A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,46
Treale could not approach Mori's shadowy cell. During those long cold nights, Treale languished in her own prison—locked with Sharik in his room, forced to sleep on the floor by his chamber pot and gobs of drool.
And now—after six days of blood and screams that would forever haunt Treale—Mori's chamber door lay shattered across the corridor, and Sharik ran toward the frail dragon that emerged from it.
With a gasp, Treale began running too.
This corridor was narrow, but the golden dragon was frail enough to fit, her scales dulled and her wings limp. Mori tried to blast Sharik with fire, but only sparks left her mouth, and only wisps of smoke left her nostrils. She tried to lash her claws, but Sharik's club swung down, and Mori whimpered and fell against the wall.
Sharik raised his club again, prepared to shatter the dragon's head.
With a scream, Treale leaped and clung onto the jailor's back.
"Treale!" Mori cried.
Sharik howled and bucked beneath her, and Treale screamed and clutched his throat, trying to choke him. His club flailed and slammed against a wall. He swung the club backward, and pain blazed across Treale's shoulder. She yowled. She thought the blow might have shattered her bone. She slid off Sharik's back and slammed against the floor. The club swung down, and she rolled aside. The club cracked the floor by her, and Treale kicked, hitting Sharik's leg.
He crashed down atop her, and Treale gasped and yelped. His weight was immense; he was thrice her size. His hand reached out, fingers thick and clammy, and clutched her throat.
Treale gurgled for breath. She clawed at his hand, but it was like clawing a slab of ham. She drew blood but could not break his grip. Stars floated before her eyes. She thought her neck would snap. Sharik snarled above her, drooling onto her face; his eyes were mad. Treale kicked, again and again, hitting his belly; it was like kicking a soggy old mattress. He seemed not to feel the pain, and his fingers kept clutching her throat, and blackness spread across her vision.
Her eyes rolled back.
Goodbye, Mori, she thought. Goodbye, Requiem. I'm sorry. I failed you, Mori. I failed.
Sharik howled.
The fingers loosened around her neck.
Treale gasped for breath, a gasp she thought could swallow the world. The blackness pulled back from her eyes like curtains, and stars exploded across the dungeon. She struggled to her feet, clutching at her throat and hacking, and saw Sharik howl. Mori's horns had gored him; they pierced his back and emerged bloody from his chest. The blood soaked his tunic and sprayed Treale's face.
His club lay fallen. Treale grabbed it and swung. The wood cracked against Sharik's skull. She felt the blow reverberate up the club, up her arm, and into her shoulder.
Sharik tilted, head caved in, and crashed to the floor. He lay still, dead eyes staring, blood pooling beneath him.
Behind him, the slim golden dragon mewled, and her magic left her. Where a dragon had stood, pressing against the corridor walls, now lay a frail, scarred woman with pale skin and wispy hair.
Treale leaped over Sharik's body and knelt over Mori. She cradled her princess in her arms, and her tears splashed against Mori's cheek.
"Mori," she whispered, holding her princess close. "Mori, I'm here. I've come for you. I'm going to get you out of here."
Mori felt so thin in her arms, barely more than skin and bones. The princess smiled softly, a ghostly smile, and her eyelids fluttered.
"Treale," she whispered. "Are you really here? Is this a dream?" She reached up with a frail arm—stars, it was nothing but skin and bone!—and clung to Treale's shoulder. "Treale, I saw them! I saw Queen Gloriae, and Kyrie Eleison and Agnus Dei—the heroes from the old scrolls. They fly with us."
Treale's throat still throbbed with pain, and her arms shook with weakness, but she gritted her teeth and struggled to pull Mori to her feet. Other guards often patrolled these dungeons; they could appear any moment.
"Come, Mori! Stand. We have to go now. We have to run."
She looked around, waiting for guards to appear. Boots thumped somewhere above and screams echoed through the chambers. She growled as she pulled Mori to her feet. The princess could barely stand; she leaned against Treale, her arms around her shoulders.
"You have to walk as fast as you can," Treale said. She began to take slow steps down the hall. "Lean on me and let's get out of this nightmare."