Bryan spun and threw Lennard to the ground, out of the way of a thrusting spear. Lennard came up spitting water and watching in horrified amazement as Bryan and the newest attacker squared off.
Bryan’s father had schooled him well in the crude attack methods of these beasts. Savagery replaced finesse in talon fighters, and the trick to defeating them was to turn their own aggressiveness against them.
Bryan’s chance came in the very first seconds of battle, as the fire-eyed talon dove at him recklessly, spear leading the way.
Bryan launched a backhand parry with his sword, dipping the spear to the ground. The talon, unable to break its momentum-and not wanting to, anyway-lurched forward, where Bryan’s shield connected heavily with its face. The monster staggered backward and Bryan threw his shield out wide, following quickly with a perfectly angled slice of his blade, lopping the creature’s head from its shoulders.
“By the Colonnae,” gasped Lennard. “Bryan?”
But the young half-elf had no time to consider the events. “Where is Tinothy?” he asked.
“Dead,” Lennard muttered.
Bryan hardly flinched at the news. “Quickly,” he instructed, grabbing Lennard by the elbow. “We have only minutes to get back to the walk.”
“Hold your shots,” Bryan whispered as the trudging column of talons approached. Behind the wooden barricades, the friends twitched nervously, eager to let loose the first shots and be on with it. But Bryan wanted the monsters to spring the first trap or two before he set his friends into action.
The talons came on, more wary than before, but hardly expecting to find the ground beneath their feet laced with cunning traps. The leading rank stepped out across a long, flat rock.
Bryan and his friends pulled back on their bowstrings. They could only hope the rock would tumble as planned.
As the front talons crossed to the front edge-the section that had been dug out-the stone rolled and pivoted, dipping the leading talons into a crevice and sending those behind them into a slide down the now sloping trail. Several of the creatures had the life crushed out of them as the stone settled down at its new angle.
Bryan’s arrow went first, knocking deep into the chest of one of the unfortunate beasts splayed across the stone facing. Hoots and howls erupted as the talons recognized the ambush for what it was and came charging over the raised tip of the stone. Arrow after arrow soared in, most finding their mark.
But talons, for all of their other weaknesses, were not cowardly creatures, and they came on fearlessly, leaping down from the stone and rushing toward the copse. A trip wire sent one slamming down; loosened rocks gave way on the edge of the trail, spilling several others on a bouncing ride down the steep descent on the side of Doerning’s Walk.
And more arrows thudded home.
“Run!” cried Lennard when the leading edge of the charge neared the copse. Bryan held his position, not so quick to give up such easy kills.
But then one of the group, Damon, standing right beside the half-elf, caught a spear in the chest, and the talon followed its shot closely, springing atop the barricade.
Bryan wheeled and fired, point-blank, blowing the thing back. He realized, though, that the position was lost. Five others of the group had already fled, following Lennard’s lead, but the remaining six waited bravely, looking to Bryan for direction. In his rage, Bryan would have stayed on until the talon tide buried him, willingly giving up his own life in exchange for the talons he would surely slay.
But he could not be responsible for the deaths of more of his friends. Like Tinothy, and now Damon.
He fired a final shot and broke back from the wall, slinging his bow and drawing his gleaming sword. “Go! Go!” he cried to the others.
Connie, a girl with shining blue eyes and an innocent smile, lost her head to a talon sword.
And then they were running, one group to the west behind Lennard, and Bryan wisely taking the others to the east. The enraged talons forgot all about their mission and took off in hot pursuit, hungry for the blood of the young ambushers.
Siana led the way, with Bryan taking up the rear guard. Several talons got close to them in their wild flight, but each time, Bryan, possessed of a fury beyond anything he could ever have imagined, cut them down with vicious chops and perfect maneuvers. A short while later the five turned around a rocky outcropping and, confident that no pursuit was close behind, stopped to catch their breath.
Lennard and the others had less luck.
Though they had started with more ground between them and the talons, the group had no organization to their flight. They split apart around boulders or crevices, and lost time trying to find each other. Directionless, and with no clear destination in mind, they soon heard the flopping stamp of talon feet all about them.
An agonized scream told Lennard that their number was down to five. He stopped and looked about, searching for some way he could help. A talon spear found his leg.
Lennard dropped heavily to the ground, clutching his wound. Then the talon was above him, its sword up for the kill.
A heavy rock smashed the ugly creature’s head apart.
Blackness, from pain and fear, swirled over Lennard, and he hardly noticed when he was lifted from the ground in the strong arms of Jolsen Smithyson and borne away.
“Come on,” Bryan prodded after the others had regained their breath. They gathered their belongings, thinking Bryan to be leading them farther away. But to their astonishment, the half-elf started back around the outcropping toward the talons.
“Where are you going?” Siana demanded.
Bryan cast them all a look over his shoulder. “The talons are scattered,” he explained. “We can find small groups of them to hit.”
“You are crazy!” the girl retorted. “We cannot go back there!”
“We have no choice!” Bryan shot back.
“Think of Connie, and Damon!” said another.
“Think of the line of people we saw on the road,” Bryan countered. “Our people, helpless unless we can keep the talons tied up in the mountains.” His visage softened then as he looked upon the sorrow-filled, weary faces. Perhaps he was pushing the others too hard.
“You go and find a safer spot to rest,” he conceded quietly. “I’ll go after the talons. I can move faster alone anyway.”
But when Bryan started away, he heard the sound of the other four following at his back.
They played hit-and-run with bands of talons for the remainder of that day, striking from a distance with their bows, or rising from cover suddenly in front of a talon group and cutting the monsters down before they even knew they were being attacked.
Bryan and his friends knew the odds, and realized that sooner or later they would get themselves into a situation where they would find no escape. But whenever fear threatened to take the fight out of them, they remembered the cloud of dust from the refugees on the road and the cloud of smoke over Corning, and remembered their duty.
Disaster struck near sunset. The group surprised a band of four talons and quickly dispatched them. But another, larger band was close by, and got into the fight before the young warriors could escape. Bryan and his friends won out, but when the last talon fell at Bryan’s feet, he looked around to find that he and Siana were the only two left alive.
Their spirits fell with the fall of day, and they walked slowly away, seeking a safe haven. Siana leaned on Bryan for support, but the tears ran as freely down the cheeks of the halfelf as on her own.
All told, they had killed more than four dozen talons that day and wounded several score more. More important, they had halted the march. It would take the scattered bands of talons the rest of the night to get back together, and the people on the road would get through.