring her back with him. If she
wouldn’t go willingly, they would take her. There would be no discussion about
it.
King Favian demanded an audience with the so-called dragonslayer
and the king’s orders would be carried out no matter what.
As the lot of them rode into town, the villagers let them pass.
Those bustling around outdoors at their shops scattered from the streets as the
king’s guard came through. Some watched in awe as the royal colors of green and
gold plumed out from the banners. Others spat on the ground as they rode by.
His father was not well liked in many parts of the land. The more
Falkon traveled among the people, the more he learned of the sense of betrayal
they felt after his father took the throne. King Favian laughed off their
complaints, but Falkon felt all of them like a tick under his skin. When he
became ruler, he would be revered by all or he would have their heads.
Theopilous was a melting pot of clans and characters. As the only
thriving town before the long ride through the desert sands, it was a popular
resting place for weary travelers. A man could get good food, drink, and
entertainment all in one night.
Some enjoyed the spoils of the town so much they never continued
their journey and wound up settling there. Still, for as prosperous as
Theopilous was, Falkon couldn’t wait to return to his own feather bed safe
inside Saltwood Stronghold.
He instructed Valerios to take a few of the men to feed and water
the horses. The remaining lot would be at Falkon’s back while he talked to this
dragonslayer.
They headed to the tavern first. Any respectable tavern owner would
have good information, along with excellent beer. Inside the place bustled with
activity. Lively music came from a two-man band in the back. One sang while the
other strummed a lute. Dancing girls moved in rhythm to the tune, letting their
long hair and the skirt of their dresses toss about. The smell of fresh baked
bread wafted on the air, making Falkon’s stomach call out.
As soon as they entered the tavern, his men’s spirits had been
raised. He rewarded them for the long journey and sate his hunger as well. They
set up at a table near the back so Falkon could keep his eyes on the entire
room. A round of beer and sweet breads were brought over shortly after. He
enjoyed a few sips of the beer before seeking information.
The owner tossed out orders to his tavern wenches as they hurried
out with platters of food. Falkon wedged himself between a crowd of men
drinking at the bar top and called out to the owner. The man had a gruff face
with a shaven head, but when he spoke, his voice sounded melodic.
“How can I oblige a kingsguard today? More beer?”
“They call me Falkon, and I’m captain of the Saltwood Soldiers, my
good man,” Falkon corrected him as he handed over his mug for a top off. After
a quick sip, he got back to business.
“I’m seeking a woman.”
The tavern owner laughed. “Brothel is next door. They have a full
menu of choices.”
“This one is a warrior,” Falkon replied. “Hair like golden wheat.
Built like an ox. Carries a large broadsword...so I’m told.”
One man seated at the bar interjected himself into the conversation.
The smell of cheap mead wafted off his breath, forcing Falkon to turn his face
away.
“Aye, you seek the dragonslayer?”
“I don’t know you, friend,” Falkon told him.
“No, but I know of her.”
With a stomach that jiggled as he moved, the man hopped upon the bar.
Booze on his breath, he spun a tale like a traveling bard seeking a coin for
his cap.
“Legend has it she’s half-dragon. Breathes fire and everything!”
Hearing the start of a story, another man jumped in, stealing the
attention away from his drunk comrade.
“I heard she was born of a dragon.”
And then another got in on the fun.
“Aye, her mother fucked a dragon is the way it goes.”
The laughs carried back and forth. Each man tried to one-up the
other in vulgar statements. A voice at the back of the room spoke up over the
rest. It was an appealing mix of smooth wine and crushed glass.
“’Twas my father, not my mother. And he wasn’t fucked by a dragon,
he was cursed by one.”
Falkon turned around towards the speaker and saw a beauty unmatched
by any woman he’d ever come across. Golden hair was tied back in fierce braids
that caressed her shoulders. Her arms were like a blacksmith, lean and strong,
with smooth, muscular legs to match. She stacked them together, worn-out boots
resting on the edge of the table.
There was a roughness about her, but it did not detract from her
appearance. Her simple leather garments enhanced the curves of her femininity.
