Page 34 of White Raven

Get them.

The other five responded to the order like it was the law, drawing their weapons. Their horses screaming, fangs snatching in the air as they came for us.

Before I could even blink, the Northerner clutched the cleaver at his belt, chucking it at the posse.

A high-pitched squeal pierced the air at the same time as the crunching of bone and flesh, the cleaver hitting its mark and embedding itself in the middle of a rider’s face. His body thudded to the dirt.

If they weren’t set on killing us before, they were now.

“Come on!” The Night Raven seized my hand, running down the side of the porch. A figure leaped over the railing in front of us, his scythe swiping at the Northerner.

The Northerner’s movements were quick and precise, his body built for battle. Leaping out of the way, he slammed his fist into the attacker’s face with unbelievable power. A loud crunch echoed as the man flipped over the railing, crumpling to the ground. Boots hit the wood porch, spinning us around, as three more circled behind us, their scythes coming. Terror froze me. I had trained most of my life, but it all had been pretend. Yanric’s assistants would attack me with a dull wooden sword, their efforts always slightly held back. I was never truly threatened; they couldn’t actually hurt me. It was against the law.

Here, nobody cared I was the White Raven. There was no decree keeping me safe.

“Concentrate.” Yanric’s sharp voice was clear in my head, as if I was back there with him. “As soon as you lose focus, your enemy will strike. You hesitate; you are dead.”

My uninjured arm swung out, my blade clashing with a sickle, shoving it away with a grunt. I was extraordinarily grateful the cannibal didn’t cut into my favored side, though pain throbbed at every move. The person stumbled, not ready for my strength, their hood slipping off. At a glimpse, I could tell it was the woman. Her hair was cut to her scalp, scars covering her face, and she had a bulky, muscular frame. A “J” was branded into her neck.

A snarl curled her lip, her billhook swinging for me again. The tip grazed my cheek as I leaped back, a warmth spilling down my face.

I had many nicks and abrasions from my training, but this was real.

A roar pitched the air, shaking the ground. The Northerner was shoving through his attackers, knocking them to the ground, as he threw his knife toward the woman. The blade drove into her ribs, bending her over with a grunt, her form stumbling before collapsing to the ground, her weapon hitting the wood with a clank.

Snatching up the scythe, he grabbed my hand with the other, darting us off the porch. I could hear the surviving attackers start to get up, yelling at us.

The Northerner took us straight to one of the horses, grabbing the reins of the beast. The horse brayed and huffed, trying to rear up, its teeth nipping at us.

“That thing will eat us too!” I yelled, peering back, seeing three figures leap off the porch. “We have to go!”

In a strange gesture, the Night Raven clutched the horse’s head, forcing it to look in his eyes, then put his forehead to it. The horse jerked, but it instantly quieted, its nose flaring.

“Get on!”

“What? Are you serious?”

He tossed me on the horse’s back without responding, handing me the scythe. “Use that against anyone who gets near us.” He mounted the beast behind me. The horse gave a start, tossing its head and curling its lips, displaying its sharp fangs.

“Go. Go!” He kicked his heels into the creature and the horse jolted forward, right as the men caught up to us. Using the sickle to keep the riders back, I swiped at the assailants. The horse neighed, breaking past them at a gallop.

My head curved, catching the figure still perched on a horse. The leader. He sat so still, like he found no reason to move, or his body couldn’t.

I felt his hooded eyes meet mine. Their power pierced my soul. Branding me. A mark he would be able to track down over the land.

The sound of the group yelling, scrambling for their own horses, had me gripping the hook more firmly. The horse sprinted deeper into the Shadow Rift, where darkness grew thicker, and wickedness became darker.

CHAPTER 9

The beast kept at a steady pace for hours, weaving us over the rolling hills of the shadowy terrain, its coat shining with perspiration. It had been a long time since I’d heard our pursuers’ shouts trailing after us, yet my pulse still pounded in my ears, my hand gripping the sickle so hard my arms shook.

The familiarity of the Northerner’s arms caged me, except this time, I didn’t fight his embrace. My brain and body were exhausted, and I found myself burrowing deeper into his chest. A shield against the dangers of the terrain.

It was a trauma response. It had to be.

The steadiness of the canter lowered my lids, the adrenaline burning out of my body, the blood loss from my arm, all making me crash into a wall.

“Whoa.” His rumble jolted my eyes open, realizing the scythe was falling from my grip just as he took it from me.