ysabara
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- Joined
- Jun 24, 2007
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here's a piece from one of the stories I am working on. Any comments will be graciously received 
Luis raised his sword level with his chest. His arm was shaking, the muscles crimping in sharp tremors. The hilt felt sticky in his fingers, blood and sweat mingling to make his grip uncertain. The Wyr watched him with unblinking yellow eyes. He tried to blot out the memory of Santiago’s torn throat, the bloody ruin of Barez’s chest. The beast opened its jaws in a red and white grin and turned away.
They’re playing with us, Luis thought numbly, dragging it out. The sheer weight of numbers would overwhelm them in the end. There must have been half a hundred corpses littering the clearing and still they came. He cast a quick glance to either side. On his right Ross and Miguel de Lutz were still standing. To his left the Bar-Captain and Dominic. The front of Diego’s uniform was rent and bloody. He swayed on his feet, a fixed glassy look on his face. De Lutz’s thigh was bleeding heavily. We’re going to die.
The Wyr had begun their intricate dance again. Luis watched, trying to catch his breath, to prepare himself for the inevitable next onslaught. Half a dozen broke from the pack, attempting to circle behind the fire. More sidled to the left and to the right isolating Cabrini and de Lutz, ignoring the others. Ross adjusted his blade, bringing it down in a slashing motion across the neck of one of the Wyr. The animal snapped frantically at his hand as he lifted his sword and rammed the point into the back of its skull. Ross dragged the blade out and whirled to chop at another Wyr who was harrying de Lutz. Hampered by his thigh injury the other man had lost mobility and was being forced to swing and jab wildly at the Wyr who surrounded him.
From the corner of his eye Luis saw Dominic move to assist Ross and de Lutz. A Wyr cut across his path. Dominic thrust his sword at its face. The beast dropped onto its belly and Dominic over balanced and stumbled, dropping his weapon. There was a hoarse scream and de Lutz went down under a combined attack. Ross stood above him stabbing his sword over and over into the bodies of the Wyr that were savaging the fallen man. It did not deter them. Where one fell another darted in to take its place. Luis shuddered when they eventually pulled away and he saw what remained of Miguel de Lutz.
The Wyr moved back again, watching. Ross stood above de Lutz’s mangled corpse his sword bloody from hilt to tip. Luis was beset by the sudden desperate urge to throw down his sword and run screaming into the Wyr pack. Do it! Just do it now! Kill me.
The pack waited. Ross sucked in a shuddering breath. Dominic had clambered back onto his feet but hadn’t bothered to retrieve his fallen sword. Diego stood blank faced and swaying. A faint breeze wafted across the clearing stirring the scent of ash and blood and human and animal entrails. A presence insinuated itself against their skins like a chill mist.
Chosen.
In Luis’ gut a fist closed then sprang open again. He doubled over gasping at the pain. Before his eyes a long red wound seemed to open up across his belly. As suddenly as it had appeared the wound vanished again but the sensation of something barbed remained. A hook constructed of longing and desire. A need to go. To be somewhere. Luis straightened and dropped his sword. He began to walk toward the Wyr pack. Dominic moved to his side. A glance at his face showed Luis an expression of calm acceptance. Behind him shuffled Diego, surely more dead than alive. They walked forward and the pack slid apart and then reformed with them in the centre.
“What the f**k are you doing?”
Ross’s voice, hoarse and desperate. Luis stopped and turned back. Ross still held his sword in a rigid grip. He was shuddering violently. Luis could see that he was fighting against the compulsion that had overtaken the other men. The strain was written across his face. He had bitten through his lip; there was blood trickling down his chin. The presence, the wanting stroked against Luis’ flesh again.
Chosen, it said. And then,stubborn.
From beyond the darkness a new Wyr emerged, half as large again as any they had seen so far. Its pelt was a pale cinnamon colour, its eyes blue as a summer sky. Beneath its fur the muscles bunched and slithered like clouds fleeing a storm. It came to a halt before Ross and tipped its great head to one side. Ross’ sword wavered madly as his arm shook. He placed his right hand over his left in an attempt to give it some stability. The Wyr’s jaw lolled open. It sank back on its haunches.
“I know what you are, you motherf****r.”
The sword was swinging in a ragged arc from side to side. Luis could see sweat darkening the fair hair at Ross’ temples, gleaming in the hollow of his throat. Luis couldn’t understand why Ross was fighting. In the end there was no choice. There was just the wanting, the having to be somewhere that was not here.
The Wyr sank back onto its haunches. Then in a movement too quick to follow it sprang. Ross instinctively flung up his left arm to shield his face and the Wyr wrapped its jaws around his wrist and dragged him onto his knees. Luis heard the bones crack. The sword fell to the ground. The great Wyr dragged Ross across the clearing by his arm as though he was a child. Once Luis would have been ecstatic to see Ross Cabrini on his knees in the dirt. Now he was strangely dispassionate. We have to go. Now.
The Wyr released Ross’ arm and he lay at Luis feet dragging in sharp little breaths. He cradled his broken arm in his other hand and his face was the colour of bone.
Chosen. Come. Come now.
Dominic reached down and helped Ross to stand. The Wyr milled around their legs rubbing against them like dogs. Then as one, Wyr and men, they turned and began to head east.
“Where are we going?” Luis asked.
Dominic tipped his head back and stared up at the fading stars. “Home,” he whispered.
Seivilla? A desperate longing for his father’s estate swept over Luis. The hook gouged a channel of pain in his belly. No. Not Seivilla. Luis knew what Ross Cabrini was going to say before he spoke.
