Striking The Flint
The Dragon Duels #0.5
Laura Greenwood
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Also by Laura Greenwood
About the Author
© 2020 Laura Greenwood
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All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the published, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address; [email protected].
Visit Laura Greenwood’s website at:
www.authorlauragreenwood.co.uk
Cover Design by Vampari Designs
Striking The Flint is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Blurb
When Piper Miller is drafted to be a contestant in the Dragon Duels, she knows she's about to face something horrific.
Thrown into an arena with fifty other prisoners, mostly those convicted of petty crimes like hers, she has to survive ten days under the constant threat of death from exposure, other contestants, and the fire-breathing dragons that no one can predict.
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Alongside her childhood friend, Joseph, she does her best to survive everything thrown at her. Can she survive the inaugural Dragon Duels?
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Starting The Fire is a prequel to the urban fantasy dystopian series, The Dragon Duels. It is set approximately 150 years before the events of the main series and follows Piper as she competes in the first ever Duels. There is a romantic m/f sub-plot.
1
A shiver runs down my spine as the cold and damp of the cell seep into my bones.
Who am I kidding? They’ve both been there a long time, and there’s nothing I can do about it. All I did was take the blame for a little girl stealing some bread.
I snort.
“Who’s making noise?” one of the other prisoners snaps.
I roll my eyes. It isn’t like he can do anything to me. Not in the medieval style conditions they keep us in. No one seeing this would believe it’s the same era as the one in the city, with fancy computers and pills to make sure people don’t gain weight.
There are no such worries here. The daily mush they give us is barely enough for someone to survive on, never mind get fat.
“Miller,” a guard barks, but my name barely registers any more. No one uses it.
I don’t respond. He’ll come to the door and probably kick something through, and I don’t have to do anything.
To my surprise, a key scrapes in the lock.
I cock my head to the side. This hasn’t happened before. I don’t think the door has ever opened since I was thrown in here after being given my sentence. If that’s happening now, then there must be a good reason for it. Right?
“Get to your feet,” the guard demands.
It takes me three attempts to comply. I’m too weak from the lack of food, and I don’t like it.
“Stand back.” The door opens to reveal a slight man with a sour face and what looks like a cattle prod.
I sigh inwardly. What’s the betting he’ll use that for no real reason. I’ve met his type before. Everyone who is imprisoned has. They take pleasure in it, something I’m sure is asked during the employment interview.
“You’ve been summoned,” he says.
My eyebrows knit together, and I worry the thin fabric of my old t-shirt. It’s nothing more than rags now, and I’m certain it’s see-through, though this man isn’t reacting to that in the slightest.
“My sentence isn’t over yet,” I say weakly.
Shock crosses his face. I’m sure that isn’t the answer he expects. Instead of saying anything else to me, he comes forward and gestures for my hands.
I don’t even fight it. I put them out in front of me and wait as he clicks a pair of cuffs on me. They’re a bit too tight, but that’s likely intentional. They’re high-tech enough to be able to shock me if I leave a certain area, there’s no reason they have to bite into my skin this way.
The guard turns around and walks from the room, leaving my cell door open.
For a moment, I wonder if this is some kind of test. Are they trying to see if I’ll run? Should I stay inside the cell and take my chances? What's the right thing to do?
I shake my head. The guard said I’d been summoned, which means someone is waiting for me, though the dragons-know-what they’re going to do to me. I’m not naïve enough to think I have any sway in anything. Not only am I a criminal, but before that, I was one of the lowest citizens that could exist. I don’t even have any Arts, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Worse things than being thrown in a cell happen to people who have the Arts.
Deciding there’s nothing else I can do, I follow the guard. It’s slow going. I’ve been in the same tiny cell for years, and it doesn’t allow for much movement. I’m out of practice, and as I shuffle after the sour man, it becomes more and more apparent.
He turns down another corridor, and like that, I’m in another world. The walls are stark white, the cleanliness of it all only serving to make me feel dirtier. I know the forced squalor is part of our punishment, but I don’t see any need for it. Unless they’re trying to make people die of diseases that have been extinct for years.
Yep. That’s probably it.
“In.” The guard points to a doorway.
I frown. Why isn’t he entering? Is it safe to?
The expression on his face tells me all I need to know. I have to walk into that room, or there’s going to be hell to pay. Probably a hell filled with dragon fire.
The door slamming makes me jump. I glance behind me, to find the guard nowhere to be seen.
All right, then. What am I supposed to do now? He hasn’t given me any instructions, and there’s nothing in the room to indicate what I should be doing.
