Iron of the Innocent: The Dark Judge (Vol 1)

Chapter 11: The Summoning

274 I.C.
Sacren
Black Sword Kingdom
Central Black Sword

The present...

"Dalora..." a quiet, low voice whispered. It sounded like it was coming from her right. Other voices whispered as well, but so low in volume none could be understood. A cold, sharp breath of air touched her skin, centered on the flesh where the black ring rested. The ring once belonged to her mother, and when she died it passed to Dalora. It hung on its chain, dormant since she had taken it. That is, with the exception of the nightmare. It had been so cold when she woke it felt like the band of black metal was burning into her skin.

The cold slipped down along the soft, sensitive area between her breasts, and it climbed upward toward her neck. She was not asleep, nor daydreaming. In the distance, sunlight shone through the clouds above in wide beams. The voice spoke clearly, and no one else appeared to hear. It was for her only. From the corner of her eye, a dark presence appeared, moving unnaturally. It was faster than any soldier. When her she turned her head to look, everything appeared normal. There was nothing in the shadows of the sparse trees.

"Dalora..." the voice whispered again closer and to her left. The shadows moved from that direction, multiple hands unfurled their fingers reaching for her. When her eyes focused on them, the shadows were in their proper places. The cold descended further down, along her stomach, slowly encircling her bellybutton, kissing its rim with its lips of frost. The cold moving up drifted from beneath her armor, and caressed her throat.

The ring's aura of magic wrapped itself around her insides. It was like a pool of chilled water. Its touch filled her, drew her toward itself. "Lora..." the voice whispered again behind her, close enough to feel a soft wisp of breath against the tiny, sensitive hairs along the back of her neck. She quickly turned in her saddle toward it to find nothing.

When she turned back again toward the west, the direction the army traveled, the strength of the magic was like an unstoppable tide rising deep within her. It spread out from the ring, dancing across her body, pulling at every pore and sending waves of tingling energy out in all directions. His presence was so prevalent. She could almost feel his eyes impaling her from the sky above. The formation of the clouds seemed to take on the appearance of his visage. At that moment, her vision dimmed, and she slumped forward on her large black war horse, the magic's power irresistible. She slipped into a dark vision.

* * * * *

When Dalora opened her eyes again, she found herself standing on a busy, broad street. She recognized it, Black Sword's capital city in its prime and glory spreading out below her family's fortified castle. The cool, fall day carried a crisp touch to the gentle breeze that passed through the trees. The yellow, orange, and deep red leaves fell from their place among the strong branches, and they swirled with the current in the air.

Looking down she saw an elaborately tailored, white and tan dress. The dress was a little too light in places for the chill in the air. The cold slipped its hands beneath her skirts, beneath her undergarments. It slipped through the fabric of her dress causing her to wish for another layer to stay warm. There was a feeling of relief mixed in with her heightened sensitivity to the cold's touch, being protected by her garments from wandering eyes. Her black hair rested against her back in multiple, intricate braids with orange and deep red ribbons woven around them.

There was a joy in the air as the holiday seasons were being prepared by the households of the city. The mid-day ringing of the bells drifted around her, soothing her. Their distant thrumming reached deep within her, speaking of ancient things and old traditions. Her mother and father, the Baron and Baroness of Black Sword, were visiting the multitude of shops in this part of the city, and she was tasked to watch over her little brother.