Risen by Sharon Cramer Page B

cause
Modred to pause, eyes wide as he stared down the blade.
    Ravan hissed over his shoulder to
the girl, “Horse,” indicating she should be gone for the mare. The
maiden disappeared through the back door as the other three men
threw themselves at the mercenary. Ravan had only a second’s notice
to block the rage bent upon him. He feinted the weight of the
one-eyed general’s battle axe with the borrowed sword as he
stumbled backward, away from them and toward the fire.
    Tor raged to the front, infuriated
by the mortal injury his brother had sustained. Sweeping his cup
from the nearby table, Ravan splashed the full brandy into the face
of their leader before heaving the table at all three of them.
Turning, he reached the hearth in two long steps. Grasping the coal
bucket, he swept it through the fire, and spinning, threw
it—bucket, embers, and burning wood—at Tor as they charged around
the overturned table.
    Instantly, the brandy erupted on the
man’s face, lighting his hair and beard ablaze. This was enough to
give the other two further pause. The youngest was obviously thrown
off that his father was on fire.
    The mettle of the dark man who’d
erupted like a demon from the shadowed corner of the room,
disabling two of them in quick order, had surely not been what they
expected. Even so, it was still two against one. Ravan took this
moment to plunge for the stairs, pulling in his wake another table
as he charged the steps three at a time. It wouldn’t be long before
three men would be after him, albeit one burnt
considerably.
    Crashing through his door, he barred
it swiftly and set to work. He could hear the commotion working its
way up the stairs and down the hall as he swept up his longbow and
arrows, heaved the window ajar, and tossed the sword and bow out.
Then, dangling out the window himself, he let go and tumbled nearly
ten feet to the ground.
    The earth was slick with frost, and
he slipped, falling heavily onto his back, the breath knocked hard
from him as he did. Ravan was leaner than he normally liked to be
and sucked wind as he groaned and rolled over. Trying to force
himself to his knees, he reached for his bow, arrows, and
sword.
    Tor’s son was the first one to break
into the room. The door bar was weak, and the young man’s strong
shoulder broke through it easily. He ran to the window in time to
pull an arrow and seat it on the rest. As he drew back, Ravan
rolled and scrambled, desperately trying to get out of the man’s
line of sight. But the arrow Modred launched cut Ravan at the flesh
of his shoulder through and through.
    Ravan was not even immediately aware
that he’d been hit and, fortunately, it connected neither with bone
nor tendon. He kicked, clambering farther out of range nearer to
the side of the building, and struggled to his feet, girding
himself at the waist and securing the sword and bow as he ran
behind the inn for the stables.
    There she was, drawing his steed
from the barn with her only good hand, steadying the horse with the
stump of the other arm as she whispered to the nervous
mare.
    “Whoa…there’s a good girl.” The
woman’s one eye was tear filled and wide with fear as the mercenary
sprinted up to her. She reached as though she would hand the reins
to Ravan. “Here you go. She’s ready to—”
    “Up you go,” he said simply and
grasped the reins before reaching his other arm around
her.
    Hoisting her easily, he heaved the
surprised girl up onto the back of the horse. He swung up behind
her, and the mare reared, not accustomed to the weight of two on
her back. Ravan drove his heels into her sides and pulled her head
about, effectively putting the steed back onto the ground. Then he
gave the horse her head, nearly running over a still smoldering Tor
as they stampeded from the establishment grounds and out onto open
road.
    It wasn’t long before the three
remaining were mounted and giving chase. Tor’s brother was already
bled out and dead on the tavern floor,