“Lucky, because you have a chance to live,” Sakar explained. “You just leave your wagon and the mule. We’ll take them off your hands.”

  Adding to the implied threat, Cio drew a short sword.

  “Doesn’t that sound better than the alternative,” he suggested while pointing at the tradesman’s chest with the steel tip.

  There was little doubt the soldiers were prepared to fight. The question hanging in the heavy rain, did the tradesman want to resist? A moment later, the three received an answer.

  The tradesman patted the side of the mule’s muzzle then went to the rear of the wagon. Before running away, he pulled a bundle and a long case from the back. A few heartbeats later, the tradesman vanished in the rain.

  “That went well,” Sakar observed.

  “If we knew robbery was this easy,” the third soldier mentioned. “We could have done this anytime instead of joining the company and fighting for Mago the Carthaginian.”

  “Maybe too easy,” Cio said. Sheathing his sword, he instructed. “Get the mule and walk the wagon to our camp.”

  “Hurry up, I’m hungry,” Sakar added.

  ***

  Late in the day, the rain stopped. Staggering and stumbling from the wine he consumed, Sakar built a cookfire. Shortly afterward, he squatted unsteadily and turned the spit. Soon the aroma of pork cooking over the flames filled the air. And from the misery of being hungry and damp, the three soldiers dried and brightened as they inhaled the roasting meat.

  “What’s his trade?” Cio asked the third soldier.

  “Who?”

  “The tradesman we took the wagon and mule from,” Cio snapped.

  “Him? How would I know?”

  “You were in his wagon,” Cio said in frustration. “You know, when you pulled out the wineskins and the salted pork.”

  “I didn’t look,” he admitted. “There were a lot of containers and long leather straps. Oh, and pieces of curved wood. From the aroma, I’d say maple.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much,” Cio insisted. “Sakar. Any idea what a tradesman would do with carved pieces of maple?”

  “Not a clue…”

  Zip-Thwack!

  Sakar rolled away from the cookfire. Not in a display of acrobatic skills, although the tuck and tumble resembled one. What spoiled the controlled roll was the arrow shaft protruding from the bottom and the top of his thigh muscle. After the summersault, amid screams of agony, he came to rest curled up around the injured and incapacitated thigh.

  At the sudden movement of Sakar, Cio reacted. As would any experienced soldier, he jumped for his shield.

  Zip-Thwack!

  The arrowhead cut through the muscles of one butt cheek. Quivering as Cio trembled in pain, the shaft rocked with each shiver. To ease the hurt, the soldier lay still while panting.

  Unlike Cio who went for his shield, the third soldier scurried behind a tree trunk. From there, he crawled away and vanished in the bushes.

  ***

  Jace Kasia hopped down from the saddle between two branches, collected his bundle and the empty bow case. Holding a notched arrow on the bowstring, he glided through the forest to the camp of the robbers.

  “That looks painful,” he mentioned to Cio while taking the man’s sword and knife.

  “Yes, curse you, it is,” Cio admitted between groans.

  At Sakar, Jace took the knife and kicked the spear away from the soldier.

  “I have some good news, and some bad, and some worse,” Jace announced to the two wounded men.

  “What’s the good,” Cio inquired.

  “You aren’t going to die,” Jace replied.

  “What’s the bad?” Sakar demanded.

  “I’m only going to treat you with vinegar,” Jace remarked.

  He squatted beside the fire and cut away a piece of cooked pork.

  “If you treat our wounds and we aren’t going to die,” Cio questioned, “what’s the worst that can happen?”

  “You’re well trained and relatively fit,” Jace told him between bites. “And I don’t care to fight you. So, we’ll travel to Lleida, together.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” Sakar challenged.

  “I’m leaving the arrows in place,” Jace informed them. “On one hand, you’ll hurt. On the other, you won’t be in any condition to attack me.”

  As the two robbers whined and complained, Jace removed the harness from the mule and rubbed the creature down before hobbling it near a patch of tall grass. Once the mule was settled, he tied cloths around the exposed ends of the arrows and doused them with vinegar. The complaining stopped as the two unemployed soldiers cried out in agony.

