A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,60

and their sweet innards, as they rot, and shrink, and hang, and…"

"Silence!" Elethor shouted, spinning around, seeking her, seeing only mist and cobwebs. He wanted to rage, to find this creature and fight, to be strong and proud and a warrior like Orin. But he felt close to tears. His legs shook. He gritted his teeth, and would have crumbled and wept had Lyana not needed him. Around him the withered, hanging creatures swung on their cobwebs, sucking the air and whispering madness.

Be strong, Elethor told himself. For Lyana. You must find her. You can't let her turn into one of these hanging things.

"Nedath!" he shouted, hoarse, close to panic. He swung his sword, cutting cobwebs. "Nedath, come and face me!"

Mist rose, cobwebs parted, and the demon emerged.

She was more hideous than Elethor remembered. Her centipede body rose, each segment bristling with black fur. Mounted atop the last segment, the torso, arms, and head of the rotting girl were slick with drool and blood. The girl's mouth opened, revealing chewed flesh. With a screech, she vomited, spraying meat and broken bones and fingers.

"Elethor!" she screamed, a sound that shook the tunnels. "King Elethor of Requiem, fell lord of lizards!"

With a shout, Elethor swung his sword.

The blade sliced Nedath's top half, cutting into the rotten girl's belly. Snakes spilled like entrails, bloody and hissing.

Nedath screeched, a sound like shattering bones. Cobwebs tore and the bodies within them burst, spraying white ooze.

Elethor swung his sword again, aiming for Nedath's head, the head of a rotting girl. The demon raised her arm, and the blade halved her hand, cutting down to the wrist. Her spider legs lashed. Two slammed into Elethor, cutting him, shoving him down. He struggled to rise, but more legs hit him.

Nedath leaned over him, snarling. Drool dripped down her chin. Her eyes shed blood. Three tongues slipped from her mouth, fell onto Elethor, and squirmed across him like snakes. Around them, the hanging creatures twisted and smacked their withered, pursed lips, gasping for air and mumbling.

"The numbers don't line, the numbers don't line, they say, I heard them line it!" said one creature, a spine with clinging skin, its head a mere mouth with two eyeballs on stalks.

"Into my lair, boy, into my lair, we will drink somebody, boy, in here I say, listen, yes," said another, a twisting stem of a thing, its head a wilting cloth bound in iron wire.

They spun around him and Elethor screamed. He swung his blade, cutting at Nedath, but she pinned him down with her legs. She laughed, blood bubbling in her mouth.

"The new Boy King of Requiem," said the demon, voice twisting and rising. "You will be king of my withered things, and you will hurt more than them all."

He drove his fist up and shattered her face. Her skull cracked and cockroaches fled from it, the insects' faces almost human. Nedath laughed. She leaned down and bit Elethor's shoulder, and pain blazed—more pain than he'd ever felt. He writhed and screamed.

Darkness spread across his eyes, closing in until the world was black, and all pain dulled to throbbing cold. In the shadows he saw blue eyes, cruel and mocking, lips that kissed him, a golden face.

"Solina," he whispered hoarsely.

She leaned over him, her naked body pressed against him, and kissed him with the kisses of her mouth, and he ran his fingers through her hair of molten gold. She whispered into his ear, laughing softly, and he held her close.

"I love you, El," she whispered and laughed. "My secret prince."

He wept, clinging to her. "Don't leave, Solina, don't leave, stay here, don't go into fire, don't go into fire…"

But she burned. She burned atop him, screaming, her flesh peeling and melting, until he saw her skull, and still she screamed and clung to him.

No, he thought, shaking. No, I can't let her burn. I can't let this happen. I can't turn into one of these things, these hanging twisting things of memory and pain and madness.

He shouted Solina's name as he drove his blade upward.

Ferus, his sword forged in dragonfire, shone with starlight. It pierced through the burning apparition of his love. Blazing, it drove into the rotting, mad Guardian of the Abyss. With the howl of collapsing stars, the steel blazed into darkness, and Nedath howled too, and the world seemed to explode.

The demon's head shattered. Fragments of bone and gore flew. Behind her, her snaking body of black, furry segments burst, showering the tunnel with blood. Her scream