novelraw Chapter 116
Chapter 116
A roar echoed from behind, and Tom knew they were in trouble.
Magical beasts had keen senses. The coppery stench of blood from the young lord's stump was a beacon in the night air. They'd be overtaken if he kept this up. He had to find a way.
His eyes scanned the dark woods, finally landing on a massive, ancient-looking tree.
He grit his teeth. It was the only way.
He sprinted to the tree. Raising his right hand, he focused, and wind began to swirl around his open palm. He thrust his fist forward. There was a muffled thump as splinters flew, and the wind-magic tore a hollow from the trunk.
He gently eased the unconscious young lord from his shoulder into the hollow.
With a rip, he tore a long strip of fabric from his own tunic and quickly bound the stump, creating a makeshift tourniquet. The bleeding finally slowed.
He settled Owen inside, then began to cover the entrance with the wood chips. "Goodbye, Lord Owen. Good luck." He whispered the farewell, then covered Owen's head completely. The sharp scent of sawdust and resin masked the blood.
The trail was now much fainter.
Zing! He drew his own longsword. Without hesitation, he slashed it deeply across his left forearm. Blood welled up instantly.
He dropped the sword with a clang at the base of the tree. When Owen awoke, he would have a weapon. The young lord had practiced with his left hand; it was clumsy, but it might be enough.
Channeling his wind-element martial aura into his legs, Tom took off, running for his life, leaving a fresh, potent trail of his own blood.
He lost all track of time. His vision blurred, and his martial aura guttered and died. His sprint slowed to a jog, then a stumble.
A rush of wind tore through the canopy above him. CRACK! A tree branch exploded into splinters.
Before Tom could even look back, an immense weight slammed him from behind, driving him face-first into the forest floor.
From Ashwing's back, Marnok looked down with cold indifference at the man pinned beneath the gryphon's talons.
"Human," the orc grunted. "Where's the other one? The one you were carrying."
Pinned beneath the claws, Tom felt a small, grim smile touch his lips. It worked. The young lord is safe.
His body began to swell.
Sensing the danger, Ashwing instantly released its talons and snapped its dark wings shut in front of its body as a shield.
Tom's body inflated like a bellows, and then detonated. It exploded into a vortex of pure, razor-sharp wind, shredding everything in its vicinity.
WHOOSH!
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The violent gale lasted only a few seconds.
When it cleared, black feathers drifted to the ground. Blood dripped from Ashwing's tattered wings.
SKREEEEE!
A roar of pure fury echoed through the forest.
***
Heavy, blue-scaled eyelids lifted. A gnawing hunger radiated from her gut.
Azure took stock. Her claws and tail were still numb, useless.
She lifted her head, craning her neck to look back. Her wings felt functional, but the large hole in the right membrane was still painfully obvious. Far from healed.
The hunger was a screaming command. She had to eat. She needed fuel for the regeneration.
She turned her gaze toward the mouth of the lair. Near the entrance, two forms—one large and red, one small and white—were fast asleep.
The red wyrmling, Aiden, was sprawled out, legs splayed and eyelids shut tight. The white wyrmling, Bianca, was draped over him, her head resting on his neck. Her jaw was slack, a long, scarlet tongue lolling out.
A steady drip... drip... drip... of drool fell from her muzzle, already forming a sizeable puddle on the stone floor. Such a leaky faucet, she thought with annoyance.
She stared at Bianca. For a fleeting, primal moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to blast her. She suppressed it. In her current, battered state, she was no match for her.
She shifted her gaze to the right side of the cavern. A large slab of meat was draped over a sleeping figure. Her servant, Garruk.
Her expression turned cold.
Pain!
A sharp, twisting agony in his chest jolted Garruk from his sleep.
He shot upright, his green eyes darting to the dragon's form. He immediately scrambled into a deep bow, pressing his forehead to the stone. "G-Great Mistress! Garruk was wrong!"
The lingering pain made his voice tremble. He had no idea what he'd done, but in this situation, begging for forgiveness was always the right move.
"Hmph," a childish, almost melodic voice huffed from the darkness. "Servant. Bring me the meat."
The tone was absolute. Though the Mistress's voice was disconcertingly young, Garruk knew exactly what he was facing: A Blue Dragon. One of the most powerful and malevolent species on the continent of Aethelgard.
The psychic grip on his heart finally eased.
Garruk let out a shuddering breath.
"Be quick."
Garruk could hear the simmering impatience in that young voice. The Mistress was in a foul mood.
"Garruk obeys your will, Great Mistress!" He didn't dare hesitate. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the heavy slab of meat he'd been using as a blanket, and began dragging it deeper into the cave.
The dragon watched the servant hobble, his limp pronounced. A cripple.
Perhaps I should get him a new leg. A damaged servant is useless. Might as well be food.
Garruk reached the dragon and dropped the meat, immediately falling to his knees and bowing his head. "Great Mistress, please... partake."
The blue head lowered. Jaws unhinged and clamped down, tearing off a massive chunk of flesh and bone.
CRUNCH. CRACKLE.
The sound of grinding bone above his head made Garruk feel like he was kneeling at the edge of an abyss. He wasn't sure if the Mistress, lost in the pleasure of the meal, would simply decide to eat him next. Every crunch was a hammer blow against his heart.
The silence, broken only by the tearing and cracking, was agonizing.
The dragon's head dipped for the last piece.
"Not enough," the high, melodic voice stated.
Garruk flinched.
The dragon fixed her gaze on the trembling creature. What is he afraid of? Does he think I'm that glutton Bianca, who'd eat anything that moves?
"Go. Carve meat from the gryphons." Her head lifted, her gaze snapping to the two massive carcasses near the entrance. "The male. The one on the outside."
Garruk's rigid posture deflated in relief. Thank the gods. She doesn't want to eat me.
"As you will, Great Mistress." He stood and hobbled toward the gryphon carcass.
He stopped in front of the dead beast. One of its talons was as long as his torso. Garruk looked at the small, crude dagger in his hand, suddenly at a loss. Where did one even start on a creature this size?
"Servant. Faster."
The voice from behind sent a jolt of terror up Garruk's spine.
Forget it, just cut! He plunged the dagger into the beast's abdomen and sliced upward.
Squelch.
A steaming pile of entrails spilled from the cavity, burying Garruk almost to his waist. He shoved the slick organs off his chest, staggered to his feet, and, standing in the viscous gore, began to frantically carve.