Brasada………
Luis raised his sword level with his chest. His arm was shaking, the muscles crimping in sharp tremors. The hilt felt sticky in his fingers, blood and sweat mingling to make his grip uncertain. The Wyr watched him with unblinking yellow eyes. He tried to blot out the memory of Santiago’s torn throat, the bloody ruin of Barez’s chest. The beast opened its jaws in a red and white grin and turned away.
They’re playing with us, Luis thought numbly, dragging it out. The sheer weight of numbers would overwhelm them in the end. There must have been half a hundred corpses littering the clearing and still they came. He cast a quick glance to either side. On his right Ross and Miguel de Lutz were still standing. To his left the Bar-Captain and Dominic. The front of Diego’s uniform was rent and bloody. He swayed on his feet, a fixed glassy look on his face. De Lutz’s thigh was bleeding heavily. We’re going to die.
The Wyr had begun their intricate dance again. Luis watched, trying to catch his breath, to prepare himself for the inevitable next onslaught. Half a dozen broke from the pack, attempting to circle behind the fire. More sidled to the left and to the right isolating Cabrini and de Lutz, ignoring the others. Ross adjusted his blade, bringing it down in a slashing motion across the neck of one of the Wyr. The animal snapped frantically at his hand as he lifted his sword and rammed the point into the back of its skull. Ross dragged the blade out and whirled to chop at another Wyr who was harrying de Lutz. Hampered by his thigh injury the other man had lost mobility and was being forced to swing and jab wildly at the Wyr who surrounded him.
From the corner of his eye Luis saw Dominic move to assist Ross and de Lutz. A Wyr cut across his path. Dominic thrust his sword at its face. The beast dropped onto its belly and Dominic over balanced and stumbled, dropping his weapon. There was a hoarse scream and de Lutz went down under a combined attack. Ross stood above him stabbing his sword over and over into the bodies of the Wyr that were savaging the fallen man. It did not deter them. Where one fell another darted in to take its place. Luis shuddered when they eventually pulled away and he saw what remained of Miguel de Lutz.
The Wyr moved back again, watching. Ross stood above de Lutz’s mangled corpse his sword bloody from hilt to tip. Luis was beset by the sudden desperate urge to throw down his sword and run screaming into the Wyr pack. Do it! Just do it now! Kill me.
The pack waited. Ross sucked in a shuddering breath. Dominic had clambered back onto his feet but hadn’t bothered to retrieve his fallen sword. Diego stood blank faced and swaying. A faint breeze wafted across the clearing stirring the scent of ash and blood and human and animal entrails. A presence insinuated itself against their skins like a chill mist.
Chosen.
In Luis’ gut a fist closed then sprang open again. He doubled over gasping at the pain. Before his eyes a long red wound seemed to open up across his belly. As suddenly as it had appeared the wound vanished again but the sensation of something barbed remained. A hook constructed of longing and desire. A need to go. To be somewhere. Luis straightened and dropped his sword. He began to walk toward the Wyr pack. Dominic moved to his side. A glance at his face showed Luis an expression of calm acceptance. Behind him shuffled Diego, surely more dead than alive. They walked forward and the pack slid apart and then reformed with them in the centre.
“What the f**k are you doing?”
Ross’s voice, hoarse and desperate. Luis stopped and turned back. Ross still held his sword in a rigid grip. He was shuddering violently. Luis could see that he was fighting against the compulsion that had overtaken the other men. The strain was written across his face. He had bitten through his lip; there was blood trickling down his chin. The presence, the wanting stroked against Luis’ flesh again.
Chosen, it said. And then,stubborn.
From beyond the darkness a new Wyr emerged, half as large again as any they had seen so far. Its pelt was a pale cinnamon colour, its eyes blue as a summer sky. Beneath its fur the muscles bunched and slithered like clouds fleeing a storm. It came to a halt before Ross and tipped its great head to one side. Ross’ sword wavered madly as his arm shook. He placed his right hand over his left in an attempt to give it some stability. The Wyr’s jaw lolled open. It sank back on its haunches.
“I know what you are, you motherf****r.”
The sword was swinging in a ragged arc from side to side. Luis could see sweat darkening the fair hair at Ross’ temples, gleaming in the hollow of his throat. Luis couldn’t understand why Ross was fighting. In the end there was no choice. There was just the wanting, the having to be somewhere that was not here.
The Wyr sank back onto its haunches. Then in a movement too quick to follow it sprang. Ross instinctively flung up his left arm to shield his face and the Wyr wrapped its jaws around his wrist and dragged him onto his knees. Luis heard the bones crack. The sword fell to the ground. The great Wyr dragged Ross across the clearing by his arm as though he was a child. Once Luis would have been ecstatic to see Ross Cabrini on his knees in the dirt. Now he was strangely dispassionate. We have to go. Now.
The Wyr released Ross’ arm and he lay at Luis feet dragging in sharp little breaths. He cradled his broken arm in his other hand and his face was the colour of bone.
Chosen. Come. Come now.
Dominic reached down and helped Ross to stand. The Wyr milled around their legs rubbing against them like dogs. Then as one, Wyr and men, they turned and began to head east.
“Where are we going?” Luis asked.
Dominic tipped his head back and stared up at the fading stars. “Home,” he whispered.
Seivilla? A desperate longing for his father’s estate swept over Luis. The hook gouged a channel of pain in his belly. No. Not Seivilla. Luis knew what Ross Cabrini was going to say before he spoke.
Brasada………
