The Outlaw...

The flash of sunlight as he rounded the corner caused him to wince painfully. The crevices around his eyes deepened and shadowed as he fought the eye’s natural instinct to protect itself. The brightness was harsh and unkind, highlighting his blemished and uneven skin. There was no softness to alleviate the coarseness of his features. His hair was a brittle grey and his lips chapped and sore. Every scar and line disfiguring his skin told a story of the passing years. From a childhood pox to his first impulsive fight, his life was mapped on his body.

A blow from behind shocked the breath out of him. They had taken advantage of his momentary disorientation. He hunched forward over his horse, his legs clamped hard about the animal’s flanks. His fingers rushed to the knife at his belt. It was short, useful only if he could get close to his opponent. They were armed with swords, doubling the length of their reach. He felt the bite of one across his right shoulder. It became clear from the quick jab that their intent was to disable him only. If they’d meant him to be dead, he would be already.

Quickly he formed a new plan. Gripping his wounded shoulder with his good arm, he slowly reduced the pace of his mare. It would be safer for him to fall when her hooves weren’t churning up the ground so frantically. He let his muscles relax and slipped off the horse, rolling and grunting as he hit the ground. In the moments that he was curled on the earth he disguised the knife within his sleeve. The ground echoed and shifted beneath him as their horses surrounded him.

“Tie him up Rob. His ugly face is going to earn us a pretty penny.” One of the men dismounted and strode confidently forward. He was grabbed by his wounded shoulder and roughly turned. As the man bent over him, he struck. The knife slipped from his sleeve and imbedded itself within the vulnerable skin of the man’s exposed throat. Blood pumped erratically over his face as the man thrashed uselessly about.

Using the finally lifeless body as a shield he slashed out at their horses’ legs. Ruined they buckled and fell, rolling onto their riders. He was fast and they had been stupid with arrogance. They had him cornered, they thought. But he had been cornered before. The satisfying crunch of broken bones and the mad rolling-eyes of the horses told him that it was safe for him to leave. The wound they had inflicted was superficial and he rose to mount his horse with deceptive gracefulness.

“Damn you outlaw.” One of the men was still alive, the voice thick with anger and pain. A crooked smile cracked across his face. He turned his horse away from the damage he had wreaked. Yes, he would survive for another day, and he would be that one step closer to achieving his revenge.