Tim Marquitz - Dawn of War

The warrior moved to the center of the raft and stared into the darkness. His blue eyes shone like beacons as they darted about. He blinked once and his lids narrowed as he seemed to focus on something. He ducked low with a grunt, his eyes suddenly wide. An obsidian shadow led by four yellow dots zipped over him with a hoary screech, missing the wild white hairs of Jerul’s mohawk by just inches.

Domor followed the creature as it winged by, unable to make out any of its features save for the blurred trails of its lurid eyes.

“Stay low, Velen,” Jerul told him unnecessarily as he crept closer to hover near him. The jagged edges of his blades glistened against the backdrop of darkness.

Domor once again cursed his height as he did his best to sink below the low retaining wall of the raft. Though he knew his wrist had not been broken, the bones still in their rightful place, the slightest movement loosed spears of misery that starred his vision. He ground his teeth together and let his wounded arm lie in his lap as he drew his bag to him. He dug inside and pulled the dagger from hiding. With his teeth, he yanked the sheath free, letting it drop to the deck, before twisting to face the invisible shore. The darkness was filled with malevolent, glowing stares.

Whereas before, the raucous sounds of the night had resounded with such volume and intensity as to have been little more than a wall of noise, it had since dimmed, drifting into the background. Sharpened wails cut through the rest as though a blade through sand, carving a trail to their ears. The sounds grew closer as shadows winged above, the branches rattled in their passage.

Jerul growled low, his head on a swivel. Yellow dots appeared out of the darkness only to disappear as blackened shapes zipped close before veering away at the last moment.

Domor was buffered by the wind of one of the creature’s passes, and shifted just in time to see the yellow eyes of another just before they went dark. He spun about on his knees and lashed out with his dagger, catching the creature as it flew past.

The creature screeched as Domor’s blade bit deep. It shifted directions instantly and shot into the sky, knocking Domor back with a slash of its leathery wing. Off balance, Domor fell to his back, his shoulders crashing into the tree trunks of Jerul’s legs.

The warrior stumbled forward, twisting about to keep from falling over the rail of the raft.

“Be careful, Ve-” A grunt of pain cut his warning short, and Jerul spun, his blades bright blurs against the backdrop of darkness.

Something wet rained warm across Domor’s face as he scrambled back toward the rail. He could feel it running slow down his cheek and wiped it clear with his injured arm, ignoring its protests. He heard Jerul cry out once more. Jerul’s voice was a rumble that billowed up from the bulk of his chest. His companion’s pale outline visible, Domor could see dark stains along his back. They spread quickly, devouring the lighter areas with each passing moment.

He was surrounded by a horde of yellowed eyes that swooped down from the canopy in twos and threes, blackened missiles that winged past, leaving behind darkened trails along the warrior’s flesh. Jerul lashed out with his swords as the creatures closed. Sounds of the butcher’s block filled the air, the meaty thud of a blade meeting bone.

There was a pair of loud splashes, followed by Jerul’s blade striking the deck. The warrior stumbled, his free hand pressed to the side of his head as a quartet of yellowed eyes hovered at his shoulders. Dark water gushed between his white fingers as he stood doubled over, his eyes closed.

Though he was no warrior, Domor knew he had to do something to help his blood-companion before the beasts brought him down. He jumped to his feet and whipped his robes off. Used like a net, he dropped the bottom opening of the robes over the creature that tore at Jerul and drew it to the side fast, tightening his grip to seal the beast inside. The creature thrashed and squealed as its wings became entangled in the thick material. No time to waste, he pinned the beast to the deck with his foot and stabbed his dagger into the squirming mass. Over and over he sunk his blade hilt deep until the trilling shrieks ended and the beast lay still.

Cold sweat and warm blood dotting his face, he moved alongside Jerul and pushed the warrior to the deck, nearest to the slim shelter of the retaining wall. Certain he lacked the strength to wield his companion’s heavy, jagged blades, he left them where they lay as his eyes traced the path of the next wave of beasts that dove toward them. He set his dagger between his teeth and ignored the sting as its sharpened edge bit into the corners of his mouth.

Having seen what the creatures had done to Jerul, Domor knew he stood no chance of bringing them down with his dagger. So thinking, he loosened the tie from the closest oar and freed it from its swivel. His wrist sang with pain, but he pushed it aside with a loud growl.

Frenzied screeches were thick in the darkness as he turned to face the growing shadows. His hands trembled and his heart thundered loud in his chest as he waited for them to come a little closer. He judged their speed by the trails of their eyes and counted quick, swinging the wooden oar like a club in a wide arc.

The flat of the oar smashed into the outermost of the trio with a solid thump. Domor ground his teeth together as impact vibrations threatened to shake the shaft from his hands, but he clutched tight and managed to keep his grip. His wrist went blissfully numb.

The beast he struck was knocked sideways, its momentum redirected into its companions. Furious squawks erupted above as the creatures became tangled, their dive averted in the effort to get clear of one another. Two sets of eyes broke loose and flew back toward the darkness of the canopy as a blackened shape fell into the water.

Domor couldn’t stop a smile from stretching the corners of his mouth against the sharp blade he held in his teeth, but he knew his success was likely short-lived. He glanced around to see another creature hurtling toward him, coming fast and low over the water. He spun around and swung the oar with desperate strength just as the beast cleared the retaining wall.

The shaft collided with the creature just a few feet from where Domor’s hands clutched to it. His fingers rang out with the sting of impact and he felt the slap of the beast’s wing against his bare stomach. He stumbled back and fell to his knees, his hip grinding into the hard wood of the retaining wall.

Out of instinct, he reached down to steady himself and hissed as his injured wrist exploded in agony beneath him. The dagger tumbled from his mouth. He crumpled hard against the wall and heard a loud crack that reverberated against his back. He felt the support of the wall give way behind him, and he fell.

He went to shout but his mouth was suddenly filled with the heavy water of the river. He gasped drawing more in as his shoulders followed his head under.

White light filled his eyes as something clamped down on his wrist like a vise before he could sink any further. There was a sudden sense of upward movement and he was clear of the water, slammed face first onto the hard wood of the deck. A vicious blow was struck to his upper back and he felt the water surge from his stomach in response, up into the passage of his throat. He gagged once against the tide before the swallowed river spewed from his mouth in a deluge that flooded the deck. Domor vomited twice more, bitter bile tearing at his throat as he cleared the last of the water from his lungs.

Angered grunts sounded over him as he lay curled into a ball and trembling on the deck. The solid slaps of wood against flesh echoed in his ears in competition with the piercing hum that seemed to fill his tender skull with white noise. His stomach roiled like the Tumult and the sour scent of vomit clung to his nose.