Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  She paused to see if anyone would suggest a solution; if Elysia were to prove itself worth saving, its people must make their own choices.

  Colonel Ojewa stepped forward. His accent matched Yena’s. “I will form a team to see what can be done. I am sure we can strengthen a few of the weaker structures or, at the very least, tear them down to create barricades.”

  Lluava inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. “Whatever we do, we must keep the enemy away from the castle. Those unable to fight will continue to take refuge within these walls. Children, elders, and the injured will be moved to the innermost area. Barricades must be erected outside the castle’s inner curtain wall. Ammit, will you work on this? Vidrick?”

  Ammit responded, “If it be your command, Theri, I will do so gladly.” He would never challenge the goddess incarnate.

  Vidrick hesitated. He looked at the large, intimidating Theriomorph, then nodded. The redheaded lieutenant added, “I will always do what is asked of me.”

  Varren spoke next. “Then I must ask that none of you challenge the Úlfhéðinn in hand-to-hand combat unless specifically ordered to do so.” He spoke as a leader, with the voice of authority. “I do not wish to demean anyone’s ability, but we must ensure minimal losses. The Úlfhéðinn are vicious, murderous monsters and extremely dangerous. Moreover, the rain has finally stopped. This means that the Berserkers will be able to smoke their drugs. So be wary of large Raiders. Any encounter should be considered life-threatening.”

  Lluava could sense the discomfort and fear permeating the room. The corner of her mouth twitched, as her tail would have done had she been in her dual form. The mood in the room was heavy with emotions and men’s sweat.

  Varren glanced at Lluava. “If the primary goal is to separate Níᵭingr from his men, we must decide where and how to lure him. Even if our intended strategy does not unfold the way we wish, a plan must be made so that men and traps are aligned accordingly, to force them back on the correct paths.”

  “The temple.” Yena’s voice was heavy with sorrow. “On the temple steps. I have seen it. That is where your last stand with that abomination will occur.”

  “Did you see Níᵭingr being killed?” one of the Guardians questioned.

  “No,” acknowledged Yena. Her white irises flashed fiercely in the dimly lit room. “But the battle that will determine how this ends will occur on the temple’s steps.”

  The young king respected the high priestess’s vision. “Then let us ensure that Níᵭingr is led to his doom.”

  Lluava felt a low vibration throughout her body, and she smiled; the goddess within was pleased. Those around her took no notice as they continued to strategize.

  There was a newfound harmony among the diverse groups as they collaborated on a shared goal. Together, they worked to fine-tune the plan, allocate jobs and responsibilities, and set the plan in motion. When the meeting was adjourned, many moved into the dining hall for a late supper. The rest headed off to begin their new tasks.

  Lluava did not crave nourishment—at least, not until Varren handed her a platter containing tenderloin on the rare side. Her favorite. In short order, the sloshing of goblets and chewing of food tapered off as people left to make preparations.

  ***

  In the early morning hours, well before the light of day, word came that the Raiders were on the move. Although the allied forces quickly moved into position, the city remained quiet. They did not wish to alarm the enemy.

  Outside in the cool spring air, Lluava was ready and waiting. Varren was next to arrive, followed by Yena, brandishing Crocotta’s Hackles. They were joined by Aquila, who had strapped on a second quiver. Giahem’s Talon’s were positioned on his right shoulder, while a cluster of battered common arrows filled the quiver on his left.

  “That is all we could salvage,” he stated, as he adjusted the strap of the tattered leather quiver. “Once I have run out of these, you must decide whether I am to shoot the Talons.”

  Lluava nodded as she considered the damage radius surrounding a single shot of a golden arrow. In such close quarters as Cronus’s streets, they might do more harm than good. There was no need for such sacrifice at this time.

  “Everyone ready?” Varren asked.

  The four of them looked at one another: male and female; Theriomorph and human; Elysian, Outlander, nomad; different religions, different gods. Together, every person for whom they were fighting was represented. And they were about to fight for everyone they loved, everything they knew, and everything they believed in.

