I’m sorry for the long wait! It was an extremely busy week. Do enjoy the new update. In addition, I have a new story I plan on posting- all done, and of the short variety. I’ll probably put that on a separate page from the main to make things easily accessible. Remember that all additional pages may be found in the black band just below the main picture- like the Chapters page and the About section. Knight In Stone will be put up in a page of its own soon. Thanks for reading!
She screams, shuddering, hugging herself in the sudden light. Every part of her aches, her breath comes in short gasps, stabbing pain strikes her brain squarely.
She opens her eyes, her mouth shut again, determined to let that be the only outburst dragged from her. She pushes herself up to her knees- she was lying prone- and, shakily, looks around herself. She feels slick with something, something hot all over her naked body.
Saliva. Spit. She can feel it all over her.
It’s bright here, and for one crazed second she thinks she might be dead again. Had it swallowed her up?
No. Her hands are touching stone. She is on the floor of something stone. Beside her- no, in front of her- an immense crack nearly a foot deep spreads across. Beside her also, and, upon turning, she sees it behind her. It is grey stone. She is on… a tile.
It’s cold here as well, and smells faintly of sulfur. She finds herself shivering, despite the heat of the spit all over her. She stands up, feeling alone, her legs feeling like they can barely support her weight.
Where is here?
She stands in the middle of a pool of light from an unseen source. All around her is darkness, cut off by the tile lines.
The clack of claws on stone surrounds her. Click clack.
Shapes move in the light, shadows that slowly resolve themselves as they step closer. Black scales flash, along with teeth the size of swords.
The dragon who brought her here stands before her and stares down at her with piercing red eyes.
How she wishes she were Winter. Winter could understand what they were saying without needing to feel as if her mind were being torn to pieces.
To her surprise, however, the black dragon doesn’t talk to her first. Instead, there’s a bright flash of light, and a nude, dark, wild-haired woman stands before her instead of the dragon. Her skin is black as night and her eyes are the same red as before. She folds her arms and stares at Summer steadily.
Taken aback by the shapeshift, Winter is the first to point out that more are coming from the darkness.
Look, She whispers. They’re all different.
A slimy green-scaled dragon shapeshifts as well, into a long-haired human-dragon hybrid with blonde hair, so covered in scales that she couldn’t guess as to its actual gender.
A cold blue-eyed man steps forward from the shadows beyond her pool of light to stand at the edge of her tile. He wears naught but a belt, breeches and a sword at his waist. His musculature is impressive, but Summer is more focused on the glow from the scabbard. The sting from Autumn’s attack on her legs has long since faded, but she finds herself still feeling wary of the weapon. The one her brother had carried deflected her spells.
A few others step forward- a grey skinned, brown-haired man with a few snow white scales on his arms. A silver-haired girl, shorter than the rest with pure white eyes and a short stubby tail.
But they all stand to the side of her, even the wild one who brought her. They stand and stare expectantly into the dark. And even though she tries as hard as she can she is unable to hear a sound. Its approach is so silent, that when a hand grips her around the neck gently, and from behind, she doesn’t register it until something clicks into place. There’s the flash of a dark cloak in front of her. An old, old man, hair so grey it’s almost white, skin wrinkled with age, strides to the front of her tile and turns with frightening speed.
Someone so old shouldn’t be able to move that fast, Summer thinks to herself.
And then her legs buckle underneath her, strength sapped through the earthmetal collar around her neck. Her head is very heavy, but she lifts it to stare up at the dragons surrounding her.
How are we going to get out of this? Winter whispers. Weren’t we going to visit Spring, and from there head to Season’s Refuge?
Fate seems to have other ideas, Summer directs back weakly. And I can’t grab on to a pocket world like this. I suppose if you were in control you could kill them all-
I’m tired of killing, Winter says warily. I hate it.
Well that’s fine, because there’s no way that plan would work anyway. They’re highly resistant to magic- protection given long before we Seasons were born.
“So,” The old man says, facing her and shrugging his shoulders. He wears a long cloak that covers what must be a truly massive body. He stares down at Summer with something like kindly disdain, as if she were insignificant, but nevertheless to be pitied, like a tiny fly with its wings cut.
Summer half-closes her eyes. All of her strength is being sucked out through the damnable collar- what is it made of, bronze, iron?
No, worked metal like bronze wouldn’t hurt her. Iron, though… she’ll have welts there, blisters there for ages. It stings abominably.
“Why is such a pathetic creature disgracing the council with its presence, Aura?” The old man asks. His voice is deep, rich and strong, belying his obvious old age.
The wild-haired one, with her dark skin and burning eyes, answers. So she must be Aura, Summer thinks blurrily.
“It has information pertaining to the whereabouts of my sister,” She says, and there’s a sharp, bitter tone to her voice, etched firmly in place. It sounds like a cold night.
