Read Online The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard by David Adams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Adams
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pinning Corson’s sword to the ground. It swung its tail up and then drove it down.
Corson twisted to one side, wrenching his shoulder. The stinger kicked up a spray of dirt as it tore into the ground, inches from Corson’s chest.
The stinger lifted up, paused, then whistled back down. Then it was gone, along with half the tail
Demetrius dropped to one knee while his bloody sword fell by his side.
The wyvern lifted its head straight up and let out a shrill scream. It swatted at Demetrius with a wing, the cartilage and leathery membrane enough to knock him face down on the ground. In its pain and rage it moved to finish the fallen man, to beat and rend with talons and beak.
The wyvern’s first move at Demetrius freed Corson’s arm. He did not give it the chance to make another, plunging his sword up to its hilt in the creature’s soft underside. He held fast while the wyvern wailed and thrashed for a moment, and considered himself fortunate that its strength faded quickly. It slumped aside, twitching once, and died.
Corson switched hands, pulled the sword out of the beast’s belly, then let the weapon lay where it was. He scrambled over to Demetrius, relieved to see the rise and fall of his chest. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he gently rolled his friend over.
Blood coated his arm and half his face. Demetrius opened his eyes and recognized the look of sorrow and resignation on Corson’s face. He smiled weakly and spoke with some difficulty. “Blood’s from the wyvern. Not going to die just yet.”
“You saved my life,” Corson said. “Again.”
“We saved each other.”
“I was too slow. I should have—”
Demetrius raised a shaking hand. “We can debate tactics later. We need to move on, before the others return.”
Corson drew in a quick breath to settle himself, then asked, “Can you walk?”
“Have to.”
Corson collected the swords and put them in their scabbards after wiping the blood off as best he could on the ground. He dropped to one knee to help Demetrius up with his good arm.
Demetrius noticed his friend wince at the effort. “You’re hurting, too.”
“Twisted my shoulder a bit is all. I’ll be fine.”
They hobbled away as quickly as they could, each with an ear and an eye alert for signs of the remaining two predators. Full night was upon them, and they welcomed its shroud.
They covered the first half-mile as swiftly as they could, but Corson knew the wyverns could cover the same distance in a fraction of the time. He glanced at Demetrius, worried about his labored breathing, and thought he saw a thin line of blood at the corner of his mouth. “We should rest a bit,” he suggested.
“Not yet,” Demetrius wheezed. “Still too close.”
He knew better than to argue with his friend and captain, even in his current state, but he set a limit in his own mind. Another mile at most and they would stop, no matter what.
They stumbled on, trees looming up like phantoms before them, silent sentinels marking their slow progress. The night was eerily quiet, and their footfalls and heavy breathing seemed to echo far too loudly.
Demetrius lost his footing, and as he stumbled his momentum nearly carried both he and Corson to the ground.
“Steady,” Corson said, regaining balance for both of them. “We can rest soon.”
Demetrius tried to smile but winced instead. He drew air into his lungs in irregular, ragged draughts.
“We’ll find a nice spot, and then—”
A piercing shriek rent the air, causing them to freeze and hold their breath. As far as they had gone—and as much as they had toiled to come this far—the cry sounded far too close.
“Keep moving,” Demetrius finally gasped.
Corson pulled him along a few steps, and then stopped with a sigh. “No,” he said, gently. He lowered Demetrius into a sitting position against the nearest tree. “If they can track us, they’ll catch us soon enough. We can’t outrun them in our current condition. May as well
Corson twisted to one side, wrenching his shoulder. The stinger kicked up a spray of dirt as it tore into the ground, inches from Corson’s chest.
The stinger lifted up, paused, then whistled back down. Then it was gone, along with half the tail
Demetrius dropped to one knee while his bloody sword fell by his side.
The wyvern lifted its head straight up and let out a shrill scream. It swatted at Demetrius with a wing, the cartilage and leathery membrane enough to knock him face down on the ground. In its pain and rage it moved to finish the fallen man, to beat and rend with talons and beak.
The wyvern’s first move at Demetrius freed Corson’s arm. He did not give it the chance to make another, plunging his sword up to its hilt in the creature’s soft underside. He held fast while the wyvern wailed and thrashed for a moment, and considered himself fortunate that its strength faded quickly. It slumped aside, twitching once, and died.
Corson switched hands, pulled the sword out of the beast’s belly, then let the weapon lay where it was. He scrambled over to Demetrius, relieved to see the rise and fall of his chest. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he gently rolled his friend over.
Blood coated his arm and half his face. Demetrius opened his eyes and recognized the look of sorrow and resignation on Corson’s face. He smiled weakly and spoke with some difficulty. “Blood’s from the wyvern. Not going to die just yet.”
“You saved my life,” Corson said. “Again.”
“We saved each other.”
“I was too slow. I should have—”
Demetrius raised a shaking hand. “We can debate tactics later. We need to move on, before the others return.”
Corson drew in a quick breath to settle himself, then asked, “Can you walk?”
“Have to.”
Corson collected the swords and put them in their scabbards after wiping the blood off as best he could on the ground. He dropped to one knee to help Demetrius up with his good arm.
Demetrius noticed his friend wince at the effort. “You’re hurting, too.”
“Twisted my shoulder a bit is all. I’ll be fine.”
They hobbled away as quickly as they could, each with an ear and an eye alert for signs of the remaining two predators. Full night was upon them, and they welcomed its shroud.
They covered the first half-mile as swiftly as they could, but Corson knew the wyverns could cover the same distance in a fraction of the time. He glanced at Demetrius, worried about his labored breathing, and thought he saw a thin line of blood at the corner of his mouth. “We should rest a bit,” he suggested.
“Not yet,” Demetrius wheezed. “Still too close.”
He knew better than to argue with his friend and captain, even in his current state, but he set a limit in his own mind. Another mile at most and they would stop, no matter what.
They stumbled on, trees looming up like phantoms before them, silent sentinels marking their slow progress. The night was eerily quiet, and their footfalls and heavy breathing seemed to echo far too loudly.
Demetrius lost his footing, and as he stumbled his momentum nearly carried both he and Corson to the ground.
“Steady,” Corson said, regaining balance for both of them. “We can rest soon.”
Demetrius tried to smile but winced instead. He drew air into his lungs in irregular, ragged draughts.
“We’ll find a nice spot, and then—”
A piercing shriek rent the air, causing them to freeze and hold their breath. As far as they had gone—and as much as they had toiled to come this far—the cry sounded far too close.
“Keep moving,” Demetrius finally gasped.
Corson pulled him along a few steps, and then stopped with a sigh. “No,” he said, gently. He lowered Demetrius into a sitting position against the nearest tree. “If they can track us, they’ll catch us soon enough. We can’t outrun them in our current condition. May as well
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