The Duke nodded. “What, then?”
“I would rather have heavy lances from horseback, or heavy spears, but these boar-spears should suffice,” called Tal over his shoulder.
Duke Olasko took a single step toward the others when from behind him there came a roar to shake the trees. It was a low howl with a strident note, coupled with the grating sound of a piece of wood being torn in half. Tal swore nothing living could make such a noise.
He turned for a second while the others froze and saw a massive brown shape explode from the trees less than ten yards from the Duke. Kaspar spun as if ready to meet a human attacker, in a crouch, his bow held in his left hand, his dagger seeming to fly to his right.
The Lady Natalia remained motionless but cried, “Do something!”
Tal threw aside his bow and with two quick steps yanked the boar-spear from the hands of an openmouthed servant, who looked to be on the verge of fleeing. To the other servant, Tal called, “Follow me!”
As he ran uphill past the two barons, he shouted, “Distract it!”
The Duke didn’t move until the animal was almost upon him, and at the last instant threw himself to the left. The bear swatted at him with his left paw, propelling him in the direction he was already heading. Had it gone the other way, Tal knew, the Duke would be dead with a broken spine. And, for all Tal knew, he was already.
Kaspar had taken a punishing blow, and he wasn’t moving, either unconscious or playing dead. The bear’s momentum took it on for a few yards farther; then it wheeled and turned, ready to charge. The two barons and Natalia let fly a volley of arrows and two of the three struck the animal. It turned and howled, giving Tal the time he needed to reach the Duke. Tal came to stand above him.
Seeing an opponent that wouldn’t flee, the bear slowed its charge and continued forward at a quick walk. Tal raised the boar-spear high above his head with both hands and shouted as loud as he could, an inarticulate approximation of an animal’s howl.
The bear pulled up just a few feet away and reared on its hind legs. It roared a challenge, and Tal ducked low, thrusting the boar-spear under the animal’s breastbone. The bear howled, stepping back. Once more Tal ducked under and thrust. The broad-headed blade cut deep into the muscle, and blood flowed, streaking the beast’s brown fur. Howling in pain, the bear retreated once again, but Tal followed, continuing to duck and thrust into the same spot below the breastbone.
Soon blood gushed like a river down the animal’s torso, pooling in the ground at its feet. The huge creature waved its paws, and again Tal thrust home with the boar-spear.
Tal lost count, but after close to a dozen cuts, the animal staggered backward, and fell on his left side. Tal didn’t wait, but reached down and grabbed the Duke, gripping his right upper arm and dragging him downhill. Kaspar said weakly, “I can get up, Squire.”
Tal helped Kaspar to his feet. The Duke seemed slightly dazed, but otherwise unhurt, though he was moving slowly. “I’ll be feeling that blow to the ribs for a week with each breath I take.”
“Are you all right?” Natalia cried, arriving at a run.
The two barons approached, bows in hand, and Mikhael said, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Kaspar said, “How did you do that, Squire?”
“My grandfather,” said Tal. “He told me once of a boyhood hunt. The great bear rears up to challenge. It is the only way to kill one, he said. If you run, he’ll take you down from behind, but if you stand and threaten him, the bear will rise on his hind legs. Then, said my grandfather, you must strike upward, just below the breastbone, hard and fast, for there is a great artery under his heart and if you can nick that with a deep thrust of a spear, he will bleed to death inside and quickly lose consciousness.” He looked over to where the now-comatose bear lay bleeding out, and said, “Apparently, Grandfather was right.”
“Your grandfather must have been an amazing hunter,” observed Baron Mikhael quietly.
For an instant emotions threatened to overwhelm Tal as the image of his grandfather, Laughter in His Eyes, came to him, smiling as he always did. Tal forced that memory aside, using every mental discipline he had been taught at Sorcerer’s Isle to keep composed. He said softly, “He was that.”
“Well, Squire,” said the Duke, wobbly enough to allow Baron Eugivney to help him down the hill, “I owe you my life. What can I do to repay that?”
Tal suddenly realized that without thought, he had just saved the life of the man he had sworn to kill, but Kaspar read his confusion as modesty. “Come. Let’s go back to camp and rest, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” said Tal. For a moment the irony of the situation came down on him in full force, and he was caught halfway between wanting to laugh aloud and wanting to curse.
He took a glance back at the dying bear, then shouldered the spear and followed the Duke.