  Before dark, Jace gave the wounded men several slices of meat and sips of water as a sign of goodwill.

  “Tell me,” he inquired as he fed Cio, “do you know Indibilis and Mandonius.”

  “Sure, King Indibilis and War Chief Mandonius invite me to all their holiday celebrations. But I have to turn them down due to my busy social schedule.”

  “That’s great,” Jace said thinking this was the easiest contract he’d ever been given. “Tell me, does…”

  He realized something was wrong when Sakar began laughing until the pain in his leg turned the chuckling into moans.

  “What’s so funny?” Jace asked.

  “Cio has the same social schedule as me,” Sakar managed to get out between groans. “Which is none. Other than fighting for Mandonius, having our spoils taxed by him, and then being discharged by the War Chief when we got home, we know him as well as we know you.”

  “I understand,” Jace stated while placing another piece of pork in Cio’s mouth.

  ***

  In the light of a new day, the plain of Lleida extended far into the distance on both sides of the road. Although the region consisted of grass or farmland, trees along tributaries flowing to the Segre River prevented Jace from taking in the full vastness of the land. And while birds chirped and whistled from trees along the wagon track, he couldn’t enjoy the songs. Because every bump brought howls from the men in the wagon.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jace called back to them. “But you interfered in my life and not the other way around. And now you’re reaping the reward.”

  “How is this a reward?” Sakar asked.

  “You’re alive for now,” Jace answered.

  “For now?” Cio inquired. Muffled by the blanket under his face, and the restriction of speaking while attempting to hold his butt still, the soldier’s voice came out feeble and didn’t travel far.

  Jace ignored the question and continued walking the mule, his prisoners, and the wagon towards the city of Lleida.

  Several miles from the camp, Jace noted a compound set back from the road. Cultivated fields spread out behind a house and outbuildings enclosed in a defensive wall. Figuring to get information about the Ilergetes brothers, Jace slowed as he approached the turnoff. Before he guided the mule onto the side road, three riders galloped from the compound.

  If they had been dressed as farm workers, or wearing finer clothing, Jace would have waited. But they weren’t and he didn’t.

  Rushing to the opposite side of the wagon, and out of sight from the riders, Jace pulled a quiver and the case with his war bow from the wagon.

  ***

  The three heavy cavalrymen raced their mounts around the wagon with lances leveled. Once they completed the turn, the trio reined in.

  “I have to say,” Jace exclaimed from the wagon bed, “I’ve had warmer welcomes.”

  A steed and a lance were formidable weapons. But a war bow held by a man standing on a raised platform and off to the side of the lances, more than equaled the horse muscle and steel tips on three wooden shafts.

  “You’re on our Lord’s land,” one alleged.

  In turn, Jace aimed a single notched arrow at the riders.

  “And you’re standing on my section of the roadway,” he responded. “I guess we have a disagreement. Let’s settle this right now. Who wants to die first?”

  Zip-Thwack!

  The arrow flashed from the bow to the side of a rider.

  “You missed,” one of the cavalrymen growled.

  “Did I?” Jace questioned.

  Red liquid flowed down the side of a horse and dripped to the surface of the dirt road.

  “Are you alright?” another rider asked.

  The cavalryman with the damp horse reached down, pulled the arrow from a sack, and lifted it to his mouth. After licking the arrowhead, he protested, “That was good cherry wine. Made with aged Jerte Picota Cherries.”

  “And now it’s a puddle on the roadway,” Jace pointed out. “How about I continue my journey. And you return to your Lord and say you chased me off. Or we can fight.”

  At the word fight, Jace reached into his quiver and extracted five arrows. In the blink of an eye, he notched one arrow and positioned the other four between his fingers.

  To the cavalrymen, the spread feathers of the fletching appeared to be the ruffled feathers of a bird-of-prey.

  “You’re an archer,” a cavalryman gushed.

