The Black Wing Read Free

think you can help me climb out of this
     pit?” Laughing humorlessly, the dragon dipped her head to look for toeholds in the base of
     the rocky walls. “We would not have awakened thee if we could not help thee from this
     pit.” “You'd be better off not to mention waking me!” growled Khisanth. Blood boiled at
     her temples, and she flexed her foreclaws. “There is only one thing of interest to me at
     this moment: getting out of this hole so I can gorge.” Khisanth's leathery lips pulled
     back in a threatening sneer. “In fact, if I could reach either of you now, I would eat
     you. You'd scarcely be a mouthful,” she said archly, “but if you don't cease your chatter,
     get away from me, and take that blasted, blinding ball with you, I'd settle for a snack.”
     The nyphids fluttered up and away from the angry dragon, drawing the maynus globe with
     them. “Yes, she is most excitable and stubborn,” said the dark-haired one to his
     companion. “Fare-thee-well, then,” he called. With a silent fluttering of wings, the pair
     rose together through the still air, beyond Khisanth's sight. “Call and we will assist
     thee.” “Never!” she growled, her own throaty, guttural word nearly deafening in the
     confines of the cave. Instead of their departure calming her, it made Khisanth livid. She
     was a member of the most powerful race that ever lived, and she couldn't get away as
     easily as two puny pixiesnyphids. Whatever! She would die before she called for their
     help, as if they had any to give! She would claw her way to the top, if she had to. Rage
     born of desperation made the dragon lash out wildly, wings straining upward, rocks tearing
     at the tough leather webbing. Her claws raked uselessly at the walls, the dirt-and-sand
     floor, until her own dark blood ran freely from countless cuts and abrasions. The smell of
     the blood jolted Khisanth's rumbling stomach. She licked her bleeding cuticles, savoring
     the meaty taste. It calmed her nerves. Think. Turn your energies from rage to survival,
     Khisanth told herself. If you continue as you are, you'll surely die. Taking the smallest
     outcroppings of rock into her talons, the young dragon pulled herself up with her short
     forearms. But her appendages, grown during centuries of sleep, were as atrophied and
     undisciplined as the flabby, humanlike arms of her old bakali nursemaid. More often than
     not, her grip faltered, and she caught short her fall by digging her hind feet into the
     walls. She progressed by sheer force of will, two steps taken for every one secured.
    Khisanth had no concept of time. Having slept underground for most of her life, she was
     unaware that the dim light from above waxed and waned in a regular cycle. Moments were
     measured in steps taken, brief rests stolen, feedings missed. She could have been dragging
     herself upward for as little or as much time as she'd slept, for all she knew or cared.
    The dragon fed herself on the blood that oozed from her wounds; it slaked her hunger
     somewhat, though it gave her no energy. She bled mightily from a host of large wounds and
     broad scratches. Every part of her huge, unfamiliar body ached. Her massive head felt
     heavy, yet strangely light and dizzy at the same time.
    Stopping to rest for a moment on a large, jutting rock ledge, Khisanth allowed herself to
     look up at last. The light from above was noticeably brighter. She could scarcely believe
     it. The opening had to be near, perhaps not even as far as the length of her own body, a
     mere thirty feet.
    If only I were a bit closer, she thought blearily, I could stand on my haunches and pull
     myself up. But she knew there wasn't enough strength in her claw arms for that. If only I
     could eat. Or sleep.... Her lidsher whole cumbersome bodyfelt heavy and lifeless. Just a
     few moments of rest, she thought, and I'll be able to make it.
    Khisanth struggled to curl her bulk up on the