Thinblade by David Wells

shot.
    Alexander called out, “Lucky, whatever you’re doing, do it faster.”
    Lucky came out of his room with a clay fire pot in hand.
    Anatoly looked twice at his old friend. “You sure about this?”
    Lucky shrugged, “Desperate times and all. Quickly, all of you get into my room.” Abigail scooped up her pack and went without a word. The three holding the table released their pressure just as the hammer struck again driving the table back several feet.
    Anatoly spun. He knew the man pinned between the table and the wall would be free the moment the pressure was off. When the enemy slipped into the room, Anatoly used the momentum of his spin to bury his axe blade in the man’s chest, cutting him nearly in half at the torso. Blood flowed freely.
    Alexander and Jack were moving toward Lucky’s room, followed by Anatoly as Lucky tossed his clay fire pot through the doorway. It broke against the shields and splashed liquid fire into the hallway. Smoke began to flow along the ceiling, both from the now burning curtains covering the windows and from the new conflagration in the hall caused by Lucky and his well-placed fire pot. The screams of burning men could be heard over the growing roar of the fire.
    Inside Lucky’s room, they were met with a three-foot hole in the floor, burned around the edges as if by some type of potent acid. Anatoly’s rope was secured to the bed and trailed down the hole. Abigail was already in the room below, which was thankfully unoccupied.
    She called out quietly, “Come on,” and motioned for them to follow.
    Lucky went next, followed by Jack, then Alexander, and finally Anatoly. They could hear shrieks of pain coming from the hallway above as they slid down the rope. The fire was growing and the other guests were in a panic to get out of the building. As guests fled, more soldiers raced up the stairs to reinforce the Reishi Protectorate in the hall above, leaving a clear route to the kitchen where they could flee out the back door.
    Anatoly cracked the door just enough to see down the hall. “It’s clear this way.”
    Alexander took a look out the window. Wizard Rangle stood across the street, looking up. He was flanked by a dozen men with crossbows. Fortunately, they were all looking at the second floor. “We have to move fast. Anatoly, lead the way to the kitchen and out to the stables. We have to get out of here before they realize we’re not still in our room.”
    Anatoly considered for a moment. “Agreed, but they’ll have men waiting for us at the stables, probably with crossbows. Jack, do you know of another way out?”
    “I’m afraid not,” Jack answered. “There’s a way into the Southport underground a few buildings down but that can’t help us unless we can get there.” Just then they heard the bells of the fire brigade. “Perhaps the authorities will provide us with the distraction we need.”
    Alexander had his bow out with an arrow nocked. “I’d rather face whatever’s out back than that wizard and his crossbowmen. I say we go out the back way and hope we can make it to the stables in one piece.”
    Anatoly nodded, slung his war axe, and drew a throwing knife in each hand. “Hit them before they hit you and move fast.” He checked the hall again, stuck his head out, then back in quickly. “There’s one at the end of the hall guarding the door to the kitchen.”
    Alexander took a deep breath. He’d never killed a man before, unless you count the guy he just stuck with his sword through the door, but he didn’t even know if that guy was dead. “Open the door for me,” he said as he put tension on his bowstring.
    Anatoly nodded, positioned himself and looked to Alexander for the go. It happened very quickly. Anatoly swung the door wide, Alexander glided into the hallway, drawing his bow as he moved. The enemy saw him and pulled his crossbow up to take aim. Alexander was faster. The soldier took the arrow straight in the chest and staggered back with