  Jace wanted to say something about people who state the obvious. But from the looks on their faces, he had impressed them.

  “If your flashy handling of a bow and a handful of arrows creates indecision in your enemy,” Zarek Mikolas had coached, “don’t open your mouth and spoil the illusion.”

  Breaking with his training, Jace attempted to enhance the declaration.

  “A Cretan Archer,” Jace confirmed to the riders.

  “What’s that?” two inquired.

  “On the island of Crete, we are given bows while still in the crib.”

  “Why?” the third rider demanded. “Why give a baby a bow?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a master of the bow, and leave it at that,” Jace offered.

  Cio moaned and a cavalryman nudged his horse to the rear of the wagon.

  Seeing the two soldiers, he inquired, “Are you also a collector of the dead?”

  “If I didn’t have this arrow in my leg,” Sakar threatened, “I’d drag you off that horse and show you who is dead.”

  At the outburst from a man with an arrowhead near his hip, and the shaft threading under the skin of his thigh, and another man lying face down with an arrow through one butt cheek, the cavalryman yanked the reins of his horse.

  “Get away,” he warned the other two riders. “The archer is a magician. His arrows capture men and makes them into slaves.”

  The three trotted off the main road, turned their mounts, and blocked the trail to the compound.

  “Priest of Evil, leave us be,” they prayed. “Go away, Wizard.”

  Deciding not to argue the validity of the accusation, Jace hopped down. He strolled to the mule and pulled on the bridle. He, the beast, and the wagon proceeded along the main trail.

  “Not very cordial, were they?” he asked the mule.

  Unlike the mule’s response during the rainstorm, the pack animal bumped Jace’s shoulder with his head.

  Behind them, one of the cavalrymen noticed the exchange and asked, “Do you suppose the mule was once a soldier before the Wizard captured him?”

  The three riders shivered at the thought of being hit by a cursed arrow and becoming a mindless slave.

  Chapter 5 – A Change of Reason

  Farther away, with the hostile compound hidden by trees, Jace halted the mule. He walked to the rear of the wagon and stared down at the robbers.

  “I’ve been in Ilergetes territory for three days and two nights,” he mentioned to Sakar and Cio. “And, I’ve had my life threatened twice. What is it with your tribe?”

  “Our lands are owned by Lords and worked or guarded by friends of the Lords,” Cio told him. Then he added with pride in his voice. “That leaves the rest of us to be soldiers.”

  Softly, Sakar volunteered, “And between wars, we survive by being thieves and robbers.”

  Without speaking to the injured men, Jace soaked their bandages with vinegar. Once back at the front, he started the mule moving forward. As he kept pace with the animal, Jace adjusted the plan.

  His disguise as a humble but excellent bow maker wouldn’t work in the near lawless territory. He’d need to be more high profile to get the attention of King Indibilis and War Chief Mandonius. High enough to complete the mission, but not so much that it got him killed.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, the roofs of wooden buildings appeared on the horizon. As Jace drew closer, broken shingles and collapsed thatched roofs on a few of the buildings became clear. He stopped the mule and went to his prisoners.

  “Gentlemen, this is where you get off,” Jace informed them. “You have two choices.”

  “What choices?” Sakar asked.

  “I can leave you here with the arrows embedded,” Jace explained. He pressed down on the flesh over the shaft on Sakar’s thigh. The big thief jumped from the pain. “It would take a brave man to remove an arrow by himself. Although, I’ve seen it done. Or, if you remain peaceful, I’ll take them out.”

  “Why can’t we go into Lleida with you?” Cio questioned.

  “I had planned to turn you over to the local authorities. Hopefully for a reward,” Jace replied, hiding the part about gaining some fame. “But, as you’ve explained, a local Lord won’t care that you robbed an innocent tradesman.”

  “An innocent tradesman,” Sakar sneered. “There’s nothing harmless about your black heart. And how did we rob you? You’re the one guiding the mule and we’re injured.”

