A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,72
Garvon fell. The spawn opened its jaws wide, bit down, and tore into Garvon's head. With thick claws, it cracked the skull open and began to feast.
Elethor screamed, heart thrashing, and thrust his sword.
The blade slammed into the spawn's chest, and blood sprayed.
The beast writhed upon the sword. It lashed out its claws, mewling. Elethor raised his shield, and the claws slammed into it, scattering chips of wood. Screaming hoarsely, his boots sticky with blood, Elethor pulled his blade back and swung it down. He cleaved the demon open from collarbone to navel, and centipedes fled from its body to scurry across the floor.
Elethor gagged. His head spun. The spawn fell dead, and Elethor stepped toward the doorway and chanced a look outside. He cursed. More demon spawn were racing across the forest and leaping into burrows, doorways, and tunnels. Among the ruins, other pockets of surviving Vir Requis fought. They swung swords from under fallen statues and collapsing roofs. Beyond an expanse of trees rose a crumbling hall; great stone faces stared stoically from its walls, mossy and green with vines. Nephil spawn were climbing the walls and trying to crawl into holes and windows. Fire blasted from within, roasting the beasts; dragons hid inside.
Shrieks sounded ahead. Elethor snarled. Two demon spawn came racing toward his tunnel, eyes blazing and teeth stained with blood.
Elethor raised his sword. The two nephil infants crashed into him, jaws snapping; they were nearly his size.
He roared and shoved one back with his shield. The other lashed claws, scratching across his breastplate and raising sparks. Elethor drove his sword's crossguard into the beast, and its skull cracked, and it howled. The demon behind his shield began biting at the wood, and Elethor drove forward, crushing the beast between his shield and the wall. Another spawn came racing from the forest and leaped onto him, and Elethor crashed down. Within an instant, three of the beasts were atop him, biting and slashing, and one's claw broke through his breastplate to scratch his chest. Elethor screamed and saw nothing but their rotting faces.
A blade whistled overhead. Steel crashed into a spawn's head, crumpling it like a tin mug, and the creature fell. Elethor leaped to his feet, swung down his sword, and slew another. At his side, he glimpsed one of the survivors, a boy of fourteen named Yar. The boy was trembling but managed to swing his sword again, stabbing another spawn. They swung their blades together, and soon the last of the creatures lay dead.
Yar shook, bent over, and gagged. Elethor placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. The corpses lay stinking; cockroaches and worms fled from them.
Elethor stepped over the corpses and looked outside. Across the forest, more female nephilim were falling over, howling and tearing down trees, and spawning their vermin. Hundreds of the infants shrieked.
At least, Elethor thought wryly, we didn't meet any ghosts.
Elethor grunted. "We're trapped in here." He stared at the youth. "Yar, carry the toddlers with you; they are too young to shift. Fly behind me. We're breaking out."
The youth trembled and clutched his sword before him. "There are thousands of nephilim out there. Where will we go?"
Elethor stared outside into the forest; he could see the vermin emerging from rotten wombs, crawling to the breast, and feasting upon the meat. In moments, they would be racing here to feast upon Vir Requis too.
He clenched his fist. Damn you, Solina. Damn you, Nemes. With Garvon dead, Yar was the only survivor in this huddle old enough to fight; the others were mere children. There is no more safety here.
"Yar," he said, "listen carefully. There is a wide hall among the ruins—about five hundred yards from here. There are stone faces on the walls, and the roots of trees clutch the place, sending trunks up through the ceiling. Don't look outside now! Some Vir Requis hide there, and they hide as dragons; I saw their fire blasting out the windows. Our burrow is too small; we cannot hold back these spawn with our swords. The great hall is wider. We can crouch there as dragons and join our fire to those who already hide there."
Yar's hands shook around his hilt. "My lord, five hundred yards… stars, we'll never make it. They'll tear us apart."
Ahead in the forest, the fresh spawn raised their faces from the bloodied torsos of their mothers, stared toward the tunnel, and hissed. With screeches, they came