Farmers & Mercenaries (33 page)

H
earing Arderi cry out, Clytus Rillion spun around. He watched as a shimmering pool of light coalesced, forming a Drakon perched on the cliff face behind him.

This is how the creature has evaded me for so long! Somehow, it can bend light.

Raising his crossbow, he reached for the Essence surrounding him, and the familiar veil fell over him like a silken blanket. He stretched out his mind and began to bind the Strands of Essence around the beast, even as it launched itself at him. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. The Essence Strands he tried to Meld stiffened, then were yanked away from his control. He felt the presence of Arderi, and knew the boy was caught up in the Melding…

Yet, it is nothing he is doing. There is another presence Melding the Essence as well!

Fear laced into Clytus’ thoughts, and he looked closer at the Drakon. Alert eyes stared back at him, and he understood. The beast was caught in the Melding as well. It reached out with its own Melding, thwarting Clytus’ attempts to gain the upper hand.

This creature is of the Sujen! That is why the Shapers need its blood to heal my son!

A
strange tingle congealed around Arderi Cor—one he had felt before. One of reality slowing. Stopping. A feeling of the bonds that held his mind to his body snapping free to wander in the corporeal realm. Arderi could not remember when he started, yet he knew he was yelling. His scream sounded low and distant, as if it came from the other side of a field.

Clytus spun in slow motion, stepping to one side. Raising his crossbow in line with the advancing creature, he looked like a man stuck in a thick pool of clear honey. The Drakon hung suspended in mid air as well, in a pose as graceful as that of a dancer, a mere pace from the Commander. Arderi could have been looking at a painting—all stood still. Even the wind brushing through the trees seemed frozen.

Looking sideways, Arderi saw Jintrill—terror plastered across the young Sier’s face. He stood frozen like the rest, a living statue. The Shaper’s eyes remained locked onto the scene before him, yet Arderi could see no hint of life within them.

Something in the back of his mind nagged at him. Then memory struck like a gong.

The Drakon’s eyes!

Turning his mind back to the creature, horror filled him as he stared into black eyes that focused on him. Large black eyes, vivid and clear…

And alive! As are Master Rillion’s.

For the first time, Arderi saw the creature advance through the air. Its speed matched Master Rillion’s own movement.

Unlike the eve of the O’Arkin attack, the Commander has no advantage this time!

O
ne shot.

That was all Clytus Rillion had the opportunity to think before instinct took over and he released his hold on the Essence. Launching himself from the path of death, Clytus would worry about how the creature could Meld the Essence another time. The fight is all he cared for now, and it needed his full attention.

Win or die. I will pay what needs be paid!

He felt the wind from the beast whip past him, saw—too late to make an adjustment—its claw whip out and rake his shoulder. Pain wrenched through him as razor sharp talons tore into his armor to rip open his flesh below. Yet, this was nothing compared to the impact of the creature’s tail. Slamming square into his chest, the air whooshed from his lungs as his steel breastplate caved. The force of the blow lifted him from his feet and sent him sailing through empty air.

A
rderi Cor saw a distinct look of fear pass over Clytus’ face, and he realized the man knew something was not right, as well.

Reality slammed forward once more. Clytus dove to the side as the Drakon bore past him. The creature howled with rage at the failure of its surprise attack. Yet, even while it streaked through the spot where Clytus had just stood, it whipped out one front claw and caught him in the left shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering the ground. Within the same movement, the creature whipped its thick tail around its body and smacked Clytus hard in the chest.

Arderi watched, stunned as the force of the blow launched Clytus from his feet, smashing him to the ground. Commander Rillion slid across the narrow path toward the cliff’s edge. If he did not stop, the drop would end his life as surely as if the beast had ripped into him with its fangs. Clytus’ limp body came to rest just short of the edge, yet his crossbow was not so lucky. It skated over the side of the cliff, taking with it a few loose stones and dirt.

A
gony racked Clytus Rillion anew as he crashed into the ground with more force than a battering ram smashing into a keep’s wall. He knew he was going to be launched over the cliff’s edge from the hard impact. For some reason, he did not. He found himself out of breath, his sight dimmed and filled with specks of light, and amazed that he still lay on solid ground.

