Dathid, Jonah, and I follow the large scary eight-man infantry to a gate of sharp iron spikes. Dragons walk the thick stone walls and stand guard on the tower peeks. The wall is not only impossibly tall; the tunnel through it has to be fifty feet deep. These guys have some serious enemies. We should keep running and get far away from this place.
The soldiers are on foot, but our unicorns need to trot to keep pace. When we get through the wall, I almost believe I'm on a side street in an older part of New York. I can't figure out if these are individual buildings or if the original structure was continually added to with whatever materials happened to be around. Like a row home, there's no break in the walls of buildings; only the style and materials change. There are slash marks in the walls and pavement that might be writing because Jonah seems to be reading them.
All the persons milling about look exactly the same—royal blue armor, lots of spikes, very scary. Our guides make us dismount. Someone who looks identical to everyone else loops a rope around Stryder's neck and leads him away without a word. Jonah keeps his arm around me, shielding me from view as we climb the unsteady steps and through a poorly hung door.
The building materials change at random spots as if they built until they ran out of materials, then switched with no design or plan. The guards lead us through an erratic maze of hallways to a big room where many of the Eurynomon are standing in a circle at least twenty deep. There are well over a thousand of them, at attention, facing the empty center, which is where we're heading.
Our footfalls, and my pulse, echo around the silent room. We stop in the center, and Jonah pulls me even closer to him and locks me in place with a heavy hand that would be painful if I wasn't wearing my dragon scale.
The Eurynomon adjust their positions all at once. It's just a change of stance, but it reverberates around the room and through my chest cavity. I would run, but I think they would enjoy chasing me. I take soft shallow breaths so I can't hear my breathing. I don't want to do anything that will draw their attention. A plan that goes out the window when Jonah lets out a loud howl, and I jump a foot.
I hate this language. It's so angry and aggressive. Jonah's growling and gesturing with one hand and pressing down on me with the other. A circle member steps forward, wraps an orange fur skirt around fets waist, and says something in a familiar language. When Dathid speaks, I recognize it as Gàidhlig.
The guard removes fets helmet, and what's revealed makes me wish fet'd put it back on. The most prominent feature on fets long human-ish face are the two pointy teeth that jut forward out of fets bottom jaw about six inches and are flanked by two small upper tusks. Every time fets mouth closes, the smaller bottom tusks make a bone-chilling grinding noise against the much larger upper tusks.
A thin flap of skin covering the gaping hole where a nose should be flutters with every breath. Two overly large deep-set give the creature a skull-like appearance. I'm so distracted by the teeth, I don't notice the horns are gone. They were part of the helmet.
I also don't notice that Eurynomon skin is the same blue as their armor until Dathid turns completely grey. His jaw sets so hard the muscles bulge in his cheek. Jonah tenses and locks his hands around the front of my shoulders, making me squirm to get some air. He loosens his grip but doesn't let go.
The lead Eurynomon, I'm going to call fren Pumpkin Butt, talks a lot; with every word Dathid turns whiter. I can't see Jonah because he's behind me, but I can feel his tension. I want to know what they're saying. What should I prepare for? We're in trouble, but what kind? And is there anything I can do about it?
When Pumpkin Butt's done speaking, Dathid growls out a few words at him. Then he bows to the group and stiffly walks out. Jonah stands firm and addresses the group in the growling language. When the group answers in unison, I almost scamper up Jonah, as if he's a tree and I'm a frightened squirrel. It's only his firm grip that's keeping me bolted in place.
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The Lost Knight (Volume IV) The Lost Prince
FantasyWIP Would love some Beta Readers
