The Ruins were close by and he elected to make a stand there, rather than in the woods. He knew the Kalkara would come after him once night fell, so he prepared as best he could, gathering deadfall wood to form the bonfire. He even found half ajar of cooking oil in the ruins of the kitchen. It was rancid and foul smelling, but it would still burn. He poured it over the pile of wood and moved back to a spot where he could place the wall at his back. He had fashioned a supply of torches and kept them burning as darkness fell and he waited for the implacable killers to come for him.
He sensed them before he saw them. Then he made out the two shambling forms, darker patches against the darkness of the trees. They saw him immediately, of course. The flickering torch jammed into the wall behind him made sure of that. But they missed the pile of oil-soaked wood – and that was what he had been counting on. As they screamed their hunting cries, he tossed the burning torch into the pile and the flames leaped up instantly, flaring yellow in the darkness.
For a moment, the beasts hesitated. Fire was their one fear. But they saw the Ranger was nowhere near the flames and they came on-straight into the hail of arrows that Halt met them with.
If they'd had another hundred meters to cover, he might have managed to stop them both. He still had over a dozen arrows in his quiver. But time and distance were against him and he had barely escaped with his life. Now, he huddled beneath two pieces of masonry that formed an A-shaped refuge, hidden in a shallow indentation in the ground, his cloak concealing him, as it had for years. His only hope now was that Will would arrive with Arald and Rodney. If he could evade the creature until help came, he might have a chance.
He tried not to think of the other possibility – that Gilan would arrive before them, alone and armed only with his bow and sword. Now that he had seen the Kalkara close-up, Halt knew that one man had little chance of standing against it. If Gilan arrived before the knights, he and Halt would both die here.
The creature was quartering the old courtyard now like a hunting dog in search of game, adopting a methodical search pattern, back and forth, examining every space, every cranny, every possible hiding place. This time, he knew, it would find him. His hand touched the hilt of his small throwing knife, the only weapon left to him. It would be a puny, almost useless defense, but it was all he had left.
Then he heard it: the unmistakable heavy drumming of battle horses' hooves. He looked up, watching the Kalkara through a small gap between the rocks that concealed him. It had heard them too. It was standing erect, its face turned toward the sound outside the ruined walls.
The horses stopped, and he heard the ringing scream of the mortally wounded Kalkara outside as it challenged these new enemies. The hoofbeats rose again, gaining speed and momentum. Then there was a scream and a gigantic red flash that towered for a moment into the sky. Dimly, Halt reasoned that the first Kalkara must have been thrust into the fire. He began to inch back, wriggling out of his hiding place. Perhaps he could outflank the remaining Kalkara, moving to the side and scaling the wall before it noticed him. The chances seemed good. Its attention was drawn now to whatever was happening outside. But even as he had the thought, he realized it was no option. Though the Kalkara had apparently forgotten him for the moment, it was moving stealthily toward the tumbled masonry that formed a rough stairway to the top of the wall.
In a few more minutes, it would be in position to drop on his unsuspecting friends on the other side, taking them by surprise. He had to stop it.
Halt was clear of the hiding place now, the small knife sliding free of the sheath almost of its own volition as he ran across the courtyard, dodging and weaving among the scattered rubble. The Kalkara heard him before he had gone half a dozen paces and it turned back on him, terrifying in its silence as it loped, apelike, to cut him off before he could warn his friends.
Halt stopped suddenly, stock-still, eyes locked on the shambling figure coming at him.
In another few meters, its hypnotic gaze would seize control of his mind. He felt the irresistible urge to look into those red eyes growing stronger. Then he closed his own eyes, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration, and brought his knife hand up, back and forward in one smooth, instinctive memory throw, seeing the target moving in his mind's eye, mentally aligning the throw and the spin of the knife to the point in space where knife and target would arrive simultaneously.
Only a Ranger could have made that throw – and only one of a handful of them. It took the Kalkara in its right eye and the beast screamed in pain and fury as it stopped to clutch at the sudden lance of agony that began in its eye and seared all the way to the pain sensors in its brain. Then Halt was running past it for the wall, scrambling up the rocks.
Will saw him as a shadowy figure as he scrambled onto the top of the ruined wall. But shadowy or not, there was something unmistakable about it. "Halt!" he cried, pointing so that the two knights saw him as well. All three of them saw the Ranger pause, look back and hesitate. Then a huge shape began to appear a few meters behind him as the Kalkara, whose wound was painful but nowhere near mortal, came after him.
Baron Arald went to remount. Then, realizing that no horse could pick its way through the tumble of rocks and masonry beside the wall, he dragged his huge broadsword from its saddle scabbard and ran toward the ruins. "Get back, Will!" he shouted as he advanced and Will nervously edged Tug back to the fringe of the trees.
On the wall, Halt heard the shout and saw Arald running forward. Sir Rodney was close behind him, a huge battle-ax whirring in circles around his head.
"Jump, Halt! Jump!" the Baron shouted, and Halt needed no further invitation. He leaped the three meters from the wall, rolling to break his fall as he landed. Then he was up on his feet, running awkwardly to meet the two knights as the wound in his leg reopened.
Will watched, his heart in his mouth, as Halt ran toward the two knights. The Kalkara hesitated a moment, then, screaming a bloodcurdling challenge, it leaped after him. But, whereas Halt had rolled to recover, the Kalkara simply transformed the three-meter drop into a huge, bounding leap, its unbelievably powerful rear legs driving it up and forward, covering the ground between it and Halt in that one movement. The massive arm swung, catching Halt a glancing blow and sending him rolling forward, unconscious. But the beast had no time to finish him off, as Baron Arald stepped up to meet it, the broadsword humming in a deadly arc for its neck.
The Kalkara was wickedly fast and it ducked the killing blow, then slammed its talons into Arald's exposed back before he could recover from the stroke. They slashed the chain mail as if it were wool and Arald grunted in pain and surprise as the force of the blow drove him to his knees, the broadsword falling from his hands, blood streaming from half a dozen deep slashes in his back.
He would have died then and there had it not been for Sir Rodney. The Battlemaster whirled the heavy war ax as if it were a toy, and crashed it into the Kalkara's side.
The armor of wax-matted hair protected the beast, but the sheer force of the blow staggered it so that it reeled back from the knight, screaming in fury and frustration. Sir Rodney advanced, placing himself protectively between the Kalkara and the prone figures of Halt and the Baron, his feet set, the ax drawing back for another crushing blow.
And then, strangely, he let the weapon fall from his grasp and stood before the monster, totally at its mercy as the power of the Kalkara's gaze, now channeled through its one good eye, robbed him of his will and his ability to think.