A single white chair sits in the centre of the room. Dare I sit in it? It looks uncomfortable, which probably means it’s meant for me.
With nothing else for it, I make my way over and take a seat. Nothing happens. What a surprise. They aren’t going to make things easy for someone like me.
The catch on another door opens, pulling my attention to my left. A round woman enters, a wide smile on her face and a spring in her step. Her demeanour is off-putting. Though no doubt that’s because I’m not used to anyone being this cheery around me. Even before I was caught, people weren’t like this.
“Piper Miller?” she asks.
Who else am I going to be? It’s not like this place doesn’t have good record keeping. They know everything about me, including what I ate for breakfast three years ago on a Tuesday. Which is more than I know. I barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, other than that it was inedible mush. Still, I suppose it's better than starving.
"That's me," I say with a false cheerfulness that I don't really feel. It's good to know that spending so long in my cell hasn't robbed me of my charm.
"Good. You're being offered a pardon."
My eyebrows shoot up. "I am?" No one gets a pardon. Not even well-connected people, and I'm certainly not that.
"On one condition," she continues
as if she didn't hear me speak.
I repress a sigh. We both know I'm not going to have any choice about whatever this condition is. I have to say yes, or I'm going to end up back in my cell or tortured to death. Neither option sounds particularly fun to me.
"You're to compete in the Dragon Duels," she says.
"The what?" I blurt. I've never heard of them before.
"The Dragon Duels," she says slowly, drawing out every word.
"I heard you," I mutter under my breath. "What are they?" I ask at a more acceptable volume.
A wicked smile twists at the corners of her lips. "Entertainment."
The one word is all I need to know that whatever the Dragon Duels are, they aren't going to be fun. Especially not for someone who has spent the past few years locked in a cell.
I don't know what she has in store for me, but somehow, I doubt I'm going to walk out of it in one piece.
2
I glance around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone here. It's best not to. Some are bound to be in prison for much worse things than me, and it's better if I don't get involved with any of that.
"Piper?" someone says behind me.
I spin around, my heart beating hard at the thought of someone knowing my name. In this situation, anyone knowing anything about me isn't good. It can only be for a bad reason.
"Joseph?" His name is out before I have a moment to think about if it's a good idea to admit I recognise him.
"It is you." He rushes forward and crushes me into a bear hug.
It's not enough to hide the fact he's lost a lot of weight. Even through the thick jumper he's wearing, I can feel his ribs. A tear springs to my eye unbidden, but I blink it away. I can't show any weakness here, even if I hate what the White Towers have done to Joseph. What they've done to all of us, really.
"I haven't seen you in years," he says when he pulls back.
A dry chuckle escapes me. "That's because we've been in prison," I point out, assuming that's where he's been. He wouldn't be in this room if not.
"Ah, fair point. What did they get you for?"
"Stealing." Not that it was anything worth going to jail for. "You?"
He grimaces. "Using the Arts without a license."
"You don't need a license for them," I say in confusion. How can someone need a license to use something they're born with? That seems like an unnecessarily cruel rule.
"You do now. It was brought in a couple of years ago."
"Ah."
Not good at all. I don't understand why the White Towers would want to stop people using the Arts when they look down on people like me for not having them. Maybe they want to reserve its use for the rich. That sounds like the kind of thing they'd do for no real reason.
"Do you know what we're doing here?" I ask.
"The Dragon Duels."
"Yeah, but what is that?" I wish I knew more, but the woman who'd told me I was signing up for it didn't tell me anything useful, only that it was new.
He shrugs. "No clue. But I think we're going to find out." He points to the other side of the bars separating the cell containing the fifty or so prisoners, and the other side.
A middle-aged man in a sharp suit walks in, a briefcase in his hand and an air of superiority about him. I instantly dislike him, even though he hasn't said anything. Though I suppose it's second nature for a prisoner to hate someone complicit in keeping them captive.
He's accompanied by two other people, one of them a scrawny man with ill-fitting glasses, and the other is the same woman who told me of my fate. Joseph is right, we're about to learn about what's happening to us.
Around me, the other prisoners stiffen in response to the newcomers. My guess is that they also heard about the Dragon Duels from one of the people in front of us.
"Good afternoon, fellow citizens," the man in front starts.
I only just manage to cover up my snort of derision with a cough. How can he call us citizens when we've been kept in squalor for the pettiest of crimes? It's an insult to everything we've been through, especially as the conditions in the White Towers themselves are the reason we have to turn to crime to feed ourselves in the first place.
"As you're all aware, you have the honour of being the first people ever to participate in the Dragon Duels..."
