The Emperor's Talon

His window of opportunity to escape was closing fast. In a matter of seconds, the Storm Troopers would notice he was gone and come after him. He couldn't run fast enough. The ground was uneven. The air was painfully cold. Not even his elevated heart rate and the urgency of his flight were enough to keep him warm.

Even trained as he was, he stumbled clumsily in his haste. Every time he fell, he wasted precious seconds. And those seconds could make the difference between freedom and a lifetime of servitude and pain. So every time he fell, he picked himself up and ran. Ran because his life depended on it. He ran because many lives depended on it.

Richard Grayson was a Talon. The Emperor's Talon. He was an assassin; trained by the Court of Owls for one purpose. He was trained to kill. And he was good at killing. There was blood on his hands. Too much blood for too few years of life. He had seen blood when The Court killed him to make him a talon and now he saw blood everywhere. He could see blood in the moon hanging ominously low in the night sky. He saw blood coursing through the river; breaking on the banks or lapping at his legs as he ran through it. And he saw blood fueling the Imperial Starships and Tifighters. Blood of innocence.

He could not go back to those nights of blood. Could not go back to the Emperor to whom he had been given as a gift. That's what he was; less than an assassin. He was a slave. A mere pawn in a game of death.

Richard's lungs ached for air. His head was starting to spin, but still he ran. He force-jumped over a huge fallen tree that lay across his path. He supposed he should thank the Emperor and Darth Vader for teaching him how to use the force. It would help him now in his escape. He should thank The Court of Owls too for their hand in his training. He had the tools he needed to run. But would it be enough?

The night air of Alvorine was sharp and cold. As a Talon, Richard could not survive in cold temperatures. He simply could not maintain body heat. Already he felt himself becoming more sluggish by the second. His vision was starting to swim and he knew he couldn't keep running much longer. To buy himself a little time, Richard raced into the denser part of Alvorine's large forest. He would hide himself among the black fir trees. Staggering with exhaustion and cold, he tore through the underbrush.

A light flashed behind him. The whir of motors warned him of the approach of speeder bikes. "Here," called the muffled mechanical voice of a Storm Trooper, "I see footprints in the frost."

Richard froze. His heart was beating so fast and so loudly, he feared it would give him away.

"Where?" called another trooper.

"Here. See? They're so small, they must belong to the Emperor's little Talon."

Richard let his head fall back against a tree. It made a dull thud. That thud was too loud. He looked up into the dense branches of black firs. He hoped to catch one last look at that low hanging moon. He needed to see it one more time with the eyes of a free boy.

His heart pounded again. This time with regret. He was so close to freedom. He could taste the air of freedom he had so long craved to inhale. A tear rolled down his cheek. Fear and pain and cold racked his small frame. He could not go back to killing. To hiding in the shadows waiting to strike people he didn't even know.

His training was better than good, it was the best. He could hide himself even within the force. He had used that skill to hunt and kill Jedi who had somehow escaped Order 66. But was his training enough to save him tonight? Ordinarily, the Storm Troopers would be no match for him. He could take down a dozen without breaking a sweat. But tonight, it was different. Not only was he outnumbered, but he was outnumbered and weaponless. His weapons had trackers built in, so he was forced to leave them behind. But even weaponless, he might have a chance, except even nature was against him. He could not perform as well as he needed to in the cold. All he had at the moment were his skills and his wits.

The troopers' bikes were coming closer now. Desperately, Richard looked up again. This time not at the moon, but at the branches. Maybe he had just enough strength to travel through the treetops like the robins. If he could get to the edge of the forest, he just might be able to make it into Alvorine City. With renewed determination, he pulled himself up onto the first low branch. By traveling through the trees, he would leave no foot prints. Using the Force and his acrobatics, Richard leapt from branch to branch.

"The footprints end here," said a Storm Trooper below.

"Well, he can't have just vanished," said another. "Fan out and search the area. He can't have gotten far."

Richard stopped. He waited until they were out of sight before resuming his journey. The fear of being discovered was almost physically painful. His hands were shaking as much from desperate anticipation of being caught as they were from the cold.

He lost hold of one branch. He fell to another. It cracked under his weight. He froze again.

"In the trees!" cried a trooper. "The Talon must be in the trees." They opened fire on the branches above.

Richard barley kept his scream of pain and sheer mind-numbing terror from escaping his lips. A plaster bolt ripped through his left thigh and another through the branch on which he supported himself. The branch gave way and he fell hard on the frosty ground.

"There's The Talon!" shouted a trooper triumphantly.

Richard let out a screech like a wounded owl as the Storm Trooped surged towards him. He stood. His injured leg burned with the fire of all nine Correllian hells. But he forced himself to run. Run and not look back. Blaster bolts crackled through the air as they shot past him. One tore through his shoulder. He stumbled. But he picked himself up and ran.

The forest ended abruptly. Richard halted as he faced a four-story high wall separating him and Alvorine City. Sanctuary and a new forest within to hide was right in front of him. Tauntingly close, yet impossible to reach in his current state. Richard desperately pounded his good fist on the stone wall in a futile hope that it would yield to him and offer him sanctuary and rest. He heard the troopers coming up behind him. He heard them level their blasters.

"Turn around Talon and put your hands in the air," barked the inhuman voice of a Storm Trooper.

Richard gazed up at the top of the wall in despair as he raised his hands. He looked up at the moon and whispered a faint goodbye to freedom. His knees wanted to buckle under him. His heart wanted to give out. His lower lip wanted to tremble as he turned to face his captors, but he would not give them the satisfaction. Instead, he kept his gaze fierce and proud. He was an assassin. A slave. The Emperor's Talon. But more importantly, he was Richard Grayson; and Richard Grayson was not only proud and fearless but brave like the heroes and Jedi of a bygone age.

"Grab him," ordered a trooper.

Richard didn't flinch as they moved forward.

Suddenly, a huge black shape like a bat leapt into the air from the top of the wall. It spread a cape that looked like wings blocking the light of that bloody moon. It descended on the Storm Troopers and took them out one by one. Those that were not to injured to do so, turned and ran for their miserable lives. Then the figure turned to Richard.

The boy Talon wanted to take a step back. This figure was terrifying but he didn't. Instead he met its gaze with fierce eyes and proud chin. But his façade could last and Richard finally collapsed on the frozen inhospitable ground of Alvorine.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this story. I thought about it one night in bed and wrote the whole thing in a few minutes. Please let me know how I did and if you would like this story to continue. Thanks for reading.