Silently gliding down from the hill, the crimson dragon was so close, its mighty horn-tipped wings whispered against the treetops. It was a wonder the beast didn’t see Willa on the narrow road below.
Ingunde’s cat disappeared into the undergrowth, and Willa froze, unable to move, unable to breathe as she listened to the hoarse sound of Amberflame filling her lungs with air as she slowed her advance. Then, a bellowing roar shattered the night, and the sky lit up as the dragon’s first firebolt hit the church belfry, killing the slumbering guard.
The little steeple exploded in a red-hot blast, and burning debris rained down on the bridge. A molten clump of iron – the remains of the bell – came down in the river with a thud, smashing the ice on the water’s surface.
At last, Willa came to her senses and bolted, arms up to protect her head. She took cover behind the woodpile Ingunde kept beside her cottage. Why was this happening? Why tonight? The dragon rose, doubled back, and dipped once again, spewing another gush of flaming bile at the church. The force of the flare took what remained of the roof clean off, and the whole building was ablaze.
Amberflame ascended and circled, and moments later, another explosion ripped through the air, but Willa couldn’t see where. There was too much smoke, and it bit into her lungs. Something touched her shoulder, and she screamed, realizing a second later that it was only Ingunde. Deathly pale, barefoot, and in her nightgown, the old woman looked like an apparition.
“Come on!” the midwife yelled, dragging her to her feet. “We have to get away from the house!”
Willa knew she was right, but at the same time, doing so probably played straight into the dragon’s strategy: Amberflame destroyed buildings to draw as many people as possible out into the open, where they would either become easy targets or get to watch the carnage.
Willa moved through the trees, following Ingunde as though in a dream, running for her life without feeling the soles of her feet touching the ground. The sensation only wore off when they reached a rocky alcove some way into the forest and she regained some sense of direction.
The alcove was protected from three sides, and a cluster of too-densely grown young beeches
and bare hazel bushes provided cover near the opening. The narrow cavity in the hillside had once served as one of two entrances to a silver mine that had collapsed over a century ago.
It had been blocked so children wouldn’t wander inside, but the honeycombed earth was always shifting here with the autumn rains and the winter storms. A gap in the wall had widened sufficiently to allow the two women to crawl inside one after the other just as the dragon’s next blast of fire hit.
For a second, golden shafts of light speared into the mine’s entrance, illuminating the claustrophobic space around them. They both knew the monster had aimed for Ingunde’s house.
The only other building this far up on the hillside was the hunting cabin near the top. Willa’s stomach lurched.
“No,” she whimpered. She was about to turn and inch back out the way she’d come, but Ingunde grabbed her around the waist.
“Don’t!” the midwife hissed. “Stay here!”
“Let me go!” Willa’s eyes filled with tears.
The cabin wasn’t far, and she had to warn him. She’d be there in no time if she scampered straight up the slope instead of taking the path, but Ingunde didn’t have to tell her that this would be suicide.
– excerpt from Amberflame
Lisa Hofmann's debut novel, Stealing the Light, received top star ratings and reviews on the Writer's Digest and Publisher's Weekly platforms for independently published works.
Lisa is a European-based writer, born in 1975. She was educated in the nerd factories of Germany and the mystery moors of Ireland. Before she began writing medieval and shapeshifter fiction in her late thirties, she worked internationally as an interpreter, translating specialized publications on early education and literacy.
She is a genuine Dr Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde: a teacher of multilingual children by day, and producer of character-driven fantasy novels by night. Since Stealing the Light, she has published three other novels and several shorter works. She writes predominantly in English and works with a weather-proofed Pennsylvania-based American editor.
Lisa lives in Germany with her husband, their three outrageous children, and a house full of exceptionally vocal pets. Whenever she finds herself teetering on the brink of boredom, she will generally resort to exploring old towns and castles, walks in the woods, and reading anything that other people throw at her.
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