R. Salvatore - Bastion of Darkness

He held his breath as the talons-three of them, heavily armed-came through, swinging wide the door then continuing on, the last of the line giving a yank to close the door.

Bryan sucked in his breath even more, for the three stood barely five feet away!

They didn’t notice him, though, and just went on their way.

Through the door went the half-elf, and down the stairs. He passed several landings with doors similar to the one he had come through, but he ignored them, thinking it best to start at the bottom.

Finally, the stair ended in a tunnel of natural stone, hardly worked, and with a dirt floor, the only light coming from a partially opened door far down the corridor.

Bryan crept along. He could hear the roar of the fire; it was no mere torch. He also heard a talon chuckle, an evil-sounding laugh, and a low moan, but he was relieved to recognize that the moan was not one of a woman, but of another talon. At the door, he peeked in enough to see a brutish talon wearing heavy leather gloves, studded bracers on its wrists, a leather collar about its thick neck, and a thick black hood rolling a poker about on top of the stone rim of a blazing fire pit. The end of the rod glowed a wicked orange.

The half-elf went down to one knee and dared to peek in a bit more. Hanging on the wall opposite the door was a rotting talon corpse, shackled at the wrists, and next to it, apparently very close to joining its dead companion, hung another talon, trembling and sobbing.

The talon at the fire lifted the glowing poker, turned slowly and deliberately, and headed for its new victim; Bryan slipped into the room, quickly motioning for the hanging talon to be quiet, thinking errantly that this creature would welcome potential salvation, whatever race that savior might be.

“Elf! Elf! Elf!” the hanging talon barked, drawing a blank stare from the torturer.

Three strides brought Bryan past the fire pit, but the warning had registered enough for the brute to pivot about, bringing the glowing poker up defensively. Bryan batted it aside and thrust his sword straight ahead, but so heavy was the talon torturer’s glove that even Bryan’s fine blade did not cut deeply. Back came the sword at once, just parrying the swinging poker.

“Yous’ll tell the Thalasi?” the talon hanging on the wall said over and over. “I helps! I helps!”

The torturer just grunted and came on ferociously, whipping the poker all about, then stabbing ahead with it. Bryan back-stepped each swing and sidestepped the thrust, snapping a backhand parry that forced the poker across the brute’s body and put the talon off balance. Quicker than his bulky opponent, the agile half-elf stepped into the opening and thrust his sword into the heavy shoulder.

The talon yelped and dropped its poker, and Bryan came in hard, silencing the cries with a series of fast stabs about the creature’s throat. That finished, the talon squirming and gurgling on the floor, the half-elf looked to the hanging prisoner and again motioned for it to remain silent. This time it seemed as if the creature would comply, but Bryan wasn’t about to take the chance. As the talon relaxed, the half-elf rushed in and killed it cleanly with one thrust.

“You should have been quiet the first time,” Bryan whispered. Then he went and took the leather collar and hood, and the great gloves to hide slender elvish hands.

There was a second door in this room, leading deeper into the dungeons. As he opened it, Bryan was greeted by a chorus of groaning. He flipped up the hood of his cowl, though he didn’t seem very talonlike, and down he slipped, past dozens of cells, their doors solid and with only a high and small barred window. Several desperate, ugly faces peered out at him as he passed, but the light in here was very poor, and they couldn’t recognize him for what he was-or if they did, they made no sounds to indicate so. Every few feet he paused to listen, or even to peek into the windows of the few cells that didn’t resound with talon groaning.

He was beginning to get discouraged, to think that this area was only for Thalasi’s worthless talon prisoners, when he heard another voice, lucid and not filled with pain, utter a short phrase that sent the hairs on the back of Bryan’s neck standing on end.

“Pretty lady.”

Back in Avalon, Brielle heard it, too.

HE LINGERED ABOVE Avalon for hours, just basking in the beauty of the forest, the purity of the place distracting him despite the urgent need for him to be on his way. Still, Del suspected that his greatest roles would be as scout and as informant, and he knew that he could catch all the others, the swift-marching elves and humans and the flying pegasus, with a mere thought.

But where to go?

And then it came to him: a call, a vision, carried on the wind by Brielle, information about Bryan of Corning and Del’s daughter, information about a march greater and more wicked than anything Aielle had ever known, and instructions about what he must do to prevent absolute disaster.

“Find Belexus.”

It didn’t take Belexus long to understand that he would not catch his father and his kin before they made the black fortress. He had flown past Arien’s force soon after leaving Avalon, Calamus rushing at tremendous speed, but as he passed over the Brown Wastes, as he saw talons turning their eyes skyward to regard the strange aerial creature, he recognized the futility of it all. Belexus was confident that he was too high up for the creatures to distinguish his identity, for them to even know that this was mount and rider and not just some huge bird. But they saw him, and marked well his passing.

Up in the empty sky, Belexus could find no hiding. His approach to Kored-dul would be well marked and oftwhispered, and the rumors would inevitably get back to the ears of Morgan Thalasi and Hollis Mitchell. Both had previously seen the ranger airborne upon Calamus-Mitchell had even chased Belexus and the pegasus-and it would not take them long to reason what this strange creature might be.

Belexus wondered if that revelation might prove a good thing. Perhaps he could lure the wraith out and test his new sword…

But what of his promise to Brielle? What of Rhiannon? Even if he defeated Mitchell, how would he ever get near to the young witch? Certainly not by alerting Thalasi and his minions of his coming!

The ranger put down on the muddy ground on the edges of a small seasonal marsh and considered his course more carefully. If he meant to go to Talas-dun without alerting Thalasi, he would have to fly in fast to Kored-dul and then ride, or perhaps even walk, Calamus along the rocky trails. He wondered if he might instead fly fast to the south, and then the west, soaring out over the great ocean and then north along the coast until he had gone right past the black castle. Perhaps he could find a less-guarded northern approach.

“We’ve got a task that’s showing me no obvious answers,” he said to the great steed. Calamus only looked at him, seeming perfectly unperturbed. The pegasus would go where he commanded, Belexus knew, even if that meant a straightforward assault on Talas-dun and all of Thalasi’s thousands.

He took some comfort in that unquestioning loyalty as he settled down that night for some much-needed rest. Long before he fell asleep, though, the difficult reality of his task came back to him, and he had to admit again that he had no answers to his dilemma.

In the end, he decided that he would fly as fast as possible to the west, trying for stealth, but not to the point where it would slow him greatly. And if any talons came out against him, he would kill them, or fly around them; and if Hollis Mitchell came out against him, he would avenge Andovar and then continue on his way; and if Morgan Thalasi himself came out against him, he would finish the Black Warlock and continue on his way.