Read Online The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard by David Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: David Adams
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wyvern could reach him. It pulled up and soared skyward, letting out a short cry of frustration.
“Be ready!” Demetrius shouted across the open area.
Corson waved his sword to show that he was, then pressed close to the nearest tree.
The wyvern sailed overhead twice more, its dark eyes glistening in the last light of day as it searched for its prey. On the third pass it settled into the opening, its wings remaining spread as it screamed at Demetrius. If it thought to intimidate him, it must have been disappointed.
“I don’t suppose you have the wit to speak the common tongue,” Demetrius said to it. He stood casually between two trees, making himself plainly visible, but his muscles were tensed and ready to spring at any time.
The beast snorted and squawked in reply, then moved forward, bobbing up and down as it walked on its short, thin legs. It kept its head high, and waving back and forth behind it was the large stinger. Demetrius thought the stinger might kill him even if it held no poison, such was its size.
Corson moved out from under the shelter of the trees, advancing slowly. He wasn’t sure when he should strike, but he knew when the time came the window of opportunity would be small. He glanced at the ground beneath him, fearful of the dried twig or leaf that might give him away. After a dozen steps he knew he was committed. If the wyvern turned on him now he would have to fight.
Demetrius saw Corson coming and kept up the banter to hold the wyvern’s attention. As it moved closer he found it harder to hold his ground, and as its head lowered he could only hope that it had no breath weapon, unlike its cousins, the dragons.
The wyvern’s eyes flashed to Demetrius’ sword and then back to his face. It bellowed another challenge, then coiled itself for a strike.
Demetrius could see it coming and prepared to spring aside. “Now,” he thought, willing Corson to swift action, but not wanting to shout the word for fear he would give his friend away.
Corson continued to close the gap, but when the wyvern paused, he did not interpret it as preparation for an attack, and fearing even the sound of a footfall, he froze. The wyvern then sprang forward, and as it did so it was completely out of his reach.
Demetrius lunged aside at the first sign of movement, but the creature was much faster than he anticipated. Its head rammed into his ribs, flinging him in a different direction from his initial leap. He slammed into a tree, his head and legs snapping back as his back absorbed the blow. He fell to the ground, breathless.
The wyvern was big, but with its wings in it could move easily enough in the woods, its body more like that of a thick snake. The momentum of its charge carried it beyond Demetrius’ prone form, but it quickly gathered itself and spun about, its talons finding easy purchase in the soft soil.
Corson was too far away to reach his friend before the wyvern, so he did the only thing he could—he screamed and charged.
The distraction may have saved Demetrius. The wyvern looked up at the shout, then snapped its tail about, trying to impale Demetrius against the tree. Instead it found only bark and wood, as its mark had been able to roll away when it hesitated.
Demetrius, still trying to fill his lungs with air, managed to bring his sword down toward the wyvern’s tail. But he, too, was late. The wyvern pulled free a split second before the blow fell, pieces of wood flying as it tore its stinger loose from the tree. Demetrius saw the hole and realized with a sinking feeling that it had nearly been made in his chest.
Corson’s charge may have saved his friend, but it was reckless. Once the wyvern freed its tail it continued the motion, swinging the stinger at Corson. He had only one choice if he wanted to avoid it—he slid to the ground. His momentum carried him under the beast and he lifted his sword to try to skewer it.
Again the wyvern was faster. It brought a powerful talon down,
“Be ready!” Demetrius shouted across the open area.
Corson waved his sword to show that he was, then pressed close to the nearest tree.
The wyvern sailed overhead twice more, its dark eyes glistening in the last light of day as it searched for its prey. On the third pass it settled into the opening, its wings remaining spread as it screamed at Demetrius. If it thought to intimidate him, it must have been disappointed.
“I don’t suppose you have the wit to speak the common tongue,” Demetrius said to it. He stood casually between two trees, making himself plainly visible, but his muscles were tensed and ready to spring at any time.
The beast snorted and squawked in reply, then moved forward, bobbing up and down as it walked on its short, thin legs. It kept its head high, and waving back and forth behind it was the large stinger. Demetrius thought the stinger might kill him even if it held no poison, such was its size.
Corson moved out from under the shelter of the trees, advancing slowly. He wasn’t sure when he should strike, but he knew when the time came the window of opportunity would be small. He glanced at the ground beneath him, fearful of the dried twig or leaf that might give him away. After a dozen steps he knew he was committed. If the wyvern turned on him now he would have to fight.
Demetrius saw Corson coming and kept up the banter to hold the wyvern’s attention. As it moved closer he found it harder to hold his ground, and as its head lowered he could only hope that it had no breath weapon, unlike its cousins, the dragons.
The wyvern’s eyes flashed to Demetrius’ sword and then back to his face. It bellowed another challenge, then coiled itself for a strike.
Demetrius could see it coming and prepared to spring aside. “Now,” he thought, willing Corson to swift action, but not wanting to shout the word for fear he would give his friend away.
Corson continued to close the gap, but when the wyvern paused, he did not interpret it as preparation for an attack, and fearing even the sound of a footfall, he froze. The wyvern then sprang forward, and as it did so it was completely out of his reach.
Demetrius lunged aside at the first sign of movement, but the creature was much faster than he anticipated. Its head rammed into his ribs, flinging him in a different direction from his initial leap. He slammed into a tree, his head and legs snapping back as his back absorbed the blow. He fell to the ground, breathless.
The wyvern was big, but with its wings in it could move easily enough in the woods, its body more like that of a thick snake. The momentum of its charge carried it beyond Demetrius’ prone form, but it quickly gathered itself and spun about, its talons finding easy purchase in the soft soil.
Corson was too far away to reach his friend before the wyvern, so he did the only thing he could—he screamed and charged.
The distraction may have saved Demetrius. The wyvern looked up at the shout, then snapped its tail about, trying to impale Demetrius against the tree. Instead it found only bark and wood, as its mark had been able to roll away when it hesitated.
Demetrius, still trying to fill his lungs with air, managed to bring his sword down toward the wyvern’s tail. But he, too, was late. The wyvern pulled free a split second before the blow fell, pieces of wood flying as it tore its stinger loose from the tree. Demetrius saw the hole and realized with a sinking feeling that it had nearly been made in his chest.
Corson’s charge may have saved his friend, but it was reckless. Once the wyvern freed its tail it continued the motion, swinging the stinger at Corson. He had only one choice if he wanted to avoid it—he slid to the ground. His momentum carried him under the beast and he lifted his sword to try to skewer it.
Again the wyvern was faster. It brought a powerful talon down,
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