“I see,” The elder says quietly. “Does anyone have anything to say before we begin?”
“What are you going to do?” Summer asks, feeling dread stir in her belly.
“The poor thing has no idea where it is,” The grey-scaled one drawls drly, arms folded. He looks incredibly bored. “Perhaps we should inform it before it dies.”
“You are in the heart of the Council of Ten,” The old man informs her solemnly. “And to answer your question, we will burn you- or I will, at least- and glean the information from your ashes.”
At that, Summer suppresses a lunatic smile. Burn her. An ironic death. She once claimed to be master of fire. That was so long ago- well, relatively. Now she suspects it’s only been a short while. Summer-Glory is testament to that. She wonders, through a haze of panic, whether or not the flame will hurt her if she is touching iron…
“Now, if that is all, shall we begin?” All of them nod as one. It’s almost comical- human gestures from human-shaped dragons. Perhaps the myths were true and they were growing soft.
There’s surprisingly little fanfare. The old man steps forward to the very edge of the light.
“Don’t worry,” the silver-haired girl says brightly. “It will be over soon.”
The old man says no magic words. Dragons don’t need magic words to work their spells. He doesn’t wave his hands or otherwise indicate that he is about to hurl fire or call down lightning- he simply stands there, and, as the dread peaks in Summer’s heart and she lifts her head, he nods- just a fraction.
Fire leaps up around her, heat, incredible, overwhelming, bone-searing heat. It’s there for a flicker, for an instant. Any longer, any hotter, and it would’ve killed her instantly. Instead, it vaporizes the earthmetal collar around her neck.
Enough of this, Winter says quietly. The heat is making her dizzy. She finds herself thanking Spring profusely in her head, the pain coming over her in a hot, fierce torrent. Summer is drenched in sweat.
Summer’s skin bakes as the flames disappear. Heat rises off of her like steam, rippling the air around her, washing over her in waves. And she stands. The old man seems uncertain for a moment. Then,
“I don’t know how you survived that at first, but this time I’ll-”
Summer draws on the life of every dragon near her, all six, their power flashing through her and making her truly giddy. She does it without words. It’s innate to her, unique to her, and it floods her like fire in her veins. Winter is unconscious now, naturally, passing out from the force of the power within her sister.
But Summer doesn’t care. She’s laughing, giggling helplessly, as if the impotency of the flames around her had been the world’s biggest joke.
The tile beneath her, unscathed by the intense fire before, melts and bubbles under the sheer power which blazes from Summer’s body.
“You should better learn to understand those you capture, Aura, if that is really your name,” Summer says sharply. “I am Summer, mistress of all heat and life. You can’t hurt me with fire.”
She tosses her long hair and stands straighter, no longer feeling naked, but rather confident. She’s at her peak, here, at her strongest with the life-energy of such magnificent, powerful creatures surrounding her and flowing through her. Magnificent- and stupid.
The old man arches an eyebrow, but says nothing.
The way the dragons seem unimpressed eats at her confidence a little.
And then, in the blink of an eye and a roar of noise, she’s on her side, clutching at her ribs and trying to catch her breath. And her ribs are smoking. There’s steam rising off of her where her sweat flash-evaporated, steam rising from the stone floor beneath her. And that can’t be right, she’s staring at the tile she was on, and the semi-circle of dragons, from forever away, meters and meters.
She was flung. The echoes of the thunder shook the stone. She was sent tumbling by a bolt of lightning with the force of a titan’s swipe. She’d skidded to a rest here.
Her back feels raw and her skin, tough though it is, had been unable to reject the heat of the bolt. She pushes herself to her shaky feet and stares as the blue-eyed, bald man breaks from the group and strides towards her, sword still sheathed. Or recently sheathed- the scabbard is smoking. She stares at him as he advances, watches him raise a hand.
There’s a flicker of his attention, the feeling that his look is piercing her right through. It’s the only warning she gets.
That, in itself, does nothing to prepare her. A moment later, she’s again gasping, trying to catch breath from lungs that won’t work. She tries to stand, her legs and hands, her arms twitching, crackling with electricity. Lightning. He had struck her with lightning. Yes, she remembers now. Her heart begins to beat again, faster, too fast, erratic and wild. It sends arcs of pain through her, her hands clenching spasmodically.
It hadn’t been as strong this time. Did the distance have something to do with that?
She rises again. Is it a duel? No other dragon is bothering with her.
“How dare you still live, mortal?” The blue-eyed man asks softly. His voice is deadly. “After mocking my sire your life is forfeit. I don’t know how you think to match one of the Seasons when a little lightning is enough to break your bones.”
She stands straight. He’d lowered his hand again, a mistake.
“Of course I’m Summer!” She snaps. “What human has power like this?”
She snaps her fingers, shouts a Word: Strike.
