Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [165]
Bleeding now from several wounds, he backed away with the girl behind him, watching the darkness. “Anything?” he asked her.
“No. They’ve fallen back. But not far.”
Of course, not far. They had him now. Her, too, if he didn’t do something about it. Then all this would have been for nothing.
He dropped behind another wall and knelt close to her. “I want you to go on ahead without me. Don’t argue. You have to reach the fortress and open the door for me. I won’t have time for that once I catch up. The locks are hidden. But I can show you how to find them. Listen carefully.”
He told her where to go and what to do. He made sure she understood. He sketched a quick map in the dirt, which showed her the route she must follow. “Go now,” he told her.
She shook her head, the first time she had questioned him. “I can stay and help …”
“You don’t have a weapon, and you don’t have fighting skills. You’ll only slow me down if I have to worry about protecting you. Here, take this.”
He handed her a Flange automatic, a twelve-shot handgun he had recovered from its hiding place about five years back and restored to working order. He showed her how to use it—how to release the safety, how to hold the weapon steady, how to fire it once or multiple times. “Just in case,” he told her.
She nodded once, and then she was off, sprinting away into the darkness. Good girl, he thought. She knew, but she wasn’t making a mistake by saying so, by staying to argue. He respected her for that. She was worth saving. Sider hadn’t made a mistake in asking his help.
He turned back to the darkness, listening for sounds of approaching Trolls. An attack was inevitable, but it might not come right away. He backed into the ruins a little farther, searching the walls and doorways for the right spot. He found it finally, a corner slot formed by adjoining walls beneath a deep overhang. They could only get at him from in front.
He braced himself against the walls once he was concealed in the shadows, reloaded the flechette, and propped the spray up next to him. Then he looped a cord around the firing pins of three of the flash-bangs and fastened them to his chest armor where they could be easily reached. He set two more of the explosive devices on a protruding stone on his left, then changed his mind and moved them to another on the right. His left arm wasn’t working well enough to do anything more than brace the stock of whatever weapon he was holding. When the attack came, he would have to move quickly.
He leaned back into the darkened corner and waited. It was a good run, he thought. I don’t like that it’s ending, but you don’t always get much of a say in that sort of thing. You just take what’s given you. He would miss seeing Sider again. But the girl would explain. What was her name? Prue, wasn’t it? It fit her.
Time stopped. The night went still, the darkness closed about, and his breath turned to frost on the cold air. He could almost make himself believe he was going to get out of this.
The attack came all at once and without warning. But he was ready, and he fired the Tyson into everything that moved until it was empty, jammed in a second clip and fired again. He was struck repeatedly by arrows and darts, but most failed to penetrate and nothing did any real damage until the Drouj came at him in waves. By then the flechette was empty and he was using the spray, riddling the bodies until they were stacked all around him, Trolls and Skaith Hounds alike.
There was a small lull, and he found himself laughing at the absurdity of it all. He was still laughing when they came at him a final time, too many for him to stop, and as they reached him he pulled the cord attached to the pins on the flash-bangs and everything disappeared in sound and fury.
THIRTY
MILES AWAY, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAINS,