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She swayed in her saddle, wanting to vomit, and Gareth was beside her in an instant, steadying her with a firm hand. When the tide of nausea ebbed, she fought for her voice. “What-what did that to him?”
Gareth shook his head.
“There!” cried one of the other Knights. He stabbed a finger skyward.
They turned to look, squinting against the slashing rain. At first, Ilista saw nothing amid the darkness, but then a flash lit the sky and there was something there, silhouetted against the coruscating clouds: a huge, serpentine shape thirty feet long from its head to the tip of its tail. It flew on broad, leathery wings, its body twisting as it banked high above them. Thick, stone-grey scales covered the rest, pale as death on its underbelly. Long, wickedly curving horns swept back from its head, and its narrow eyes gleamed green. Fangs the length of a man’s hand filled its snarling mouth, and its dangling legs sported talons like scythe blades. At the end of its tail was a wicked, bony barb. Its mouth stretched wide, and a shriek like tearing metal rose above the storm’s din-then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, wheeling and disappearing back into the clouds.
“Palado Calib,” Ilista croaked. “Was that a dragon?”
Gareth shook his head. “No, Your Grace-the dragons are gone from the world, as the legends say. That was a wyvern.”
Ilista had heard tales of wyverns. They were kin to the long-vanished dragons, but were smaller and much more stupid, though every bit as cruel as the wyrms that had once filled Kry
The Knights cried out again, and sure enough, a second wyvern swooped out of the clouds. This one’s scales glistened black, but other than that it resembled its brother in every way. There was something odd about it, though, Ilista noticed- something in the way it moved. It struggled rather than soared, moving slowly, jerkily.
“Huma’s silver arm,” Sir Gareth swore. “It’s carrying something.”
Lightning blazed, and they saw it: another young Knight clasped in its claws, arms and legs dangling. As they looked on, the monster’s tail shot down, driving its stinger into the man’s body. Then it pulled up, opening its talons and letting the remains plunge earthward like a giantling’s discarded toy. The body smacked into a cliff face, then rolled down in a tumult of stones and broken bones until it stopped, tangled in a mass of Hangman’s Snare.
High above, the black wyvern screeched, tucked in its wings, and dove.
Ilista watched in sickened fascination as it plunged straight toward her, its mouth a forest of fangs, its eyes blazing orange. Her mace fell, u
The mare leaped forward at once, plunging down the path with Ilista clinging to the reins. Glancing back, she saw Gareth dashing toward his stallion, sword flashing in his hand. The wyvern was too fast, though, and he had to throw himself on the ground, rolling over and over as its talons clutched at the air, missing him. Instead, it snatched up his steed and lifted it off the ground, beating its wings furiously as it fought to rise.
The horses were all wailing with terror, but Gareth’s screamed loudest of all, struggling mightily as the black-scaled monster bore it away. Its stinger drove into the horse’s flesh once, twice, three times, then the animal gave one last thrash and sagged, twitching. Gareth struggled to his feet, stu
There was shouting now from the hillside. Several men were scrambling down the slope-the Knights, or what remained of them, five now instead often. Sir Jurabin limped behind the rest, his right leg ripped bloody, scowling against the pain as he stumbled and nearly fell.
Another cry sounded from above, and Jurabin turned toward a third wyvern-this one the color of rust-as it bore down on him. A lesser man would have fled from such a sight, but Jurabin was a Solamnic Knight and trained to meet an honorable death. Bracing himself, he brandished his blade and faced down the beast. Ilista, Gareth, and his fellows could only watch as the monster swooped in.
It hit him hard, claws furrowing his armor, spattering blood across the stones. Somehow, though, the brave Knight didn’t drop his sword, even as it lifted him off his feet; instead he stabbed wildly, the beast’s scales turning away his blade once… twice…
The third mad thrust drove home, as Jurabin buried his blade into the flesh beneath its wing. The wyvern’s triumphant cry became a shriek of pain, and it wavered, sinking as the Knight managed to twist the sword, working it deeper. Finally, it stung him and let him go-and his sword snapped, leaving two feet of steel lodged in its flesh.
Jurabin was dead before he hit the ground. The wyvern, however, had a moment of struggle before it plummeted as well, crunching down atop a broad, flat boulder. The surviving Knights cheered at its death, but Sir Gareth shouted them down, waving his sword at the sky. Dista looked up, and her mouth went dry. Five more wyverns circled overhead.
“Ride!” Gareth roared. “Ride, all of you!”
Ilista was already moving, digging her heels into her horse’s flanks. It hurled itself down the pass, terrified by the storm and the smell of blood, leaping recklessly over stones and bracken alike. She heard the rumble of hoofs behind her as the Knights charged after. She pulled on her reins to let them catch up, but the panicking mare wouldn’t slow. All she could do was hold on and pray as the horse flew down the trail.
She heard a wyvern shriek above her and looked up to see one of them bank and begin its dive, streaking straight toward her. It was the same gray beast she’d first spotted, its eyes blazing and jaws agape. Its talons and stinger glistened red. Gareth was bellowing in Solamnic somewhere behind her, but the wyvern paid no notice, arrowing toward her-the one unarmored morsel in the lot. She threw herself forward, flattening herself against the mare’s neck and laughing madly. She’d been afraid of goblins!
Her breath blasted from her lungs when the beast struck, and for an instant there was no sound but a howling roar, no sight but red mist, no taste but blood in her mouth, no feeling at all. Then she came back to herself, and the pain came with it, her shoulder bathed in liquid fire where the wyvern’s claws grazed her, plunging through skin, sinew, and bone alike. The other talon missed her flesh altogether, snagging her robes instead and clutching her. She felt herself lifted in the air. She stared at the ground as it fell away beneath her, her stomach lurching. There was Gareth, gazing up at her in horror, there were his Knights, mouths agape. She tried to call out to them, but it hurt too much to draw breath.
The wyvern wheeled, and her companions disappeared from view. She rose higher and higher, the wyvern soaring toward the raging stormclouds, and Ilista closed her eyes, waiting for the stinger to strike, the burning poison in her veins. Please, she prayed silently, let death be quick.
The stinger didn’t strike. Instead, there was a deafening boom, and the wyvern lurched sideways, jarring her and sending fresh spikes of pain through her body.