Her eyes indicate her challenger, and she doesn’t notice the sound of footsteps on stone until a boy- how did he appear here?- suddenly appears right in front of her intended target. She registers several things. His manacles, his height- had she ever seen a man so large? He’s as tall as Autumn!- and his sword, grasped in thin arms, long and sharp. His hair falls about his shoulders, a pale, sickly brown.
Then she releases her power, gathered into a lightning fast whip of energy. It snaps out in a blink, and just as fast flashes into nothing, seemingly before it can touch either of them.
Did she misjudge? No. It was a Word. How could she have misjudged? The formula for it is timeless. It does not allow for error.
Winter stirs again, for the cavern itself is cool without Summer’s power heating the air around her.
And she’d gathered it all into that strike, hadn’t she?
Where did it go?
She focuses on the blue-eyed man, whose cold demeanor has broken into one of shock, and… fear?
And the next words, all on their own, explain everything.
“Casper! How on earth did you get here?” The words come from Aura’s mouth, as if she can’t believe them.
The boy’s voice, and with a shock she realizes the ‘boy’ is a girl the moment words escape, is accented. “First why don’t you tell me what the bloody hell you idiots think you’re doing?”
She stabs her sword into the ground, and it sticks, sliding through solid stone like dirt. She lifts her eyes and stares at Summer steadily. Clearly she’d just done something distasteful by interrupting the duel.
“When did the whelp get here?” The grey-scale asks dryly. “Wasn’t it you who was to keep an eye on it, Azzy?”
The blue-eyed man responds, so Summer can only assume his name is ‘Azzy’. “She was in her quarters sleeping when I came down,” He says cooly, but his voice is hiding something very close to anger. “I’ll deal with her-”
“Actually, I think she should stay,” The silver-haired girl says quietly. “She shares at least some heritage with our new prisoner, does she not?”
The girl called Casper shrugs her shoulders and draws the sword out of the stone. “I’m not a child anymore,” She says irritably. “And I’m a human- from what I’ve seen, this… thing isn’t. Are you stupid or something? It’d take years and years of training to become anything like as skilled as it’s shown, and it can’t be more than a few years old. Probably just a bloody fairy or something, we’ve already got enough of those.”
She pauses a moment, then grins. “I’ll handle it.”
The one called Azzy stands back, staring doubtfully. “If that’s what you wish.”
The elder remains silent.
Casper advances on Summer, sword at the ready. Her manacles seem earthmetal- was it mere coincidence they’d been set on Summer? Or had they known her weakness to it?
It seems likely that it was a coincidence. Summer backs away slightly. Winter is being loud and obnoxious.
You can’t kill her! She’s a girl!
“So?” Summer hisses. “She’s trying to kill us!”
Well at least try to reason before you blow her fool head off!
“Fine. Hey! Come any closer and I’ll blow your head off!” She shouts at the advancing child. She can’t be any more than fourteen. Underfed and malnourished, but she carries the sword as if it were a toy. Summer is dwarfed by her, too- the girl is tall and lean. Instead of answering, she changes tack, striding quickly. It’s clear she’ll try to end it in one blow.
Summer thinks for a moment. “We’ll do things your way,” She whispers. She gathers her power and flings it at the girl’s feet. Burst, She commands.
The stone under the girl ripples and explodes, hurling the skinny frame a good twenty feet into the air.
“Whoops,” Summer remarks callously. “Didn’t mean to hit quite that hard.”
But Casper lands on her feet lightly, doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She wasn’t even injured, and Summer barely has time to register that before the girl is a mere ten feet away, sword raised.
Summer gathers her power again, lets the strength of the dragons fill her in an eyeblink, and holds up one hand to stop the arc of the blade as it falls towards her. Casper, however, just isn’t there anymore.
The blade strikes from behind. Summer whirls in time, can feel it pass a hair’s breadth from her face. She reaches out and grasps Casper’s arm as it passes, yanks the girl close, wraps her other arm around the teen’s thin neck, and begins to squeeze.
The girl’s strength is unreal.
Casper breaks free with apparent ease, turns and brings the sword down. The tip whistles through the air and draws a line of singing agony across Summer’s midriff, carving clean through skin and clipping a rib before she draws the blade away. Blood drips from the blade. And the blood is red.
Summer claps a hand to the wound. Red oozes around her fingers, and her lips clamp shut. She suddenly feels weak in the knees. She expects the bite to come again, expects to be killed, but her opponent is distracted.
Casper stares at the edge of her sword. She lowers it after a moment, then turns a glare on the elder, who shrugs.
“She’s human,” Azzy says quietly. “Interesting.”
“She’s not fey, at least,” Casper grumbles. “But if she were some kinda sorcerer, how did she learn that kind of magic so fast?”
Tell them, Winter says grimly. Now is the only chance we’re likely to get.
Summer opens her mouth to respond. She really does mean to say something.
But suddenly, it’s too much just to stand up, and she collapses into darkness.