  A loud boom was followed by a groan that was lost in the cracking and shattering of wood and metal. “It only took one hit,” somebody shouted down from a rooftop. “The Ocean Men have breached the gate!”

  Yena was oddly calm. Gesturing, she said, “Into that house, the second one on the left.”

  Once inside, the small party climbed onto the roof, using a ladder that had been carefully propped up on the ledge of a fourth-floor balcony. Quickly adjusting to the roof’s steep angle, Lluava looked around. Nearby, the castle rose above them. While the commoners’ dwellings lined the inner perimeter of the city, the grand homes of the nobles, built shoulder to shoulder, surrounded the castle and extended outward from it. The city’s design was not only a visual indication of wealth; it also provided a secondary defense against intruders, for the roofs provided vantage points for archers as well as an aerial roadway.

  Yet now this same construction hampered the mobility of the defenders. So, for this final fight, ladders had been positioned from rooftop to rooftop over the narrow streets, and ropes and pulleys had been rigged to enable quick movement from higher to lower levels. Nothing was set up that could not be cut down or pulled away if the enemy breached these makeshift aerial highways.

  Lluava’s team carried the ladder with them and used it as a less than secure bridge to cross over passages and alleyways until they reached their specified position. Though the wind was not strong, an occasional gust caused one or another to almost lose their balance and cling to the wooden rungs for dear life.

  They made their way to the top of a large manor house in clear view of the temple, where they could reassess how the plan was working elsewhere in the city. Under the silver gaze of a sliver of moon, the sun had begun to rise.

  Varren peered through his spyglass, while Lluava allowed her senses to heighten. On various levels, small groups of people moved about busily. It seemed that almost all the clansmen were there, as well as a respectable number of Outlanders and Elysians. Some monitored existing barricades; others pulled down weakened buildings and created new barriers from the debris.

  The wreckage of lumber and rubble slowed the Raiders’ approach and forced them to split up. Some of the allies pelted the brutes from rooftops with sharp or heavy objects they had collected. Others used polished metal shields and even large silver platters to indicate the locations of the enemy. The metal reflected the sun’s strengthening rays, and the pattern of the bursts of light signaled specific information.

  Other than the ongoing rumble of falling debris and occasional shouts from small skirmishes in the distance, Lluava could not detect the sound of significant battles. Based on the carefully planned movement of their troops, as well as the signals they flashed from the rooftops, everything was going according to plan.

  Suddenly, a glaring flash caused Lluava to blink. That was their cue. Níᵭingr was heading their way. The next signal that glinted came a little earlier than expected. The third came far too soon. The pace at which the defenders were moving continued to increase. Lluava released a low growl.

  Had they separated Ivar from his troops? If Níᵭingr and his men were moving at such a rapid pace, could the clansmen set their traps quickly enough? If not, Ivar would arrive with company. That was something they had hoped not to deal with.

  “Can you see him?” Lluava asked Varren, for she could spot no movement below.

  Varren was scouring the roadway in front of th
em. “No. He is still out of sight.”

  Another series of flashing lights.

  “Did that just say—?” Aquila began, as Varren confirmed, “Yes. Níᵭingr is heading in the wrong direction.”

  They were not the only ones to receive the news. Band after band of men left their posts throughout the city to scramble into new positions. The plan was altered in response to the enemy’s movements. Their unused blockades and unsprung traps were abandoned like a child’s forgotten toys.

  “I see…” Yena mused to herself before speaking to them. “We need a better location.” She gestured at the others on the roofs. “They will attempt to maneuver the Ocean Men back to the temple using a different route. Our current position is futile.”

  “Yes,” Varren agreed. “If they head here on the wrong route, they might encounter a dead end. We need to provide an accessible path for Níᵭingr to reach the temple and ensure that he arrives alone.”

