Tharuks converged on the door. Tomaaz let one last shot fly, threw his bow across his back and drew his sword.
The door broke, showering the floor with wood. A piece smacked Lofty on the arm, then a wall of fur, tusks and claws poured over the threshold.
Tomaaz ran at them. A tharuk swiped, its broad furry arm bashing his sword aside. Tomaaz slashed at the brute. The beast swung at his head and he ducked, then counter-attacked. Fur flew. This stuff was like armor, thick and matted. He’d have to aim for a weak spot.
But the tharuk was a blur of tusks and claws, gouging and slashing. As fast as he blocked, the brute was there again, beady red eyes anticipating his moves. Tomaaz pushed himself harder, faster, driving the brute back toward the doorway, where more of their fighters had spilled past to battle monsters outside. He pursued the monster over the step. The beast stumbled, then drew itself upright, raising an arm high. Its sharp claws came down toward Tomaaz’s head. Tomaaz swerved, and the beast’s claws shredded the side of his jerkin.
Tomaaz swept in, driving his sword upward, under the tharuk’s descending arm. Surprise flashed across the tharuk’s face as Tomaaz’s blade sank deep into the beast’s armpit. The monster’s roar nearly split Tomaaz’s head.
He twisted the blade and dragged the sword downward, ripping a gash in the tharuk’s side. The beast collapsed, sprawled across the stairs, staining them with its blood.
Pushing his foot against the monster’s side, Tomaaz wrenched his sword free.
“Tomaaz!”
He whirled to face the chaos inside. Lofty was trapped by the kitchen table, holding off two tharuks.
Tomaaz rushed in. One of the beasts whirled and charged him. Tomaaz danced aside, striking at its neck. The beast flicked its head, its tusk catching Tomaaz’s blade and ripping his sword from his grip. Tomaaz backed away, his foot hitting the hearth as the beast dropped its head to charge. He had to think fast.
The monster careened toward him. He grabbed the stew pot off the hearth and smashed it against the beast’s skull, knocking the tharuk to the floor, unconscious.
Lofty was standing over the other beast, dark stains on his sword. He raised his eyebrows. “We did it. We got them all.”
Fallen monsters lay among the shattered debris. People huddled in corners. Inside, there were no tharuks left standing. “Good job. I’ll check the rest of the house. Meet you outside.” Tomaaz picked up his sword and went through the back of the house, checking the bedrooms. No more beasts inside, and enough adults to take care of the wounded.
He and Lofty rushed out to help those still fighting tharuks. Even outside, the stench made Tomaaz want to gag. Raising their swords, they plowed into the fight, stabbing tharuks in the back of their knees, in the throat, or under the armpits, wherever they were most vulnerable. Back to back, they fought, battling the tusked beasts.
With a squeal, a boy went down. Tomaaz sprang to his aid, driving the tharuk off.
“They’re getting away,” Lofty called, slashing at a tharuk that had a torn ear.
The beast laughed.
Tomaaz jerked his head toward the village. A black swarm obscured the road—another troop of tharuks were heading for the town center. In the distance, a flicker caught his gaze. Buildings were burning!
“Pa!”
“Go,” called Lofty. “We’ll take care of these!”
Tomaaz raced down the road, his heart thundering. If tharuks breached the prison, Pa would be trapped. He veered off the road, running between rows of corn, across fields so he wouldn’t be spotted.
Tomaaz was about halfway to town when he heard whimpering. He slowed. It was coming from behind a shed, so he crept along the rough wall.
“The girl, Lovina, where is she?”
Tomaaz froze.
It was Old Bill. There was a short cry, cut off by a slap. “There’ll be more than that, if you don’t answer now, boy!”
Lovina’s lash marks flashed before his eyes. Tomaaz drew his knife and ran around the corner.
“Don’t cut me anymore! Lovina’s at Ernst’s farm,” blurted a boy, being held by Old Bill against the shed. The whites of the lad’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
“You monster!” Tomaaz bellowed, running at Bill.
Bill flung the boy away, sneering, “And you’re the scum spawn of a dead dragon lover!” He ran off into the dark.
Dead dragon lover? Pa? Tomaaz’s heart lurched.
The sobbing boy crumpled to the ground. Tomaaz was torn. Should he chase Bill, look for Pa or check if the boy was injured? Sheathing his knife, Tomaaz knelt. It was one of the cooper’s littlings. “Is that you, Paolo?”
The lad gazed up. “Tomaaz?”
“It’s me. Are you hurt?”
“He cut my neck.” Paolo whimpered.
“Show me. Where?”
Paolo guided Tomaaz’s hand to a cut on his neck, about as long as his thumb, but thankfully, not too deep. Tomaaz ripped a strip off his tattered jerkin and gave it to Paolo. “It’s only a flesh wound. You’re a real warrior now. Here, hold this against it while we get you home.”
“I thought I could fight,” Paolo said, “so I sneaked out, but that bad man found me.” He sniffed.
“It’s all right,” Tomaaz said. “These tharuks are tricky, so I’ll get you home, but we have to be quick.” They slipped across fields toward the cooper’s yard, Tomaaz helping to keep the stumbling boy upright.
Suddenly, a light appeared. “Paolo! Paolo!” a woman’s voice called.
Tomaaz stopped Paolo from replying. “Quiet! Tharuks will hear you,” Tomaaz whispered. They’d hear his mother too. They rushed ahead, Tomaaz telling the woman to put out her lantern and keep her voice down. He explained what Bill had done. “Zens’ tharuks are attacking the township,” Tomaaz said. “Do you have weapons? People in your household that can wield a sword?”
The cooper’s wife clutched Paolo
