Libertus — no, Lesley — landed on all fours. He skidded instantly. The spell had forced him into his true form, and his hooves slipped on the slick marble floors. Lesley barely kept his balance. His nostrils flared. Who summoned a unicorn on a marble floor?
He didn’t have time to ask. The last wisp of ether hadn’t cleared from his tail when a huge boulder came flying at him. Lesley screeched, jumping forward. The boulder ploughed into the stone floor, pieces of it flew up and hit Lesley in the side. He wheeled in a circle, trying not to rear in a panic. It hurt. It actually hurt! He knew that being summoned into a world like this carried high amount of risk to one’s person, even when they were called through the ether, but this was just too much!
“…I, Camilla the Shrike, beckon you,” finished a voice that he didn’t know, but his body reacted to it with a great stab of warmth and fear. His Master, then. The one who’d called his name — no, the one who’d called Libertus. “And that was supposed to be a shield. What sort of mess have you made? Going through my books? Taking my names?”
His master was a witch, though not an especially tall witch. She had sleek blue-black hair, dark skin, black eyes, and a black fur coat. One hand held a pipe, the other held the book which Libertus — Lesley — Lesley knew she had used to summon him. She walked across the marble floor, inspected the crater, and flicked a bit of ash from her pipe into it. Then she looked across the room — they were in a room, a magical workshop in fact, with work tables and a lot of cowering apprentices — to her opponent: a young girl, clutching a book.
And a ten foot tall red ogre standing behind her.
There was no question who’d thrown the boulder, then. The witch tapped her foot. They must have been related. The girl had the same shade of hair and the same black eyes, but her outfit was not nearly so fine. Some poor relative trying to get her own back, then.
“Surrender now,” said Camilla the Shrike, apparently — and what sort of name was that supposed to be? Lesley had more questions by the minute. “And return that book to me. You’re not going to make it very far as you are. You can’t maintain a spell like that at your age. I should know.”
The girl flinched back.
“They’re not yours,” said the girl. “None of this is. Rubedo!”
The ogre gnashed its yellowing tusks. It was a particularly ugly specimen, unsightly in all ways — the type that never would’ve been allowed near the Tower of Dreams. It was the Eastern type of ogre, with bulging eyes and dark red skin, and practically naked. Its summoner clearly hadn’t had a chance to do the full spell, because great pieces of its armor and robes were missing. Its body shuddered with every breath it took. Its hand flickered like a light as it reached and picked one of the work tables in its fist. It wouldn’t stay in this world for every long, but it would do some damage while it was here.
Camilla threw up her hands.
“Oh, fine,” she said. “What a waste of ingredients. Libertus.”
Lesley’s flanks heaved. Some of the flying stone had cut into him. He tossed his head, letting his horn shine bright in the dim lights of the workshop.
The witch eyed him.
“Libertus,” she said, with power in it. The name tugged at Lesley’s head like a bridle. Lesley — ah, no — Libertus lowered his horn and dove into a charge.
The ogre threw the table. Lesley-Libertus summoned a wind to carry him over it. The ogre threw a punch, but Lelibertus veered away at the last moment. While the ogre’s knuckles were buried in the shattered floors, Lebertus planted his feet and let the winds come down around him, blowing half the tables onto their side and the ogre off with it. The girl screamed and covered her face. She flew off her feet. The ogre caught her in one huge hand, covering her to protect her from the flying pieces of lab equipment.
“Parlor tricks,” said Camilla, stifling a yawn. “What a shame you cannot put up a fight. When I was your age, I showed some promise. You can’t even be interesting in your defiance. Ah, I suppose you were never going to be more than spare parts to me.”
“I’m not going to be anything to you!” cried the girl. “Rubedo. Wreck it. Wreck it all!”
The ogre stomped its feet. The floor beneath Lesley and the Camilla cracked. The witch called Lib— called Lesley to her side, taking a fist full of his mane. Lesley objected to this treatment on a fundamental level, but his body acted on its own accord, leaning in to let her swing atop him, and carrying her out of the way of the break in the floor. The ogre stomped. And it stomped. And it stomped. The cracked floor shook. What was left of the tables jumped. Pieces of lights from the ceiling fell in chunks.
