A Note on the Last Ballad Reading Order:
I called this the Last Ballad Series with the idea that I could write an epic fantasy series like a song—a song that echoed across tens of thousands of years, across multiple continents, cultures, religions, families, and people. A song of myth, and legend, heroes, and of pure evil. By using the timeline of the world and moving back and forth in time, I hope to invoke the feeling that music provides, but through long-form storytelling instead. In the structure of a song, a verse drives the music forward, and the chorus keeps coming back and repeating itself. This action of back and forth, back and forth—anticipation and familiarity—creates the feeling of music.
I found in history that the timeline of the world worked much in the same way, with these long “verses” moving things forward until they are interrupted by certain events such as war, famine, and inequality that keep coming back and repeating themselves, much like the chorus of a song. So, using that as my guideline, I’ve tried to create the feeling and effect of a song through literature, with my main books, the “Verses”, driving the plot forward, and these “Preludes” acting as the chorus, which are snapshots of history that seem to be repeating themselves in our current timeline.
Giving the reader a snapshot of history in the Preludes allows for recognition to occur while reading through the Verses. You may think “hey, this is like an echo of what happened a thousand years ago” and that creates anticipation and familiarity. And that is the beauty of music, because it lulls you in with familiarity, it builds anticipation, only to do something entirely different in its climax that upon recollection, was the only thing that ever could have happened.
The Last Ballad series is outlined with four Verses, and three Preludes in between each verse. I’ve also made the three Preludes move forward in time to create that feeling of the entire plot driving towards a collision. So the first Prelude was three thousand years before the first verse, the second prelude is seventeen hundred years before the first verse, and the last prelude will be three hundred years before. So by the time the Fourth Verse is coming, it will have created a crescendo effect with both timelines colliding for the finale. That crescendo is the Last Ballad.
An excerpt from Chapter One of A Dance in the Dust: A Prelude to the Last Ballad, releasing May 26:
I
With Sunrise Comes Fire
The Fields of Larian, Old Yehven, Edura
Year 1300 After Starfall
A burning albatross fell from the sky, a red dot streaking across the moon-white day. It died amongst the forest of floating trees that was inching closer and closer to shore.
Praise Karaat. Dravien bit his lip to keep from retching all over himself. Hold it in or you’ll never live it down. But he couldn’t help the fear in him. This isn’t right…
Great scaled beasts soared high above the approaching ships, breathing, scorching, killing the land birds that had flocked out to fish the remnants left by the receding tide.
Dragons…That was the name folk gave them, but they were so much more than a name could capture. Dragons were vermin. But the dragon peoples have never been able to make those beasts cross the sea with them…it must be sorcery of some kind. Great hulks of sulphurous flesh gorged the air, soaring above a fleet of carracks so large that, together, their masts made a forest. Black sails with full bellies of wind pulled the ships along. All of Esher had sailed beneath a single banner, the purple dragon on black, and that worried Dravien almost as much as the real dragons. Just last year we fought a rainbow of different dragon flags. He knew the purple dragon on black though. He knew of Kassius Esterbraun.
“Rank up! Square now. Ready!” Dravien’s voice echoed down the shoreline where the Lovasi stood to meet their enemy. Shouting orders seemed to compose him. He needed to be composed. Too many people wanted to see him fail. All those who had said he was too young to be commander, that he only got the rank because of his father. They call you Darling. He had earned this command by good right for deeds he’d bled to accomplish, deeds that killed thousands in the burning sands of Esher, and he wasn’t going to let it slip out of his hands. “Hold steady! This is the moment you’ve been training for your whole life!”
Dravien worked his callused fingers around the smooth hilt of his sword, knuckles clenched whitely. He was Dravien Tarbet, son of Avicius. He wouldn’t allow these filth to land on his shores.He gritted his teeth and spat as he peered out at the black and purple flags. Those same flags cracked above him all those years ago in the flaming streets of Sareen when he searched the burned and blackened bodies, praying to Karaat every time he flipped another one over that it wasn’t her. The sight of those purple dragons on black was enough to bring it all back. Enough to make him scream. “Let’s gut these fuckers!” He expunged anger like black smoke from a blazing bonfire. The cohort jeered.
The largest dragon, a long, black one, swooped out in front and roared as if to answer Dravien’s thoughts of bravery. He could feel the fear building in himself and amongst his soldiers like a rising fog. If one runs, they all run. Dravien wouldn’t let that happen.
Bronze-clad warriors ranked up beside him. He’d fought beside or in front of most of these people over the last few years. He’d already known six years of hard fighting against the Draku in his nineteen years of life, and he’d done it all with these folk. This cohort knew Dravien well, and he knew them. And they fought alongside Hayman. A small piece of you lives on through these people, little brother. Dravien kissed his hand and then held it to the sky. He always did that when he thought of Hayman.
“Viv il lemura li,” his little brother had gurgled out just before he took his last breath. Life will end for all. And it would. And it did.