Kicking himself into action, he rolled onto his back and struggled to rise to his feet—only his body would not comply. His chest, compressed by his smashed breastplate, sent a cough racking through his body. A spray of blood spewed from his lips—thick drops of gore mixed with a fine mist. Hundreds of dagger-like pains stabbing him all at once. Several of his ribs felt broken, and a mangle of bone jutted out of his flesh from under the massive dent that covered the entire width of his ruined breastplate.

The sun felt hot on his face. The wind cool over his skin. He stared up into the clear blue sky and gazed into its clarity. The pain in him withdrew. When a shadow slipped across his body, he saw the beauty of the Drakon for the first time. How the majestic beast soared over the cliff face, caught an updraft of wind—its thin, membrane-like wings filling and stretching—it danced with the clouds in a graceful loop. Hovering at the pinnacle of Clytus’ vision for a moment, the creature looked like a wondrously designed kite hovering at the end of a child’s string.

It crashed down upon him like an avalanche.

White-hot pain slashed through his left shoulder as claws ripped into his mail hauberk and sank deep into his flesh. He heard himself scream, and his eyes drew of their own accord to his mangled shoulder. Hot breath rippled over his face. The stench of death a week old penetrated his senses. Agony filled him as he turned his head to face his killer. The Drakon stared down at him. He forced himself to gaze deep into its black liquid eyes.

There, in its eyes, he saw… nothing.

No anger, nor pity. No remorse, nor hatred. It was just a beast, and he knew he was nothing more than prey to it. Its nostrils flared out as it looked down at him, tasting him by smell. He watched its lips slowly retreat, exposing endless rows of yellowish teeth. It swiftly raised its head and then snapped it forward, mouth fully extended for the final killing bite. Instinctively, Clytus brought his right arm up to cover his face. The arm took the full brunt of the blow. He screamed again as the fangs crushed down, snapping bone as if it were straw. He felt his body rise up—held down only by the beast’s great weight upon his chest. All at once, the flesh and tendons of his arm ripped away, leaving only a mangled stump were his arm had just been. Oddly, he felt no great amount of pain. It was as if he watched the events happen to another. The blood spewed from the stump below his shoulder, splashing across his chest and face. Even more poured from his body, spilling his life onto the ground.

A
rderi Cor stood motionless. His breath caught in his throat as Clytus came to a stop just short of the cliff’s edge. He exhaled only after the Commander rolled over.

Aye! He lives! Get up! Why does he not get up?

Yet, Clytus simply lay there as the Drakon flew out over the cliff, making a tight circle high in the air. Swooping back around, the cat-like creature smashed down onto Clytus, causing the man to release a scream that bit deep into Arderi’s core.

The beast squatted atop Clytus for what seemed like an eternity.

Something grabbed Arderi by the arm and shook him. “We have to run!” Fear plastered the young Shaper’s face. “We will be next!” Jintrill pulled Arderi, yet he shook free of the Sier’s grasp, and did not follow as Jintrill took a step deeper into the thin copse of trees they stood in.

Arderi looked after him backing away and almost laughed. Jintrill’s white face—void of any blood—would have been comical in another place, another time. Looking down, Arderi noticed the sword Jintrill still clutched in his hands, knuckles as white as his face.

Clytus’ sword. Dorochi.

Grasping the hilt, Arderi pushed Jintrill away as he drew it from its sheath. Stumbling back, barely keeping his feet, the Sier slammed into the tree behind him. “What are you doing?! You cannot kill that thing!”

Breaking from the cover of the tree line, Arderi burst from their hiding place and screamed as he raced at the Drakon, Clytus’ sword raised high, point down. He did not falter in his stride when the beast ripped off Clytus’ arm like a dog ripping meat from a discarded bone. He did not pause when blood, Clytus’ blood, spewed forth like a fountain to strike Arderi across his face. He did not hesitate as he ran at the Drakon, sword held in both hands above his head like a spear, and stabbed down with all his strength. He drove the point of Dorochi into the creatures shoulder.

The sword struck bone, slid to the side, and twisted from his grasp.

Arderi’s vision went black.