The witch sighed, and tightened her hand in Lesley’s mane.
“So it is the storm which compels you,” she murmured. “What am I to do with this?”
Lesley snorted in answer. She had been so rude about climbing onto his back that he didn’t feel inclined to tell this master anything, but he didn’t have to tell her anything. She only had to glance at the scroll she’d used to call him, and she knew everything she needed about the particular spirit at her beck and call.
“Libertus,” she said, in the same tone one might ask for a glass of water. “Charge.”
And, against all his better judgment — against any judgement at all, really, since his legs moved on their own — Libertus-Lesley — LIBERTUS felt his hindquarters bunch, and he found himself galloping full pelt across the jittering floor, horn lowered, lightning crackling around him.
His horn caught the ogre in the side. It flashed with a white light. The ogre, barely maintained by the girl’s wavering strength, staggered, held its side, reached briefly for its master — and then lost its form entirely, breaking into a thousand tiny little pieces of crystallized ether, which turned to mist before they even hit the floor.
“Rubedo—!” cried the girl. The remains of her summon was nothing but smoke. She stood alone in the broken workshop. The other apprentices stayed cowered in their corners. The witch, quite satisfied, kicked her mount in the side. Lesley turned, his lip curled. The witch peered over his neck down at her defeated opponent. The girl sank to her knees.
“I won’t let you take my heart,” she said. “I won’t let you take any part of me.”
“Oh, you silly girl,” said the witch.
“Will that do, Master?” said Lesley. He really didn’t feel like watching this drama, whatever it was.
“I don’t intend to take any part of you at all,” continued the witch, quite ignoring Lesley. “…Libertus.”
“Will that do, Master?” asked Lesley.
“Erase her,” said Camilla.
Lesley froze.
“What?” he said. “Excuse me, that is hardly my area of expertise—”
Camilla paused. She hadn’t expected him to have anything to say to that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She slid off of him. She walked over to face him, twirling her pipe between her fingers. “Are you, a familiar, arguing with me?”
Behind her, the girl stumbled to her feet. The witch didn’t seem to notice. The girl tried to edge quietly for the door. Lesley tried not to let his eye follow her.
“Yes,” said Lesley. “Do you not see my horn? I am made for barriers, for healing, for speed, for—”
“And lightning, it would seem,” said Camilla, “which is not standard to your summoning class, I might add. What sort of unicorn might you be?”
“Well that’s quite personal, isn’t it?” asked Lesley. “And obviously so is your feud. I will carry you where you like and protect you from harm, Master, but I am afraid that this bit of family? Family! Drama is quite outside of my—”
“Libertus,” said the witch.
The name came down across his hindquarters like a lash.
“Libertus,” said the witch again. Libertus felt the name across his back like a hot brand. Across his neck like the tip of a knife. Libertus’ muscles twitched in answer. His horn began to glow in response. He could feel himself rising to his hind legs, rearing up, nostrils flared, screaming as the storm flowed through him. The light crackled along his horn. The power rose, stirring in his mane, causing the broken glass around them to jitter. “Libertus. Libertus.”
The girl hadn’t even made it to the door.
“Erase her,” said Camilla.
The girl didn’t even have time to scream. The bolt of lightning left nothing but a wretched pile of ash.
“That will be all,” said Camilla, waving smoke out of her face. She cut off the summon there.
Lesley went flying back into his own world with a scream.
He landed in a heap, in his dormant form, in the center of the summoning circle. His clothes smoked. Blood welled up through his robes. The cuts in his flank had carried over. He held it and swore.
“Oh, wow,” said the Dream Eater, fixing her glasses. “You actually survived that one.”
Lesley looked up. His vision blurred. He couldn’t stop shaking. He reached up and tried to push his hair back. He tried to stand. He tried to say anything, but he couldn’t stop shaking.
“Well, then,” said the Dream Eater. She held up a crystal ball. It was black and murky, but, when she tapped it, a tiny bit of light appeared in its center. “That’s ten points off your sentence. Congratulations! I’ll have one of the guardians show you to your lodgings, then. You’ll be hearing the pull again soon.”