Page 2 of The Steel Rogue

Robby looked to the barn again. Flames licked high on the sides of it. This cog would need to be replaced.

But maybe. Maybe he could go in and rescue a few casks.

Just as he sized up the door to the barn—his distance from it and the fire quickly eating the walls—the roof of the barn collapsed inward in a brutal, deafening roar. It sent quakes through the air, a rush of heat and embers rushing across his face. He took a step back, his eyes squinting against the searing air.

A clank of steel. And another.

Robby searched through the blast of smoke and embers to find the man that had been arguing with one of the brutes. He spotted the two of them just as the man sent his sword into the ruffian’s gut, slicing him through.

The man yanked his sword free, threw it to the ground, and bolted into the flaming cottage.

Shit.

There were people in there. That was where the two women had disappeared to. That was where Mr. Wilson was. Mrs. Wilson. Their boy.

Robby took a step forward.

An instant clamp on his upper arm dug into his flesh. “I wouldn’t do that, boy.”

Robby jerked his arm free. “There are people in there?”

“Just the halfwits that live here. And those idiots that came to save them.”

Robby looked to the rat. “Save them—what—how many?”

Molson shrugged his shoulders. “Two, three, maybe more. I wasn’t countin’.”

Blast.

Robby started forward.

The barrel of a pistol jutted into his back, jabbing between his spine and shoulder blade. “Yer not to intervene, boy. Not if ye know what’s good fer ye.”

Robby's eyes scanned the smoke and flames searching for anyone moving—anyone exiting the cottage—anyone other than the brutes still setting torches to the buildings. Mr. Wilson or his wife or his boy. Or that man or woman.

Nothing but ashes floating between the buildings. Snapping of wood and timber. Smoke suffocating the ground.

A crack—the screech of a main timber splitting—pierced the air. The end of the cottage’s roof started to collapse inward.

They were in there. All of them. Innocents.

In there and done for.

And he was standing there, doing nothing.

Like a coward.

He hadn’t taken one step to help them.

A coward.

He’d been called it before. It was the one thing that he despised above all others. He fought that word. Fought it until his bones broke. Fought it until he was knocked unconscious.

But once it had been uttered, he could never escape it.

The door of the cottage slammed open and the well-dressed man burst into the clearing in the middle of the buildings in a distorted vision of wild, flailing arms and legs.

A gust of wind cleared the smoke between Robby and the people.

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