Read Online The Graveyard Shift by Brandon Meyers, Bryan Pedas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brandon Meyers, Bryan Pedas
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me where his two friends lay in eternal slumber.
I take another swig of wine, toss the now empty bottle over my shoulder, and creep to the top of the stairs. I’m expecting a war, but I find that the fortress appears empty.
Where is everyone else? I think, as I survey the lifeless den before me. This room alone is large enough to house fifty, and yet the straw beds lining the walls are all empty.
“Who else is here?” I demand. It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve done, but I’m greeted with nothing but silence. Where the hell is everyone?
I branch out into a hallway, which is also bare, and then round a corner. The next room yields nothing. Nor does an armory on the other side of that, or the pantry past that. I’m just waiting for someone to jump out at me, but nothing happens. I’m clenching my axe so hard I feel like I might break the handle.
Finally, as I round the next corner, I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps, and I see the edge of a cape at the end of the hall. I burst out into a sprint, and so does whomever I’m chasing, because those soft footfalls pick up into loud, frantic stomps. The corner leads to a set of spiral stairs, and as I begin to catch up I see black boots pounding the steps just ahead of me. The armor this one wears is special. It’s almost entirely made of bone plating, even his helmet, which is adorned in feathers and a set of elk antlers.
He’s their leader.
He glances back over his shoulder, and through the thinnest slit in his helmet I can make out a look of apprehension. It fuels me, and I can feel myself gaining on him, right as he steps up onto the fortress’s stone rooftop. There is hay up here, and bones, and bloodstains, and it doesn’t make sense until he glances back a second time and I see that the apprehension is gone.
From just ahead of him an enormous rust-colored eye flops open, and a skinny, cat-like pupil focuses in on me. It’s pitch black out here, with only the smattering of stars and a paper-thin crescent moon radiating the faintest of light, but even in the darkness I can see the piercing blue of the scales that ruffle loudly, and the long, giraffe like neck that propels the enormous eye skyward.
It’s a dragon, armored from head to foot in sapphire colored scales, and it’s the size of a small houseboat, which is fitting, because as it stands on its hind legs it spreads a pair of leathery wings that look like an enormous, fleshy white pair of sails. Tendrils of smoke plume from its nostrils, and it huffs loudly. It knows I’m an intruder. And so, as the Rohkai commander climbs atop its back, it’s already set in motion toward me.
With a bit of fast but clumsy footing I throw myself forward as a set of talons the size of hunting knives carve the air above my head. I’ve never fought a dragon this big before, and the only thing I can think to do is run. In the darkness I’m slipping on still-moist blood and stomping over bones that were once used as toothpicks, but that’s irrelevant to the claws that are so close to carving my spine that I can now feel the breeze on my back where my leather armor was sheared.
“You can’t hope to run from me,” the Rohkai commander says, with much satisfaction in his voice.
Up ahead is a set of wooden chairs and a table, against the northern wall where archers assemble. But my goal is not to seek refuge. My goal is to seek height. And so with my axe clenched tightly in both hands I lift off my feet, first climbing the chair, then stomping up onto the table, and then launching myself at the wall with my foot extended. When it reaches the wall and makes contact, I kick as hard as I can off of it, turn my body, and bring my axe up over my head.
It’s the first time I’ve seen the dragon face to face, and right now it’s swinging both of its arms toward me, only it wasn’t expecting my jump, so the talons go directly underneath me and send the table and the chairs tumbling over the side of the
I take another swig of wine, toss the now empty bottle over my shoulder, and creep to the top of the stairs. I’m expecting a war, but I find that the fortress appears empty.
Where is everyone else? I think, as I survey the lifeless den before me. This room alone is large enough to house fifty, and yet the straw beds lining the walls are all empty.
“Who else is here?” I demand. It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve done, but I’m greeted with nothing but silence. Where the hell is everyone?
I branch out into a hallway, which is also bare, and then round a corner. The next room yields nothing. Nor does an armory on the other side of that, or the pantry past that. I’m just waiting for someone to jump out at me, but nothing happens. I’m clenching my axe so hard I feel like I might break the handle.
Finally, as I round the next corner, I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps, and I see the edge of a cape at the end of the hall. I burst out into a sprint, and so does whomever I’m chasing, because those soft footfalls pick up into loud, frantic stomps. The corner leads to a set of spiral stairs, and as I begin to catch up I see black boots pounding the steps just ahead of me. The armor this one wears is special. It’s almost entirely made of bone plating, even his helmet, which is adorned in feathers and a set of elk antlers.
He’s their leader.
He glances back over his shoulder, and through the thinnest slit in his helmet I can make out a look of apprehension. It fuels me, and I can feel myself gaining on him, right as he steps up onto the fortress’s stone rooftop. There is hay up here, and bones, and bloodstains, and it doesn’t make sense until he glances back a second time and I see that the apprehension is gone.
From just ahead of him an enormous rust-colored eye flops open, and a skinny, cat-like pupil focuses in on me. It’s pitch black out here, with only the smattering of stars and a paper-thin crescent moon radiating the faintest of light, but even in the darkness I can see the piercing blue of the scales that ruffle loudly, and the long, giraffe like neck that propels the enormous eye skyward.
It’s a dragon, armored from head to foot in sapphire colored scales, and it’s the size of a small houseboat, which is fitting, because as it stands on its hind legs it spreads a pair of leathery wings that look like an enormous, fleshy white pair of sails. Tendrils of smoke plume from its nostrils, and it huffs loudly. It knows I’m an intruder. And so, as the Rohkai commander climbs atop its back, it’s already set in motion toward me.
With a bit of fast but clumsy footing I throw myself forward as a set of talons the size of hunting knives carve the air above my head. I’ve never fought a dragon this big before, and the only thing I can think to do is run. In the darkness I’m slipping on still-moist blood and stomping over bones that were once used as toothpicks, but that’s irrelevant to the claws that are so close to carving my spine that I can now feel the breeze on my back where my leather armor was sheared.
“You can’t hope to run from me,” the Rohkai commander says, with much satisfaction in his voice.
Up ahead is a set of wooden chairs and a table, against the northern wall where archers assemble. But my goal is not to seek refuge. My goal is to seek height. And so with my axe clenched tightly in both hands I lift off my feet, first climbing the chair, then stomping up onto the table, and then launching myself at the wall with my foot extended. When it reaches the wall and makes contact, I kick as hard as I can off of it, turn my body, and bring my axe up over my head.
It’s the first time I’ve seen the dragon face to face, and right now it’s swinging both of its arms toward me, only it wasn’t expecting my jump, so the talons go directly underneath me and send the table and the chairs tumbling over the side of the
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