Ice Island Prologue
Title: Ice Island Prologue
Words: 329
Rating: PG
A/N: well this is out of order, but I guess that can't be helped.
Blood poured down his tunic, fire lancing at his side where he had been struck. His vision spun. Only the blood mist that filled the air was enough to keep his mind from reeling. His throat was hoarse from chanting, not even knowing what he was saying as power flew from his fingertips, throwing green fire and sparks of ice at the Seelie that had breached the mages' point. His mages were falling left and right, unable to cope with close combat and the wall of swords that pressed them up against the cliff face, where they had been loosing spells on the sea of Fae below. One slipped and fell, turning into a peregrine falcon mid-fall only to have an arrow catch him in the breast. They were being overwhelmed and the mage had to curse his so-called peers for not training with the Knights.
A greatsword flew at him too quickly to block, so he rolled to the side, rocks biting into his wound as he loosed a volley of fire darts at the Knight taking him down. He climbed to his feet only to dodge another sword flying at him. Cursing, he unsheathed his own sword, a simple rapier to help repel the blows as he cast spells with his free hand.
They were here for him. There was no doubt about the direction of their force nor their prowess. Ten Knights. Seven now that he had killed a couple. He loosed a desperate wave of fire, igniting three Knights and a couple of his own mages. Only four now. A blade cut into his ribs, opening his flesh like a flower blooming. Pain lanced up his side, tearing into his strength and felling him. The ground rushed at him, crashing into him just as the circling knights tilted above. He could feel terror pressing in on him, stealing his breath and his wits.
Arthur was only 200 years old and he was going to die.
Words: 329
Rating: PG
A/N: well this is out of order, but I guess that can't be helped.
Blood poured down his tunic, fire lancing at his side where he had been struck. His vision spun. Only the blood mist that filled the air was enough to keep his mind from reeling. His throat was hoarse from chanting, not even knowing what he was saying as power flew from his fingertips, throwing green fire and sparks of ice at the Seelie that had breached the mages' point. His mages were falling left and right, unable to cope with close combat and the wall of swords that pressed them up against the cliff face, where they had been loosing spells on the sea of Fae below. One slipped and fell, turning into a peregrine falcon mid-fall only to have an arrow catch him in the breast. They were being overwhelmed and the mage had to curse his so-called peers for not training with the Knights.
A greatsword flew at him too quickly to block, so he rolled to the side, rocks biting into his wound as he loosed a volley of fire darts at the Knight taking him down. He climbed to his feet only to dodge another sword flying at him. Cursing, he unsheathed his own sword, a simple rapier to help repel the blows as he cast spells with his free hand.
They were here for him. There was no doubt about the direction of their force nor their prowess. Ten Knights. Seven now that he had killed a couple. He loosed a desperate wave of fire, igniting three Knights and a couple of his own mages. Only four now. A blade cut into his ribs, opening his flesh like a flower blooming. Pain lanced up his side, tearing into his strength and felling him. The ground rushed at him, crashing into him just as the circling knights tilted above. He could feel terror pressing in on him, stealing his breath and his wits.
Arthur was only 200 years old and he was going to die.