witchlight hovered overhead long enough to illuminate the writhing forms of nibblers. Their gray scales were blackened and the stone around them boiled.
All of them were dead.
Stone crunched beneath a heavy weight and the trail trembled beneath Breton’s feet. Ferethian backed up the trail. Breton stumbled, but the stallion steadied him.
~Fool,~ a powerful presence trampled through Breton’s mind and drove away his ability to think.
A creature stepped out of the shadows. It stood on two stocky legs that were tipped in long, curved claws. A pair of slender, muscular arms dangled from its sides. The scales rippled and flexed as it reached out with its black talons. Breton sucked in a breath and held it. The creature didn’t have much of a neck. Instead its shoulders connected to a squared head set with beady eyes. Its maw opened to reveal jagged, black teeth.
The lashing motion of its tail was accompanied by the rasp of scale on scale.
Images flashed in front of Breton’s eyes and each one was accompanied by a hatred so deep that he had to fight against the urge to unsheathe his sword and strike out at someone. At anyone.
The Danarite stood in front of a roaring bonfire, while ancient words of a language long lost spilled from his lips. The red robes of the Priest glowed. From the flames stepped a creature of darkness that consumed the light. The image faded and was replaced by the memory of the man sleeping on his bedroom within the niche.
An eerie sound filled Breton’s head and ears. It was a hiss, but one so high-pitched that it lanced through his head and made his ears ring.
The nibblers came at the call, and one by one, they descended upon the helpless Danarite.
Breton shuddered, but the presence wasn’t finished with him yet.
He couldn’t tell if the proud creature was a deer or a horse. A pair of large, feathered wings stretched out, revealing a leathery membrane beneath. Sunlight reflected from the golden scales covering its lithe body. Tufts of silver, gold, and white fur stuck out between the scales. Its hocks were feathered, and the hairs glinted with the same luster of metal. Instead of a nose, it had a curved beak. Crimson sunbursts, each with a central stone of blue, patterned its hide.
Its eyes were the color of ice, and as vibrant as the winter sky.
They were the same color as Kalen’s eyes.
Ferethian’s challenging scream roused Breton. The stallion was no longer with him. The Rift King’s horse had been driven back, but whether by the putrid stench of the creature that towered over him or for some other reason, Breton wasn’t certain. He froze. The thing stood so tall over him that all he could make out was a block, square jaw and uneven rows of black-coated and gleaming teeth. Saliva dripped from the open maw and dissolved through the stone at its feet.
“Move, Breton!” Artin let out several curses.
~Eldest,~ the being demanded. Breton wanted to run, to dive out of its way, but his body refused to obey.
The image of the glowing and beautiful form once again drove away Breton’s every thought. The word was a command, a yearning, and a need.
It was a cry for freedom.
The creature lowered its head and breathed into Breton’s face. Spittle hit his cheek and it burned. Smoke rose from the wound and stung his eyes. Its tongue was thick, but the very tip was thin, narrow, and fluttered from side to side as it tasted the air, just like a serpent’s.
~Hunger,~ it said.
Breton staggered back a pace and gasped for air. The first thought he could muster was so unreasonable and foolish that he laughed.
“So eat.”Breton doubted he’d be much more than an appetizer for the creature. Even if he drew his sword, he suspected it’d be destroyed just as Kalen’s had been.
Had Kalen somehow faced off against the creature? How had he escaped?
Breton shivered. There was nowhere to run. If he stepped back any farther, he’d fall from the ledge. It didn’t matter if he ran up or
August P. W.; Cole Singer