Sun-kissed skin proved she spent her time traveling, though her coloring
suggested she wandered farther than just the deep recesses of Atharia
itself.
A pipe sat between her full lips. On each puff, she let a ringlet
of thick smoke encircle her head. Falkon approached with caution as the others
went back to their drinks and jovial conversation.
“So, you breathe fire after all,” he said in jest.
The woman smiled, tamped out the pipe, and set it aside. Shifting
her legs off the table, she kicked out a chair, offering him a seat.
Falkon eagerly accepted and then regretted his haste. Only now, as
he came closer, did he see her face fully. The lone candle at the table
illuminated her strong cheekbones and a small metal piercing weaved through her
bottom lip.
She held youth and vigor but also an underlying hardness of battle,
usually worn by soldiers alone. But it was her eyes that concerned him the
most. The left was a calm shade of blue that a man could get lost in, while the
right was obscured by a leather patch.
Falkon saw such coverings before when he trolled the seas. Pirates
wore them to hide disfigurement. It made him wonder what else she could be
hiding. He steadied himself, trying hard not to show his discomfort, though he
already knew he failed.
“You’re the dragonslayer then?”
She nodded. “Call me Rayna.”
“I’m Falkon Fourspire, captain of the Saltwood Soldiers.”
Whether Rayna heard of him or not she didn’t react to his title.
Her heavy stare made Falkon uncomfortable. He took a swig from his mug then
pointed to his own eye so as not to move too familiarly towards her.
“Part of the curse?” he asked.
Rayna leaned back and put her feet back up. This time she rested
them across Falkon’s lap. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was
brazen, to be sure, but something about her was more intoxicating than the
finest wine in the kingdom.
“Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you my tale,” she said. “Otherwise, I
have no use for you.”
With that, her feet moved from his lap and gave him a firm nudge to
get up. As Falkon stood, he continued to stare down at Rayna. She took it as a
threat and moved her hand to the hilt of a massive sword he hadn’t noticed
before.
It rested against the wall at her side, unsheathed. The blade alone
looked to be thirty inches long and the heft of it would give a grown man
trouble, let alone a young woman. But Rayna forged her body for war. Something
told Falkon she could handle the sword with ease. He didn’t want to test his
theory, at least not tonight.
She noticed his eyes fall on the sword and pulled it into her lap.
Sure enough, the weight of it gave her no trouble at all. She patted the blade
as though it were a child and spoke its name with the same adoration.
“It’s called Bhrytbyrn.”
“You named your sword?”
“A gift from my father. He named it.”
Falkon studied her as she ran a cloth over the blade. Now she
seemed as enamored with her Bhrytbyrn as she would be a lover. This Rayna grew
more curious as the night drew on.
“I’ll see about that drink now,” he told her.
Falkon pushed through the crowd and made his way back to the bar.
The innkeeper,Talos, awaited him there with a pitcher of mead and a platter of
assorted cheeses.
“What’s this?”
“Trust me, friend. She’s going to want a generous amount of ale,
and the cheese is her favorite. Made with goat’s milk, fresh churned this
morning.”
Intrigued, Falkon reached over and plucked a sampling of cheese
from the platter. It melted over his tongue in a robust mix of flavors that
delighted his refined palate.
“A woman who enjoys fine delicacies. What else can you tell me
about her?”
“She’s a warrior forged from flame,” Talos told him. “Legend is she
lived through the burning of her family home. Walked out with nary a scratch on
her.”
“What happened to her eye?”
“Curse of the dragon.”
“Indeed.”
Falkon gave a soft chuckle to himself and then paid his fare. Many
legends surrounded Rayna. There were only two reasons a warrior had so many
stories about them. Either they invented the tales themselves to up their
prices as a mercenary, or some parts of the tales were in fact true. When
weaved together, the tapestry of deeds done stood more impressively than a
made-up song or story.
So far, Rayna appeared to be more than a mere myth. Falkon wouldn’t
be surprised if she had survived a great fire as a child. She even smelled of
smoke, her face smudged with ash. The woman had been kissed by a dragon.
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