"If it's an honour, then why are you only using people you think are disposable?" someone shouts from the back.
I watch the man in charge to see how he responds to the very true statement. If this really was an honour, then they wouldn't be using us. I'm not foolish enough to believe otherwise.
To my disappointment, he doesn't respond. I'm not all that surprised by that. He's here to deliver bad news, they can't send someone who gets flustered easily.
"As I was saying, you've been selected for this honour. Tomorrow, you will be given a package and released into an arena. If you survive for ten days, then you will be granted a pardon for your crimes and will be returned to society," he announces.
"Survive?" I whisper, repeating the word I'm not sure he wants us to focus on.
"Sounds ominous, doesn't it?" Joseph mutters.
I snort. "That's one way of putting it."
"What will happen in the arena?" a woman asks.
"All will be revealed tomorrow," the man says. "For now, you will be taken to two dorms, one for men, and one for women. I suggest you get a good night's rest, and eat a hearty breakfast."
The prisoners around me start talking amongst themselves as they speculate about what's going to happen tomorrow. I can't focus on anything except the sick feeling in my stomach. Whatever it is happening, it isn't going to be good for any of us.
The man leaves without saying anything else, as if we're not worthy of any further explanation.
I shake my head in frustration. What's the point of bringing us all together like this and then not telling us anything? I'm none the wiser about anything, except that I'm probably getting a good breakfast tomorrow. Not that I'll be able to eat much. I imagine my stomach shrank during my time in prison.
Guards unlock the back of the cell, herding all of the men off to one side, and the women to another.
Joseph reaches out and catches hold of my hand. "Promise you'll find me tomorrow?" he whispers.
I bite my lip and consider for a moment, then nod my head. I've not spoken to him in years, but I'd rather go through whatever is happening tomorrow with my childhood friend by my side, rather than on my own. Besides, he has the Arts, and I don't know if they'll come in useful. It's better to have someone around who can use them.
"I will," I promise out loud.
"Good." He smiles at me once more, and then disappears through the door with the other men.
It's only once he's gone that I realise how nice it'll be to not have to deal with this on my own.
3
I line up behind the other prisoners. Nobody is talking this morning as we wait to be let into the arena we were told about yesterday. I guess we're all too nervous about it. At least, I am. I'm sure the others must be feeling the same way, especially as we don't know what's on the other side of the metal door in front of us.
Each time we shuffle forward, I hope to get a glimpse of what's out beyond it, but it isn't happening. There are too many people in the way, and whoever thought to have us line up here clearly thought it through. They don't want us seeing the light of day until it's time for whatever this is to begin.
Nerves flutter in my stomach, threatening to expel the bread and cheese I ate for breakfast. It'll be a shame if I do, it's the best meal I've had in a long time.
We move forward again. This time, I try to look around for Joseph. If he's near me in the line, then it'll be easier to find him once we're through the door. I'm not sure what makes me so certain it's a good idea to team up with him, maybe it's simply that I don't want to go at this alone.
"Next," the guard at the front calls. He shoves a package at the woman in front of me. "Next."
He doesn't even look at me as he does the same. I want to ask what I'm supposed to do now, but he doesn't seem to be answering questions.
Instead, I follow the woman in front of me, stepping outside.
I let the heat from the sun sink into my face for the first time in years, basking in the warmth. I've missed this more than I could possibly have imagined possible. No matter what these stupid Duels hold for me, at least I've been given a chance to taste freedom once more.
It won't last. I'm not even convinced their promise of a pardon for anyone who survives is going to be adhered to. It doesn't seem in line with the rest of what I've experienced at the hands of the White Towers.
I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. The arena isn't at all what I expect it to be. For one, there doesn't seem to be anything more than a fence surrounding it, and a rickety-looking one at that. It can't be too difficult to escape through it, though it'll raise the question of where to go. It's not like we have a lot of options if we manage to get out.
The rest of the arena stretches out before me. I can't see the other side of it, but I assume there's a fence there too. In between, there's what looks like sand and rocks. In the distance, I'm reasonably sure I can make out a small mud-brick house, but it's hard to tell from this far out.
It's somewhere to avoid once this thing gets underway. I'm sure a lot of the prisoners will head straight for it, thinking to make it their base of operations.
"What's happening?" the woman next to me asks.
"I don't know," I admit.
"How will we know when the Duels start?" She glances around nervously, as if trying to use the time to size up all of her opponents.
"I'm sure we'll know," I murmur. There won't be much of a show for them if they don't let us know what to do.
Striking The Flint Page 1