  Carrying the ladder, the band made its way toward the pandemonium. Their progress was painstakingly slow. At one point, the ladder was too short to reach a higher level. Yena leaped from the top rung to the ledge of the adjacent roof and hoisted herself up. Once there, she assisted the others. The ladder was left, wedged at a precarious angle, until they needed to move elsewhere.

  From this new vantage point, Lluava was able to observe some movement in far-off streets. Yet, she could not spy Níᵭingr. Looking at Aquila, who was perched on the ridge of the rooftop, she saw the nomad swing his strung bow in her direction. Glancing behind her, she noticed an approaching band of Raiders, a score or more.

  They were not Níᵭingr’s party but another group that had advanced far into the city. With so many eyes trained on Ivar’s men, this rogue group had slipped through. If these Raiders arrived at the temple first, there would be too many to fight. Aquila could shoot the riggings and set off the trap, which would cause a blockade of stone to seal off the route. But if he did, Níᵭingr would not be able to reach the temple.

  In mere seconds, Lluava mentally ran through a host of scenarios, but there was only one viable solution. At that same moment, Aquila barked out, “Down!” and she pressed her body close against the slanted roof.

  An arrow whistled over her head.

  With a thwunk, it sank into its mark. A second and a third flew past. With his salvaged collection of arrows, Aquila was picking off the entire band of Raiders. How many arrows did he have left? Were there enough?

  Lluava’s position limited her line of sight. From the corner of her eye, she could see the Raiders collapsing like sacks of barley. Aquila never missed a shot. Yet one of the brutes, probably the most intelligent of the lot, held his shield in a way that protected his front, while the wall behind him safeguarded his back.

  “He is going to break through!” shouted Varren. His words mirrored her thoughts.

  One last arrow whirred by. This one skittered off in the wrong direction. Skimming against the building’s stone wall, it ricocheted off the decorative metalwork around a doorway—right into the unprotected side of the Raider. Dropping the shield, the unfortunate victim stumbled over a companion’s corpse, fell upon it, and impaled himself on the protruding shaft of another arrow.

  They were all slain.

  There was no time to rejoice. Yena had not noticed Aquila’s feat of marksmanship, for she had climbed to the peak of the roof and was facing the opposite direction. “Níᵭingr has been separated from some of his men, but he is still heading the wrong way.”

  Varren and Lluava clambered up to see where she was pointing. Looking through his spyglass, the king concurred. “The only barricade left to be sprung is now unmanned. Those stationed there must have changed their positions earlier. If it is not released, Níᵭingr will head to the castle. If it is triggered, he will be forced to follow the planned course.” Looking at the nomad, the young king said, “You can set that off. Do it.”

  That was the most logical move. Lluava would have made the same choice, even though a good dozen of their men would be killed by the blast of the Talons. Aquila, his blond-streaked auburn hair flowing in the wind, looked pensive. He also realized that lives would be lost. “I could aim for Níᵭingr. End him now.”

  Although the option was appealing, Lluava realized that the end result would be failure. “You could, but you would destroy his horn. We need the horn to signal to the rest of the Raiders that their leader is no more. Killing Níᵭingr that way would mean greater losses afterward.”

  Aquila pulled out one of the golden arrows and shot it at his target.

  For a moment, the whole world gleamed white. The explosion that followed shook the very building they stood on. The vibrations sent Lluava and Varren tumbling down. She dug Issaura’s Claws into the tiles of the roof. Clay shrapnel scattered everywhere. With one Claw serving as an anchor, Lluava grasped the king’s arm with her other hand.

  While Varren regained his footing, Yena reported, “The entire building has collapsed. Níᵭingr is alive and moving onto the correct path. At the rate they are moving, he and his men will arrive at the temple well before we can get there.” As the foursome slid down the roof toward their waiting ladder, Yena admonished them, “Hurry, or all will be lost!”

