47. You got the wrong guy
47
You got the wrong guy
Talon
I held my sword tightly in my hand and stepped onto the path that led up to the tower. This close, I could even make out the moss that clung to the side.
I had waited for a while, watching, but nothing had stirred besides the tower. So, I pressed forward, silent but very exposed in the wide courtyard. The wind blew through the clearing that lay between me and the tower, stirring leaves along the ground.
Continuing on, I watched the sides, waiting.
A growl came from my left, and it was quickly joined by others until the noise seemed to come from all around me, echoing off the weather stones. I stopped as massive direwolves emerged from the shadows, hackles raised.
They were huge—big as horses—with eyes of green fire. Their fur was patchy and showed bony frames; these were creatures made with necromancy, twisted into new life .
I was frozen in place. These were the same creatures that had shredded my wings and butchered my family. One of them stepped on a twig, and the sound of it snapping was enough to launch my brain back into action.
I broke into a retreat, my feet pounding on the cracked stones. The wolves snarled, leaping towards me for an attack. I needed to get close enough to jump up on the roof of one of the buildings.
I was ten feet from being able to make it, now five, but they were too fast. Teeth snapped at my heels. I turned, extending my wings and holding out my sword, roaring at the pack. They pranced back, growling and snapping their teeth.
Taking two steps back, I held their gazes, hoping their hesitation would last long enough to let me get away.
When I glanced back, trying to see where my escape route was, one broke their line, leaping at me.
I was thrown to the ground and had seconds to bar its mouth with my sword, stopping the snapping, yellowed fangs from sinking into my flesh. It growled, pushing forward, and I lashed out with the barb on my tail, stabbing the creature in the side. It lost its footing, and I took advantage of the opportunity, throwing it off me. It was quickly replaced by two more.
As another pounced, I ducked, rolling forwards and swiping up blindly. Another crashed into me, and I used a blast of fire, pushing the wolves back. I twisted, pushing off with my wing and arm to propel myself upright.
I fought hard, sweating and striking where I could. One beast fell, but another got my arm in its jaws, and another my wing. The feeling of fangs in my flesh, on my bone, brought back vivid memories, flooding me with fear. The pain was burning, intense. I was once again ten years old, thrashing with my father’s sword as my mother and sister were torn to shreds. I was panicking, losing any sense of focus or strategy. They were dragging me along the ground as I struggled. My sword caught on something I couldn't see and was wrenched from my grip, clattering away from me with the last of my hope. They weren’t killing me; they were taking me towards the door of the tower.
Shit. I shouldn’t have come.
I heard a scraping noise, an ancient protest as swollen wood and rusted hinges were forced to move.
My mind was a blur of pain and panic, the tower looming overhead. The wolves let go, and cold hands grabbed my shoulder and hauled me inside.
I struggled, but I was cast aside, the pain shooting through my damaged wing almost crippling me.
A figure with flowing hair and a crimson robe slammed the door closed, setting a heavy bolt in place.
Cassandra turned to me, a triumphant smile on her face.