A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,28

her eyes; he guessed that few men dared to. For a moment the two stared in silence, neither one blinking—a desert queen and a dark priest, for a moment locked in silent struggle.

Finally he snorted and tossed the sword down. It clattered against the ground.

"I need no blade," he said. "Return me my staff; it is more powerful than any shard of steel."

Still Solina dared not break the stare. Silent, she walked toward a soldier, grabbed the staff from him, and tossed it at Nemes. He caught it in one hand. Only then did he looked away, bowing theatrically.

"I shall see you again, my queen, with the key in my hand and the power of Lord Legion at our doorstep."

The guards made to drag him into the tower, but Nemes glared at them, a glare of all his simmering pain, rage, and lust. It held them back. Nemes straightened his back, smoothed his robes, and raised his head. He walked toward the tower. The doorway loomed before him.

Heart thrashing, he stepped inside.

He walked through darkness. The sounds of wind and men faded behind him, leaving only silence. Shadows parted before him, wisps like serpents of smoke. Nemes found himself in a round, stone chamber.

An obsidian table stood here, piled high with platters of raw, bloody ribs. The bones looked human and flesh still clung to them. An obese, naked man sat at the table, his back to Nemes. As the man feasted, grunting and huffing, blood and gobbets of flesh flew.

Nemes gripped his staff tight, lips curling in disgust, and a grunt fled his lips. The feasting man froze, squealed, and spun toward him.

Nemes gritted his teeth, struggling not to faint.

This was no man, he saw, but some creature of pale, fleshy rolls, his eyes mere slits. The creature's mouth opened, revealing sharp teeth and chunks of half-chewed flesh. Blood smeared his cheeks. He gave a shrill cry that Nemes thought could shatter glass.

"The key!" Nemes demanded. He gripped his staff, hand shaking. "Where is the key?"

The creature stared at him, blood dripping from his mouth. Slowly he raised a pudgy, clawed hand and pointed to the shadows, where Nemes could just make out a second doorway. With that, the creature returned to his meal. When Nemes looked at the table, he grunted in disgust. The bones were human; a severed head rotted among them.

Nemes stared, sucked in his breath, and found that his mouth was watering. He craved a taste. He craved to crack the bones in his mouth, suck the marrow, and feast. But there would be time for that later. Once he freed the nephilim, the earth itself would be his table, and the flesh of the world would lie rotting before him, ripe for the feeding.

Nemes turned away. He stepped through the second doorway and onto a staircase. The stairs wound upward, a corkscrew of bloodied bricks, and brought him into a second chamber.

A pile of raw, writhing flesh lay curled up here, draped in sagging gray skin. Nemes raised his staff, stepped forward, and frowned down at the wriggling mass.

The creature leaped up. Teeth shone and eyes blazed.

Nemes leaped back, swiping his staff. The wood cracked against bone. The creature fell into the corner, scampered up, and howled with two bloated heads. It looked like a furless, muscular dog, but its two heads were humanoid—the wrinkled heads of waterlogged corpses. Black drool like ink filled its mouths. The creature raced toward him again, claws clattering against the floor.

Nemes snarled and swung his staff. It hit one of the dog's heads. The second head latched onto Nemes's shoulder, and teeth drove into him, stinging like a thousand fires.

He screamed. He drove his staff into the biting head. The creature squealed but would not release him. The second head bit his left arm, and blood spilled to the floor.

No. No! I have not flown through fire and rain and sand to die here.

He looked around the chamber. Would there be room enough? Would the tower collapse around him? The teeth drove deeper and he screamed again. He had no choice.

Nemes summoned his magic, the ancient magic of Requiem that blessed even him, the kingdom's lost son. He shifted into a dragon.

Gray scales rose across him, hard and smooth as bones. The canine creature howled and fell to the floor. Wings sprouted from Nemes's back and slammed against the walls. He ballooned like a leech sucking blood. Horns grew from his head and hit the ceiling. A tail