“Praise Karaat, they’re fucking huge, man,” said Tannis. Dravien removed a small wooden canister then dumped out a small line of soma onto the back of his hand and snorted it. He had ground the grains up into a fine powder, and he fought back a sneeze. He could feel Tannis’s eyes burning into him as he dumped out another line. Tannis Kaesarrian may as well have been Dravien’s nuncle—he was his father’s brother in all but blood. He had become Dravien’s mentor since Avicius had died. He had known the man all his life, Dravien even remembered Tannis singing to him in his gravelly voice when he was just a small boy, though the big guy would deny it now.
“Praise Karaat,” Dravien echoed, as if that’s all he was—an echo. His tongue had frozen. His fingers felt weak around his sword, but he couldn’t show weakness. Not to these folk. Especially not to Tannis. They were all looking to him for strength, and he needed to provide it. As the soma opened his mind, Dravien’s fear dripped away like hot wax. He scowled wickedly. More dragons appeared through the sea mist, and the thunderclap flapping of their wings shook the ground. Praise bloody Karaat… This is your chance at glory… Dravien had hoped it wouldn’t have been so damn terrifying.
Priest Thibald closed his eyes tight, drew the eye of Karaat on his chest with a scrawny finger, and muttered the prayer of Homecoming. “Praise be, Karaat, let your light save my soul from the darkness…”
Gasps rolled through the ranks like a whispering wave as the beasts spit fire and ripped the air over the beaches.
“How in the frozen hell are we going to fight them?” Mirken shouted from behind, his massive biceps were well oiled as he banged his war drum offbeat like a bloody fiend. Dravien had no answer for him. The Empire hadn’t prepared him for dragons. Marshal Beladric said it was impossible for them to cross the sea… Bardon was waving the flag of the Imperial eagle like he’d die if it stopped moving. Hela and Old Gyrian glared at Dravien, their eyes begging him for words of assurance—Priest Thibald had scurried off on his scrawny legs when asked for assurance, and so they all looked to Dravien.
“We’re not going to let these bastards step foot on this land, you hear?” Dravien screamed. “We’re going to keep ’em in the sand, on the beaches.” His cohort gave a withered yelp in response. Come on, is that all the strength you’ve got? Father would be ashamed. Hayman would be ashamed… “Seven years!” Dravien shouted, and Mirken began to bang his dolphin-skin drum slower and to the rhythm of Dravien’s voice. Bardon waved the Imperial eagle flag in unison. “Seven years,” Dravien continued, “we’ve been fighting these filthy people. For seven years we’ve watched our brothers and sisters, our mothers and fathers die!” A wave of whispers rolled through the cohort, and it fuelled Dravien to shout louder. “Seven bloody years we’ve listened to the screams of our people burning alive. And now the burners are crossing the Old Sea and trying to come to our land!” The whispers turned to shouts of fierce elation. “But we won’t fucking let them!” Dravien let the spit fly from his mouth and hang off his chin like a madman as he screamed at his people. The soma made him wild like that. He’d charge right in there and fight the dragons with his bare hands if he had another sniff of soma.
Sharpened logs lined the shores, dug into the sand at angles facing the sea. They were backed by hastily crafted earthen ramparts. Behind the ramparts, workers were still digging trenches and building a crude palisade on its far end. Dravien shook his head. He knew it wasn’t enough. They hadn’t had enough time to prepare. The Draku weren’t supposed to come here. For seven years we’ve fought them on their own land. Seven years… Why do they come here now, after all this time? Dravien felt sick.
The cohort was raucous, banging fists gloved with boiled leather on tar-dipped wooden shields and bronze mail. Some banged their spear ends on bronze helms and shouted madly. They all wore burgundy tunicas to mask any bleeding. Tannis looked at Dravien and nodded, and so Dravien knew he had done well. I’ve paid for this command with blood and the lives of my loved ones. I’ve spent hundreds of hours poring over the tactics of Benecio. I won’t let it slip. I can’t let it slip. This is my family’s legacy. Remain strong.
Dravien had been destined to be a war hero his whole life, just like Tiber Valtros, and Maxian Orus, and Neressa Nenn. From the time Dravien was nine years old and forged his own knife from the heart of a fallen star, he knew he would be great. He’d snuck into Trassius’s forge in the middle of night to craft that knife from the metal skystone he found in a hole thirty feet deep. He had taken a serious physical lesson from his father when he was caught. “No son of mine will turn out to be a thief. You pay to use those bellows, just like any other.” His dad had thick fists, each knuckle a solid stone. “Why do you make me do this to you? Why? Why?” Avicius screamed, crying, as if he was the one being hit. Dravien had worn those bruises with pride. Because that knife made you an eagle amongst crows. All the other kids looked up to you, even if your dad didn’t see it.
Dravien remembered those days fondly. So when did they stop? Now they call you Darling behind your back.
Fire bolts stung the air. The ripping sound of dragonbreath and the thunderclap flapping that erupted from their wings was like a mad storm approaching. Black sails, fat with wind, pulled Draku-bloated ships like sea dragons towards them. Ever closer. Ever, ever closer. The ships stretched across the great mouth of the sea for as far as Dravien could see. Soon, he could hear their wicked songs rolling over the beach like jackals. Priest Thibald lit a fire and began to chant hymns of Karaat, encouraging folks to join him to drown out the sounds the Draku made. Still the dragon peoples’ wicked chants shook the earth.
