Read Online The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard by David Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Adams
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stand and fight.”
“I’m slowing you down,” Demetrius said. “You go on.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“That’s an order.”
“Then you can charge me with insubordination when this is all over.”
Demetrius beckoned him closer, then took hold of his arm. “I do not doubt your courage or your friendship,” he whispered between uneven breaths. “But one of us must reach our people and call them to arms. The fate of our world may depend on it.”
“Demetrius, I—”
“If we both die here, Arkania dies with us.”
Corson shook his head.
Demetrius drew his sword. “I will defend myself if I must. They may miss me altogether.”
“I can’t leave you here, not like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
Demetrius turned the sword about so the point pressed against his own belly. “If I’m dead by my own hand, then you will go.”
“You wouldn’t,” Corson said, but he could not keep the slight tremble out of his voice.
“Only if you make me.”
“You are the most stubborn man I ever met. Why I call you ‘friend’ is beyond me.”
“It is more than I deserve.”
Corson pushed the sword aside and embraced his friend. “Be safe. I’ll be back with help as soon as I can.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Demetrius watched him go, waving weakly as Corson took one last look over his shoulder. Once alone, he readied his sword. He had no hope of killing either wyvern if they found him, or even of doing much damage, but he would give his weapon at least one chance to bite at his enemy before he succumbed. His wait to see what might happen was brief.
A shadowy form came crashing through the brush, sniffing the ground and air. A dozen feet away from him it pulled up, spreading its wings in a symbolic gesture of power.
“Don’t preen for me,” Demetrius spat, his voice far too weak for his own liking. “If you want me, come take me.” He wanted to stand, but his muscles betrayed him. It was all he could do to lift the sword.
The wyvern seemed to understand its advantage, but also to recognize the sharpened steel in Demetrius’ hand. It moved a bit closer, then coiled to strike, its eyes boring into its intended victim.
Demetrius let out a slow breath, shuddered, and then lowered his sword, as if giving in to fate. But his eyes were just as sharp as the wyvern’s, and they never left the creature.
The beast shot forward and the sword swung up. Too late the beast saw its mistake. The sword pierced its breast and exited its back. Before it could bring its tail or head to bear on its tormentor, another sword flashed twice, severing each end of it in turn.
As the wyvern fell aside, Demetrius saw Corson standing there. “You never left.”
Corson shook his head. “Just waited in the shadows. If you want to bait the trap, fine, but I’ll not leave you to die here. And let’s not rehash the argument again. Besides, we’ve taken two down now. If the other tries us, it could meet the same fate.”
“Help me up,” said Demetrius. “Logical arguments are lost on you. I give up.”
Corson laughed. “You’ve known me long enough to know logic is wasted on me. Glad you’ve accepted reality.”
As they moved off, Corson said, “You were baiting it, weren’t you? Playing half-dead so it would get reckless.”
Demetrius nodded once. “I feel half-dead, but I was trying to get it to lower its guard. Still, I owe you my life, again.”
“Seems to me you stuck it pretty well.”
“And it would have died eventually from the wound, I’d wager, but not right away. Not before introducing me to that tail or those talons.”
“Well, it’s good—”
Something rustled the trees behind and above them. They just started to turn when they were knocked to the ground by a blow from behind. Each rolled and tried to assume a defensive posture.
The third wyvern stood over them, wings half-spread, mouth open, poised to pounce. But it looked oddly still, like it was a statue
“I’m slowing you down,” Demetrius said. “You go on.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“That’s an order.”
“Then you can charge me with insubordination when this is all over.”
Demetrius beckoned him closer, then took hold of his arm. “I do not doubt your courage or your friendship,” he whispered between uneven breaths. “But one of us must reach our people and call them to arms. The fate of our world may depend on it.”
“Demetrius, I—”
“If we both die here, Arkania dies with us.”
Corson shook his head.
Demetrius drew his sword. “I will defend myself if I must. They may miss me altogether.”
“I can’t leave you here, not like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
Demetrius turned the sword about so the point pressed against his own belly. “If I’m dead by my own hand, then you will go.”
“You wouldn’t,” Corson said, but he could not keep the slight tremble out of his voice.
“Only if you make me.”
“You are the most stubborn man I ever met. Why I call you ‘friend’ is beyond me.”
“It is more than I deserve.”
Corson pushed the sword aside and embraced his friend. “Be safe. I’ll be back with help as soon as I can.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Demetrius watched him go, waving weakly as Corson took one last look over his shoulder. Once alone, he readied his sword. He had no hope of killing either wyvern if they found him, or even of doing much damage, but he would give his weapon at least one chance to bite at his enemy before he succumbed. His wait to see what might happen was brief.
A shadowy form came crashing through the brush, sniffing the ground and air. A dozen feet away from him it pulled up, spreading its wings in a symbolic gesture of power.
“Don’t preen for me,” Demetrius spat, his voice far too weak for his own liking. “If you want me, come take me.” He wanted to stand, but his muscles betrayed him. It was all he could do to lift the sword.
The wyvern seemed to understand its advantage, but also to recognize the sharpened steel in Demetrius’ hand. It moved a bit closer, then coiled to strike, its eyes boring into its intended victim.
Demetrius let out a slow breath, shuddered, and then lowered his sword, as if giving in to fate. But his eyes were just as sharp as the wyvern’s, and they never left the creature.
The beast shot forward and the sword swung up. Too late the beast saw its mistake. The sword pierced its breast and exited its back. Before it could bring its tail or head to bear on its tormentor, another sword flashed twice, severing each end of it in turn.
As the wyvern fell aside, Demetrius saw Corson standing there. “You never left.”
Corson shook his head. “Just waited in the shadows. If you want to bait the trap, fine, but I’ll not leave you to die here. And let’s not rehash the argument again. Besides, we’ve taken two down now. If the other tries us, it could meet the same fate.”
“Help me up,” said Demetrius. “Logical arguments are lost on you. I give up.”
Corson laughed. “You’ve known me long enough to know logic is wasted on me. Glad you’ve accepted reality.”
As they moved off, Corson said, “You were baiting it, weren’t you? Playing half-dead so it would get reckless.”
Demetrius nodded once. “I feel half-dead, but I was trying to get it to lower its guard. Still, I owe you my life, again.”
“Seems to me you stuck it pretty well.”
“And it would have died eventually from the wound, I’d wager, but not right away. Not before introducing me to that tail or those talons.”
“Well, it’s good—”
Something rustled the trees behind and above them. They just started to turn when they were knocked to the ground by a blow from behind. Each rolled and tried to assume a defensive posture.
The third wyvern stood over them, wings half-spread, mouth open, poised to pounce. But it looked oddly still, like it was a statue
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