Bastion of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

feet.
    One long stride put the warrior in line and he drove the talon’s head hard against the unyielding trunk of a wide oak, the resulting splatter bringing to Belexus’ thoughts a distant time when his old friend Andovar had dropped a melon twenty feet to a flat stone.
    The thought of Andovar sobered the mighty warrior. He tossed the talon aside and took many long and steadying breaths, then stalked back to the original scene, to the deer carcass and the four talons.
    One, the one the warrior had kicked, was back up by then, trying to rouse its dying friend. The talon abandoned that course when it noted the approach of thedangerous man. Waving its sword defensively out in front, it steadily backed as Belexus calmly came on.
    Blades met several times in quick, darting movements; hope came into the talon’s sickly eyes as it parried thrust after thrust.
    Belexus calmly continued, playing the fencer now, maneuvering, working his opponent’s blade left, then right, then a bit farther left, then a bit less right. And so on, until he had the talon turned awkwardly. Then came a sudden, violent two-stroke, both hits aimed for the talon’s sword, the first nearly knocking the creature all the way about, the second deftly weaving over and around the blade as the talon tried to turn back to face the man squarely.
    A flick of Belexus’ wrist sent the talon’s sword skipping to the ground out to the right.
    The creature whined and stumbled back, the warrior easily pacing. Both glanced to their surroundings, but only briefly, neither truly breaking the stare.
    The talon noted a tree, Belexus knew, and he came forward in a slight rush, forcing the creature’s hand. Predictably, the talon darted behind the tree, rushing past it, putting it in the way of the human.
    “Andovar!” the warrior cried suddenly, brutally, throwing out all of his rage in one cut, taking up his sword in both hands and sweeping it mightily across, sweeping it through the two-inch diameter trunk of the young tree, and through the waist of the surprised talon behind it.
    The top half of the tree fell to the side of the trunk, planted in the ground for just a moment, then fell away. The talon was already on the ground, its upper body lying awkwardly across its lower, mouth gasping in horror, gulping air uselessly.
    Belexus spat on it and walked away.
    In a clearing not so far from the spot, Calamus, thewinged lord of horses, awaited the warrior’s return. Without a word, Belexus climbed onto the mount’s strong back and the pegasus took to the air, flying low and steady to the northwest, the direction in which the last talon had fled. Belexus soon spotted the miserable creature, running, stumbling, out of the wood, along a grassy slope, cutting a straight line to the west. The warrior urged Calamus ahead.
    But then a song came into his ears, causing him to hesitate, a voice sweet and pure, the soothing voice of Brielle, the Emerald Witch of Avalon. “Greater will be yer reputation, greater their fear of ye, if ye let some live to tell the tale,” the witch coaxed.
    Her words, or more particularly, the gentle way in which they were carried to the warrior’s ears, almost made Belexus turn Calamus about, almost allowed him to let this last talon run off.
    But then came that all-too-familiar image, the haunting memory of Andovar being bent in half backward by the horrid wraith of Hollis Mitchell, the image of the proud ranger, Belexus Backavar’s dearest friend, then being tossed carelessly into the great River Ne’er Ending.
    Calamus, charmed by the intonations of the witch, had indeed slowed and begun a long, easy turn.
    “Onward!” the warrior demanded, grabbing the long white mane, forcing the pegasus back on course for the fleeing talon.
    Calamus owed no man, could not be so commanded, but there was indeed a bond between this magnificent horse and Belexus, son of Bellerian, who was lord of the rangers of Avalon, and so the pegasus relented,