Dravien stood with the spearfolk. Row upon row of archers stretched out behind them. And a floating forest of ships was so close he could see the dragon peoples’ faces. He suddenly felt sick. In his mind, he could hear Eshara’s laugh, smell her copper-citrus skin. They charred it black as coals… He never dreamed he’d fall for an Esheri girl, let alone fall so hard. I should have taken you with me, Eshara, when I had the chance. We should have exiled ourselves away from this mess. I had a bag of gold and a ship chartered to Neira. But Dravien was too proud to run from his station. His family came from a long line of military marshals, and he meant to earn his place amongst them. He had generations of legacy on his shoulders. And it was illegal for a citizen to marry outside of the Empire. That life was all he knew: weaponwork and battle maps. Swordplay and blood. And drugs. Drugs to make it all okay, right? Dravien Tarbet did not, could not, run.
Dravien’s cohort marched towards the coast, and the ground shook beneath them. Flocks of gulls scattered to the sky, and a great white crane honked as it took off. Horned walruses slipped into the sea and slapped away. And the dragons swooped and circled in the sky above them. Soon they plunged and started plucking up the fat sea creatures in their fiery jaws and chomping them down. Not even a hundred feet out now, the dragons roared, spitting great pillars of flame. Eshara, Hayman, praise Karaat, I may be joining you soon.
Dravien glared out at the approaching Draku ships now, the burning sky, the beasts soaring, gorging Lovasi air to feed their flame. Spring is but a moon away, and the Draku sailed before you even had ships in the water. Seven years they’ve let you sail to their homeland, and we were too naive to think it would be any different this year. The High Archon said they wouldn’t come, yet here they are. “Here we go, people! For Lovas! For the High Archon!”
The cohort roared, and Dravien knew it was as much in fear of the High Archon as in battlelust. All knew he was watching, somewhere, somehow, and if they didn’t fight bravely, he would kill them in some horrific way as a demonstration to others. But that fear cut deep, and Dravien knew that out of those rigid scars crawled fierce warriors.
At full speed, the hulls of the Draku’s ships smashed into the shore like a hundred boulders falling from the sky. The sharpened stakes meant to deter them exploded into a thousand tiny splinters. Galleys wrecked, completely broken, and the Draku cheered. Warriors clad in thin-looking armour poured out like water. Or fire… Dark-skinned and light, black hair and red, the Esheri people ran on sand like it was nothing to them. They moved up the beach in long, mantis-like strides and chanted strange things as arrows seemed to miss them at every angle. They were folk from Sareen to Rhosanti, Saltsan to Behru, Sothurra to Arish Pura, Dravien knew. They wore a rainbow of garb, and they spoke a rainbow of languages and probably one in three worshipped strange gods. They called themselves the Esheri army, led by their Draku king, Kassius Esterbraun.
Dravien couldn’t take his eyes off the dragons flying, swooping overhead. They were squawking—singing, more like. They’re speaking to each other. Heavy mists rose over the beach as if conjured, swallowing the approaching Draku whole. He had never fought dragons in the field in Esher before. They were mostly unpredictable and unreliable.
The Esheri and Draku seemingly couldn’t control the dragons to utilize them in battle tactics. And Dravien had never heard reports of more than one appearing at a time, and even then it was usually associated with Kassius. So what’s different now? What sorcery… He saw at least three dragons already of various sizes and colours. And how many more are hiding in the mists… He remembered holding his brother Hayman as he bled out. Who’s going to hold me?
Dravien gripped his sword. All he had was his sword. He was praised for his skill in combat and had built what little reputation he had by using a blade. But no matter what he had accomplished in his own right, Dravien was still regarded as the son of someone greater—his father, the great Avicius Tarbet. The Little Darling of Tarbet, they called Dravien—Darling. He had lost the knife forged from that skystone in the gut of an enemy and never looked back to those days as a youth. Always looking forward, hoping, pushing. And he got nothing but shit for it. It was duty to the Empire first, honour second, everything else last. He had risen high, just as his father had and his father before him—and meant to rise higher. He meant to do something great, something to separate himself from Avicius.
Where the fuck are they? Dravien watched anxiously, waiting for the Draku to appear out of the fog.
About the Author
Scott Palmer was born in London, Ontario, Canada, where he lives with his wife, daughter, and two cats, and they conjure up magic (love and happiness) daily. His whole life has been a journey of collecting stories and stowing them like a library of experiences.
Growing up in Middle Earth, Kanto, and Hyrule, before moving to darker worlds like Westeros, The Circle of The World, and The Randlands provided a sturdy foundation for Scott’s imagination to grow upon. He traveled to those other worlds and walked, and fought, and bled with the people that lived there. It was somewhere in those pages that he fell in love with the art of storytelling. Since taking those first steps out of reality, Scott has immersed himself in creating his own world. A place that could transport readers somewhere they never dreamed of. A place of magic, and love, forgotten lore, and long history.
Scott started writing seriously in 2020 and now he cannot stop.
Author Website + free novella
https://www.scottpalmerauthor.com/freenovella
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