horse, wild eyed, shook her free.
She was falling, scrambling, running--and when she looked down, she could see the Power lines carving themselves through her palms and up her fingers. Merlan was on her feet, running as hard as she could, fast, then faster, and she could hear the sound of the Lanceman's heavy tread behind her. His light armor was a sharp sound as he twisted to try and catch her. If he did, she wondered foggily, would he stab her through the heart?
Leonis.
Her fingers sizzled white hot as she heard voices wrap themselves around her. Power quenched the fire raging through her and, dimly, she saw the shapes of the mages as they surrounded her. A shape above her blocked the light, and the sound of something roaring filled her head, and then the world twisted away in a swirl of bright light.
==========================================TWO==========================================
My name is Merlan.
The thought came from nowhere in particular. It floated in amid the heat that washed over her and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to move away from the fire that seemed intent upon searing her wide open. She was quite convinced she was burning and her very mind was fracturing even as she sought somewhere safe. A refuge, that was what she needed. Merlan fought hard, gaining steps only to lose them once more, a constant seesaw battle that alternatively left her between hope and despair. Deep in the ravaging fire, she heard a voice that told her to hang on, that she would be fine, that she couldn’t give up hope. And the voice said it was a healer.
No. The Mender. A Mender? The Goddess, perhaps. She could see it in her mind, the words were a title, but a title didn’t define the person, it merely named them. It was a name much like her own; Merlan. It wasn’t what she was, but a name to the skin she wore. Complex ideas began to swirl and dip and dive, one born as another died. They were fast and furious and she was no longer sure if she was Merlan at all.
She was falling, scrambling, running--and when she looked down, she could see the Power lines carving themselves through her palms and up her fingers. Merlan was on her feet, running as hard as she could, fast, then faster, and she could hear the sound of the Lanceman's heavy tread behind her. His light armor was a sharp sound as he twisted to try and catch her. If he did, she wondered foggily, would he stab her through the heart?
Leonis.
Her fingers sizzled white hot as she heard voices wrap themselves around her. Power quenched the fire raging through her and, dimly, she saw the shapes of the mages as they surrounded her. A shape above her blocked the light, and the sound of something roaring filled her head, and then the world twisted away in a swirl of bright light.
==========================================TWO==========================================
My name is Merlan.
The thought came from nowhere in particular. It floated in amid the heat that washed over her and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to move away from the fire that seemed intent upon searing her wide open. She was quite convinced she was burning and her very mind was fracturing even as she sought somewhere safe. A refuge, that was what she needed. Merlan fought hard, gaining steps only to lose them once more, a constant seesaw battle that alternatively left her between hope and despair. Deep in the ravaging fire, she heard a voice that told her to hang on, that she would be fine, that she couldn’t give up hope. And the voice said it was a healer.
No. The Mender. A Mender? The Goddess, perhaps. She could see it in her mind, the words were a title, but a title didn’t define the person, it merely named them. It was a name much like her own; Merlan. It wasn’t what she was, but a name to the skin she wore. Complex ideas began to swirl and dip and dive, one born as another died. They were fast and furious and she was no longer sure if she was Merlan at all.
