The Crucible's Flame
| Zine | |
|---|---|
| Title: | The Crucible's Flame |
| Publisher: | KnightWriter Press |
| Editor: | |
| Author(s): | Linda Knights |
| Cover Artist(s): | |
| Illustrator(s): | |
| Date(s): | |
| Medium: | print zine, fanfic |
| Size: | |
| Genre: | gen |
| Fandom: | Blake’s 7 |
| Language: | English |
| External Links: | |
| Click here for related articles on Fanlore. | |
The Crucible's Flame is a 47-page gen novel by Linda Knights.
Series
This zine is part of a series of mini-zines, each with a story that has been published previously in another zine. Each mini-zine has a full-color photo cover.
- Bad Blood by Peggy Hartsook
- Blind by Linda Knights
- Close Calls by Linda Knights
- The Crucible's Flame by Linda Knights
- Endgame by Peggy Hartsook
- Fate's Final Act by Linda Knights
- Prelude to an Interview by Linda Knights
- Returned Favors by Linda Knights
- Surprises by Linda Knights
- Waves Upon a Mirrored Surface by Linda Knights
- Yesterday: Memories of Tomorrow by Linda Knights (1997)
Excerpt
"Stay back!"Blake froze in mid-step. His hand hung in mid-air, motioning for reason or perhaps for understanding, he couldn't now remember which. Neither mattered. The only thing that mattered was the frank insanity in Avon's wild eyes.
"Avon, what is it?" he questioned quietly, forcing himself to sound as normal as possible.
Jenna stood behind Blake, a hand up on the weapon's rack, undecided. Avon held a gun securely pointed at Blake -- so securely it was hard to sanction, even now, that he wasn't in complete control. And if he was in control then he deserved to be shot down like a rabid animal. But if he wasn't in control? If he really had slipped off into insanity? If this was neither his fault nor his choice, than she couldn't shoot him. Unless, of course, there was no other way to save Blake's life.
"Avon... please," Blake reasoned as he took a tentative step forward. "Whatever it is, we can talk it out."
Avon shook his head hard, once, as if trying desperately to clear away an unacceptable fog. His mouth opened but no words came out. He was hyperventilating, his complexion wavering wildly between the blood red of outrage and a pale, sickly white. Fine, but almost constant, muscle spasms racked his frame, leaving him shivering like a leaf in the wind. A tic spastically tensed the skin beneath his right eye.