  Chapter 38

  Upon Rooftops

  Splinters bit into her flesh as Lluava slid down the ladder—sharp, stinging reminders of the far worse pain they would all feel if they failed. Following the others, she moved as quickly as possible to return to their initial position.

  Varren hastily lowered the ladder to the next rooftop. The loud crack caused all to wince as the ladder slipped out of his grip. Had the enemy heard? Would the Raiders suspect what they were planning? While the others took a moment to regain their calm, Lluava led the way across the chasm.

  The ladder was almost horizontal. This should have made the crossing easy, but wind gusts were picking up. Instead of walking across upright, Lluava chose to crawl on all fours. As she moved, she sensed that certain sections were weakening, and she avoided placing too much pressure on them. The eighth rung was the worst.

  Reaching the other side, she steadied her end of the ladder as Yena crossed, followed by Varren and Aquila. The group made steady progress until they encountered a drop trap that appeared to have been set off on its own. On closer inspection, Yena noted, “The ropes were not tethered well. Someone rushed their work.”

  “The Raiders’ path is still open,” Aquila remarked, as he examined his last regular arrow. The sorry-looking thing had tattered fletching, though he must have deemed it worth holding onto.

  “Yes,” countered Varren, “but our path has been affected. Look.”

  Stony debris had fallen on the rooftop opposite them. The uneven surface and weakened structure would not be safe to cross.

  Lluava grew impatient with the others; decisions needed to be made. “To another building, then. If the Raiders can alter their routes, so can we.”

  They veered off in the direction of the approaching Raiders and their leader, Níᵭingr. As the homes of the wealthy increased in size, Lluava and her companions picked their way around chimneys and climbed over steep peaks. At last, Yena raised a hand, signaling the others to slow down; she suspected they were near Níᵭingr’s location. The roadways were empty, households deserted. Everything was eerily still.

  Varren scanned the panorama with his spyglass. The others relied on their keener sense of sight. Níᵭingr had disappeared. Nothing they saw indicated an oversight in the plan; all the pathways had been altered, and there had been only one route to take. The enemy should be here. But they weren’t.

  So, where were Níᵭingr and his men? What could she have missed?

  Beside her, Lluava noticed that Varren held his breath. The Incarn’s unnatural calm did not allow fear to enter her thoughts. Let the young king worry. Or the nomad. She had no time for such petty things.

  There was a sound of crashing and cracking.

  “That was under us,�
� Varren stated, his eyes wide with understanding. They rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down. Suddenly, a large bay window directly below them shattered. Shards of glass flew into the cobblestoned street. Peering over one side of the building, Lluava saw a blue-black-skinned Úlfhéðnar climbing up the sheer wall of the building.

  From the other side of the house came the sound of more glass breaking.

  “There is another Úlfhéðnar over here!” hissed Yena, as she uncoiled Crocotta’s Hackles.

  “One here as well,” snapped Aquila, as he let loose his last ordinary arrow. The weapon must have struck its mark, for a sickening thump was heard as the victim hit the ground. “I’m out,” said Aquila as he backed away from the edge. He could not use the Talons at this close range.

  The former asset had suddenly become a burden. Now Lluava would be forced to watch over this helpless cub. She backed over to the nomad’s side as the first Úlfhéðnar attempted to climb onto the roof. Varren dispatched the Raider’s head with his sword, though the young king warned, “More are coming.”

  Yena’s Úlfhéðnar had avoided initial decapitation and was threatening the high priestess’s life. She snapped her whip as if awakening the Hackles from their slumber. The crackling sound that followed was paired with an electrical sensation in the air. Lluava felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up as if on command.

  Aquila recognized Lluava’s intent to protect him. He glanced over the wall, past the Úlfhéðnar climbing to the roof, and focused on the dead corpse sprawled unnaturally on the ground. “He has arrows.”

  The nomad was right. His victim had been carrying a large crossbow. The full quiver was positioned under the Raider’s naked shoulder.

  “Don’t do it,” Lluava warned, as she saw Aquila searching for the best way down.