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There was a loud bang from the barn, followed by the sound of screaming horses. I froze as a cold shiver rushed down my spine. The rain had picked up now, hammering against the small, leaking window.
“Fiona,” I mumbled and started toward the door, but Sarolf blocked my way.
“She’s safe—they’re not after her.”
My gaze dropped to his right hand, his sword’s handle clenched inside it.
“Who are they after?” My eyes found his. There was a tense darkness in them, one I’d never seen before. He was preparing to fight.
A knocking sound rang out from downstairs. Sarolf gave me a small smile, his left hand moving up a few inches toward me, as if he wanted to touch my face, but then it dropped again.
“I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
With quiet, fast steps, he walked to the door and slowly opened it. Then he turned once more to look at Henrike and me.
“Blow out the candle. If you see anybody but me come through this door, jump out the window and run. The fall won’t kill you,” he whispered.
“What?” Henrike pushed out a shocked breath.
Without another word, Sarolf slipped into the darkness of the hallway. I was trembling as I listened to every sound coming through that door. But besides the natural creaks and groans of the old house, there was nothing else. Henrike blew out the candle and stepped beside me. Both of us held our breaths as we listened. My heart was racing wildly, beating against my chest like a hammer on a nail.
Then the first loud noise startled me, some pottery breaking downstairs. This was followed by a man’s agonized scream. Henrike’s fingernails dug into my arm like little needles as she let out a gasp of horror. Another scream made its way upstairs, sounding like the noise a man would make before dying in horrific pain. I felt nauseous as the noise of the fight picked up: metallic clanging, furniture and pottery breaking, and the awful screams and shouts of men. With every second, the sounds moved closer. Were they at the stairs now?
Henrike and I exchanged terrified looks as footsteps came from the hallway.
“Help!” a man’s voice shouted, followed by a banging sound that shook the walls.
“Run!” Henrike whispered and bolted over to the window. I followed her, my head constantly turning to the door. We pushed the window wide open, cold rain and wind hitting my face just as the door to our room was kicked in.
A large, masked man all in black jumped in, sword in hand. The tip of it was smeared in blood. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on me.
“Sarolf!” I screamed as he walked over to us. Henrike was already climbing onto the windowsill. The giant man took wide steps toward me, but just when he was about halfway through the room, a sword pierced him through his stomach from behind. He collapsed, revealing Sarolf right behind him. He pulled his sword out of the dead man’s body.
“Run!” he shouted at us. Henrike was already dangling on the outside of the house. Two more men came running into the room. One by one, Sarolf took them, the silver of their swords flashing in the darkness like shooting stars. Trembling, I crawled up the windowsill and was about to climb out. Henrike was already standing in the rain beneath me, her dark shadow flickering in the light of some distant lantern. I turned back toward Sarolf.
Was I going to run? Leave him here all by himself, fighting for our lives? My terror-filled face jerked around to watch the scene unfolding behind me. One after the next, new men came rushing into the room. And one by one, Sarolf took them on, eventually dropping each to the floor. It was the most horrific thing I had ever witnessed, yet I couldn’t help but be astonished at how gracefully Sarolf moved. His swordsmanship was truly impressive. But just when I thought he had the upper hand, two men entered at once, both of them engaging Sarolf at the same time. The first blow landed against the side of Sarolf’s chest. Sarolf let out a painful groan. He began to fall, but before he hit the ground, he swung his sword sideways, killing one of the two men. The surviving attacker wasted no time. He lifted his sword high over his head, ready to deliver a fatal blow. I needed to climb out that window now, not linger. Everything inside me told me to save myself. And yet...I didn’t.
“You’re here for me!” I screamed. My voice cracked from the sheer force of it tearing from my lungs. The attacker’s head turned toward me. He bolted my way, sword still high above his head.
With anxious, jerky movements, I tried to crawl backward out the window, to dangle off the sill as Henrike had, but there was no time. My attacker was by my side in seconds, his sword descending at me, so I made a snap decision and threw myself backward into the darkness.
As if time had slowed, I saw the flash of silver as the man’s sword hammered into the windowsill, missing me by barely an inch. For the briefest of moments, before I struck the ground, I saw a marking on the man’s lower arm. A black spider.
My hip struck the earth first, followed by the rest of my body.
The pain was instant and everywhere. My ears were ringing. Half of my face had landed in the mud, forcing the cold, rocky substance up my mouth as it mixed with the taste of bile on my tongue. I let out a painful moan, rolling onto my knees.
“Mina!” Henrike was by my side, trying to lift me to my feet. It hurt like hell as I pushed up on all fours and managed to stand, shakily. She had a supporting grip under my armpit, which was the only thing keeping me stable.
“Can you walk?” Henrike asked as she led me toward the open barn.
I tried to sayyes, but when my lungs failed me, I nodded in pain instead.
Suddenly, the body of a man dropped behind us. The man with the black spider tattoo—dead. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would have screamed.
“Alrick!” Henrike shouted up into the dark rain.
Nothing. We both looked at the window and then to the barn.
