Whill of Agora (5-7) by Michael James Ploof

Author:Michael James Ploof
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Young Adult
Publisher: Createspace
Published: 2012-05-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Terror

The young shepherd boy looked out over the rolling fields of green grass swaying in the midday breeze. A hot wind blew in from the western coast of Isladon. And while it had been warm the past few days, it had not been like this. He felt as though he were getting dangerously close to an oven, its heat warming him back. Only this heat followed him even as he fled from it, suddenly startled and overcome with an unease he could not put his finger on.

The boy called to his sheep dog and ran hard back toward the village. He had ventured far this day, farther than he usually led the herd. The coast always held a tantalizing allure. All his life he had wanted to sail the great blue expanse rather than become a simple sheep herder like his father. But now he could not even look to the west. Something was following him. Something too great and terrible for words. The heat bristled his back, suffocating him. Terror caused him to abandon his herd. The thirty sheep were all that his family had left, yet he ran for his life, knowing that they were doomed, knowing that he was doomed.

He fled across the long green field, down the rocky ridge lined with nettles and wildflowers, rock crawlers, and thimbleweed. He could hear the terrible sounds growing behind him, still he dared not look back. Head down, he continued on. He was crying now. The tears blurred his vision and caused him to trip and fall more than once. The heat was growing with the rising tumult—a chorus of terrible growls and roars stalking him. The world suddenly became brighter, and he knew that the fields and trees behind him were on fire. Flames licked the corners of his vision, filling the sky above him with fire.

The village was only a few hundred yards away.

He ran. If only he could reach it in time—run all the way home and jump in bed. His mother would be there to sooth him. His father would grab his axe and investigate. Surely it would be nothing. The herd would return and all would be well. He would be given warm milk and hushed to bed with a soft song from his mother.

The boy tripped only a dozen feet from the gates. Men were up on the wooden battlements, pointing at the sky behind him and screaming words of warning. Their faces were twisted with terror.

And then the boy looked back.

The sky was eclipsed by dragon wings. Flames consumed the land all the way to the coast. He lay there paralyzed by fear even as a large green dragon descended upon him, talons outstretched and gleaming, and hatred burning in its emerald eyes.

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