  “And there is another reason I don’t want you riding with me,” Jace pointed out. “Choose a quick pain now. Or a mile of pain as you hobble to reach a doctor?”

  “Take it out,” Cio told him.

  Jace put a hand on Sakar’s shoulder and forced the soldier to roll over on his side.

  “Remain facing away from me,” Jace warned. “If you roll towards me, I’ll cut the arrow shaft out, and leave you on the side of the road to die.”

  After Sakar nodded his understanding, Jace scored lines around Cio’s arrow just beneath the fletching. Once he had a deep enough groove, Jace snapped the shaft.

  “Bite down on this,” Jace ordered. He forced a thick piece of leather between Cio’s teeth.

  Growling, the soldier tried to protest. That’s when Jace jerked the shaft through and out of one gluteus maximus muscle. The growl of irritation became a muffled howl of pain.

  “Looks good,” Jace declared as he inspected the tissue and blood covered arrow shaft.

  Cio spit out the leather piece and announced, “It’s disgusting.”

  Sakar shifted his head, eyed the shaft, and asked, “What’s good about that?”

  “No sign of the rot,” Jace answered. “Your turn.”

  After seeing the reaction of his companion, Sakar admitted, “I don’t know about this.”

  “How do you feel Cio?” Jace inquired.

  “It’s like the time the barber pulled a rotten tooth,” he described. “It hurt right up until he pulled it.”

  Jace held the leather piece in front of Sakar’s mouth and raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

  “Fine but make it quick,” Sakar proclaimed. He lay back, bit down on the leather, and closed his eyes. “Do it.”

  Below the arrowhead, Jace cut lines around the shaft. Then he snapped the top of the arrow off.

  “Sakar, I want to apologize,” he mumbled.

  “Huh?” the soldier questioned.

  “For this,” Jace said.

  Low on the man’s thigh, Jace cut a two-inch slice above the shaft. Then he rested the knife hand on the leg to steady it. By continuously twisting and pulling, Jace drew the arrow through the muscle and tissue along the length of Sakar’s thigh.

  Sakar responded to the sensation of having the muscles in his leg being extracted along with the arrow shaft. He bolted up to a sitting position. But he didn’t attack Jace. Rather, the soldier probed his thigh to be sure it was still intact. His breath came in short sharp gasps, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “You cut me,” he managed to say between breaths.

  “I can sew a clean cut easier than ripped skin,” Jace informed him.

  ***

  As the sun touched the horizon, Jace helped Cio and Sakar off the wagon bed.

  “Don’t do anything to rip the stitches,” he instructed. Then in a magnanimous gesture, Jace dumped the two old spears and two of the three shields on the ground. While walking away, he advised. “Keep the wounds damp with vinegar and you’ll be healed in a week.”

  “Then I’ll find you and kill you,” Sakar challenged.

  Jace walked back and approached the soldier.

  “The next time, Sakar,” Jace suggested while poking the man’s chest with his finger, “I’ll put the arrow right here, in your heart.”

  Jace Kasia strolled to the mule, took hold of the bridle, and tugged the animal forward. Behind him, Cio and Sakar slung the shields on their backs. Using the spear shafts as walking sticks, they limped after the retreating wagon.

  ***

  Lleida was a divided city. On the east side of the Segre River, the apartments and shops were constructed of old lumber, mostly patched with rough boards placed over rotten walls. On the west side of the river, the appearance was quite the opposite. The villas and businesses had stone foundations with rock walls. But the river and the building materials weren’t the only signs of separation.

  “Get in line,” the ferryman ordered.

  Jace angled the mule off the muddy track, making sure the wagon cleared the path from the river to a dirt road. Behind him, on the streets of east Lleida, men dressed in tattered clothing or threadbare robes. Even the facades of the shops seemed to droop. Mostly from age, but also from a lack of quality goods and paying customers.

  If he hadn’t interacted with the cavalrymen from the compound and the robbers, Jace might have stayed on the east bank of Lleida. But knowing the ways of the tribe, he figured the west side held more promise.