these people? Where did all the crazy come from?
Talgorn hesitated at the foot of the stairs. He looked at the bowman. Then he looked at the smoker, Etch. He picked up his cloak. Under it were two curved blades. Nora swallowed bile.
Etch made his decision and sheathed his sword.
“Come on, Talgorn. Help me with Janner!” He pointed to the downed axman and nodded at the front door. “And then let’s go.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Etch,” the bowman said. “Neither are you two!”
“I’m not going to die over a few furs and a stupid wench. Look, the kitchen’s burning. We get the hell out, sell the furs in Dernberia, get some easy money—”
Etch got a dagger in his stomach instead. He opened his mouth as the bowman twisted the blade and then pulled it upward before wrenching the knife free. He lay jerking his life out in spasms on the blood-soiled floor. The bowman laughed again.
“Now you.” He stopped abruptly and pointed the bloodied blade at Talgorn. “And you.” He pointed it at the axman. “Stop playing and bring her over here.”
Talgorn grabbed his twin blades and turned to Nora, jaw set, look grim. He sidestepped toward her, slicing the blades through the air in graceful movements, yet out of the corner of his eye he checked to see what the bowman was doing.
Nora tightened her grasp on the meat cleaver, at a loss for ideas. When her luck had held, it had held tight. Now, though, it had run out the door screaming and wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. The element of surprise was gone. She was outmatched. She was alone. She was tired and had reached her limit. Everyone was dead. Rannoch was dead. The Ridge was dead.
And Owen was far, far away. At least one thing to be thankful for.
Talgorn stepped over the body of the axman. He glanced down at his squirming mate, distracted for a second.
Nora’s body moved. She vaulted onto the bar as though to take cover behind it, but then ran two steps along it only to fling herself off the end. Surprised, she found herself in the air now, cleaver and knife ready. And in her memories of the moment, she seemed to hang suspended in the air for a long time. The man with the twin blades turned his head incredibly slowly. He followed her movement, but his body was still facing the wrong direction. His blades pointed at the floor. She would land on his back if he didn’t turn around now. But he was too slow. Everything was incredibly slow. Her feet impacted his back.
They both toppled to the floor. Nora scrambled on top and hacked the cleaver down into the man’s nape, cutting a deep gash into the flesh with the dull snap of blade meeting bone. Blood flowed up and she couldn’t get the cleaver out. Her hand slipped off it. Didn’t matter. Use the moment. She pounced onto the nearest bench and hurled herself toward the still-flailing axman.
He was slow, too. Too slow. Ha ha. Funny. His sword was only half drawn when she slashed her dagger across his face. His hands went up and he started to scream again. She plunged the knife into his armpit, then turned to face the bowman.
But he wasn’t where he’d been standing a second ago. He was fast. His bloodied dagger swished only a hair’s breadth away from her throat. Nora’s eyes widened. She skidded on her knees, arching backward under his thrust, then ran those few steps back to the kitchen door. It was time to go.
Nora grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. Then she felt the burn of the iron on her fingertips. Fingers in her mouth, she stared into the kitchen. Red and yellow flames greedily licked toward her, blocking her path. The heat hit her like a blow. The small flame of the oil lamp had found fuel enough in the man’s clothes and hair, the wooden cupboards, and the bushels of herbs above to spread. It was a furnace in there. She recoiled, protecting her face from the heat with her arms. The way through the kitchen was barred. She should have made her last stand at the kitchen
Talgorn hesitated at the foot of the stairs. He looked at the bowman. Then he looked at the smoker, Etch. He picked up his cloak. Under it were two curved blades. Nora swallowed bile.
Etch made his decision and sheathed his sword.
“Come on, Talgorn. Help me with Janner!” He pointed to the downed axman and nodded at the front door. “And then let’s go.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Etch,” the bowman said. “Neither are you two!”
“I’m not going to die over a few furs and a stupid wench. Look, the kitchen’s burning. We get the hell out, sell the furs in Dernberia, get some easy money—”
Etch got a dagger in his stomach instead. He opened his mouth as the bowman twisted the blade and then pulled it upward before wrenching the knife free. He lay jerking his life out in spasms on the blood-soiled floor. The bowman laughed again.
“Now you.” He stopped abruptly and pointed the bloodied blade at Talgorn. “And you.” He pointed it at the axman. “Stop playing and bring her over here.”
Talgorn grabbed his twin blades and turned to Nora, jaw set, look grim. He sidestepped toward her, slicing the blades through the air in graceful movements, yet out of the corner of his eye he checked to see what the bowman was doing.
Nora tightened her grasp on the meat cleaver, at a loss for ideas. When her luck had held, it had held tight. Now, though, it had run out the door screaming and wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. The element of surprise was gone. She was outmatched. She was alone. She was tired and had reached her limit. Everyone was dead. Rannoch was dead. The Ridge was dead.
And Owen was far, far away. At least one thing to be thankful for.
Talgorn stepped over the body of the axman. He glanced down at his squirming mate, distracted for a second.
Nora’s body moved. She vaulted onto the bar as though to take cover behind it, but then ran two steps along it only to fling herself off the end. Surprised, she found herself in the air now, cleaver and knife ready. And in her memories of the moment, she seemed to hang suspended in the air for a long time. The man with the twin blades turned his head incredibly slowly. He followed her movement, but his body was still facing the wrong direction. His blades pointed at the floor. She would land on his back if he didn’t turn around now. But he was too slow. Everything was incredibly slow. Her feet impacted his back.
They both toppled to the floor. Nora scrambled on top and hacked the cleaver down into the man’s nape, cutting a deep gash into the flesh with the dull snap of blade meeting bone. Blood flowed up and she couldn’t get the cleaver out. Her hand slipped off it. Didn’t matter. Use the moment. She pounced onto the nearest bench and hurled herself toward the still-flailing axman.
He was slow, too. Too slow. Ha ha. Funny. His sword was only half drawn when she slashed her dagger across his face. His hands went up and he started to scream again. She plunged the knife into his armpit, then turned to face the bowman.
But he wasn’t where he’d been standing a second ago. He was fast. His bloodied dagger swished only a hair’s breadth away from her throat. Nora’s eyes widened. She skidded on her knees, arching backward under his thrust, then ran those few steps back to the kitchen door. It was time to go.
Nora grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. Then she felt the burn of the iron on her fingertips. Fingers in her mouth, she stared into the kitchen. Red and yellow flames greedily licked toward her, blocking her path. The heat hit her like a blow. The small flame of the oil lamp had found fuel enough in the man’s clothes and hair, the wooden cupboards, and the bushels of herbs above to spread. It was a furnace in there. She recoiled, protecting her face from the heat with her arms. The way through the kitchen was barred. She should have made her last stand at the kitchen
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