The First Dragoneer Read Online Free PDF Page A

harmlessly from creature’s shoulder. Bren didn’t
hesitate to fire again, this time aiming for the vital chest area
between the creature’s stumpy forelegs. The arrow sank deeply, but
didn’t even slow the bursting charge. A huge raking claw lashed out
at March and though it barely missed his flesh, it hung in the
thick leather sword belt he had taken from the corpse. He, and the
torch, were slung violently into the cavern wall.
    Bren fired two more arrows at the beast, but
the force and speed of the attack on March, and the way the torch
had gone flying across the air, had been dizzying. Even still, he
had struck the sun starved creature well enough to stop it in its
tracks. The dying torch was behind the wyvern now, near where March
was stirring. The creature was perfectly silhouetted and Bren went
to fire another arrow. Reaching in, he found his quiver empty. He
looked down at it in shock. He never retrieved the arrow he had
loosed at the white stag. At that very moment of realization, a
razor sharp claw ripped down his hip tearing his leg wide open.
    He crumpled to the ground without a sound.
When he looked up, he saw stars swirling around the blackness. Then
there was nothing, nothing at all.
    With a lustful triumphant roar the wyvern’s
serpentine head lunged toward Bren’s limp body. The victory growl
was cut short though. The sound quickly turned into a horrid pain
filled screech as the smoldering end of the torch came down on its
pink scaly back. The brand sizzled and popped back to life, flaming
hotly before it rolled off and hit the ground. The torch rolled to
a stop just under the raging beast’s underbelly. March
instinctively reached to his belt for his knife, but it was not
there. He had dropped it when he was smashed into the wall. He
didn’t panic though; instead he reached back over his head and
grabbed hold of the ancient sword’s hilt in an effort to pull it
from the scabbard. At first it wouldn’t come free, but with his
second try, it did. The heavy metal hand guard cracked him in his
ear and sent him stumbling head first across cavern floor towards
the creature. The razor sharp blade sliced across his scalp,
cutting him to the bone as it slipped free. March had to grab the
sword by the blade to turn it around so that he could hold it
correctly. He cut his palms open in the process, but not so badly
that he couldn’t grip the hilt.
    March looked up to see the slithery beast
fighting to turn around and face him. It was trying to avoid the
torch flames that were licking its tender underbelly. March’s heart
hit the floor when he caught a brief glimpse of Bren’s torn and
bloody body crumpled against the wall. He saw Bren’s thigh-bone
fully exposed, and the huge pool of blood surrounding his friend.
He feared Bren was dead.
    A deep rush of anger fueled adrenaline shot
through his veins. He gripped the sword with both hands. The grip
wasn’t very good due to the blood leaking from the wounds in his
palms, but it was good enough for him to raise the blade over his
head and charge recklessly into the range of those horrible,
finger-long fangs. At least the albino beast was easy to see in the
muted torch light.
    March was getting dizzy, and he could feel
his warm blood sluicing down his back from the head wound. Luckily,
his rage took over as he brought the gleaming sword down into the
exposed flank of the turning creature. He felt the blade slice deep
into flesh before it was yanked from his hands.
    The wyvern bucked wildly, slamming March and
itself into the rocky wall. Then it hopped backward into the
darkened cavern. It was too late for the wyvern though. The slam,
into the unrelenting surface of the wall, had driven the sword
deeper into its vitals. With a series of deep, guttural moans that
resounded with a hissing wetness, the creature curled and thrashed
until it finally stilled.
    March reached for the back of his head. His
wound was bad. He could feel his bare skull. But, he quickly