Ahead of Jace, a farmer with a cart of vegetables waited for the ferry to return. Then a nicely appointed carriage with a matched set of horses passed him and stopped besides the farmer’s cart.

  “Don’t be jealous,” Jace whispered to the mule. “The horses aren’t that pretty.”

  The mules bumped Jace’s shoulder.

  “Alright, maybe they are,” he teased. Then Jace had an idea and hinted at it. “Do you think they can swim?”

  Waving his arms, the ferryman ran to the driver of the carriage.

  “You’re blocking the roadway,” he shouted.

  “The Lord Indíbil does not wait for tradesmen or farmers,” the driver replied.

  “But you’re blocking the exit from the ferry,” the ferryman protested before the driver interrupted him.

  While the two argued, Jace studied the Segre. Based on marked stakes in the river, the water near the banks wasn’t very deep. But, from the movement of reeds caught on the poles, the current was swift. Swift enough to wash a tradesman’s wagon downstream, taking a mule and a reckless driver down river with it. Even if he was third in line and might not cross until morning, Jace decided to wait.

  After a promise of being next on the ferry, the carriage driver gave in and backed the horses away from the edge of the river. The move left a gap to allow the wagon on the ferry to squeeze around the carriage when it landed. But while it cleared the path, the move placed the wheels of the carriage beside Jace’s wagon.

  Trapped between the wheels of the carriage, the trees on the bank, and the farmers cart, Jace told the mule, “I guess we’re spending the night here.

  Out in the middle of the river, four ferrymen pulled on a rope cable while walking the length of the flat-bottomed boat. When one reached the front of the ferry, he’d rush to the rear, grab the cable, and began pulling and walking again. The movement and rotations of the four men powered the ferry and its cargo across the river.

  The splashes of water along the bank, the rhythm of the ferrymen, and the long day lulled Jace into a relaxed state. Unguarded, he didn’t pay attention at first.

  From a block away, a voice rang out, “That’s him.”

  In a rough town, full of unemployed soldiers, a raised voice meant nothing.

  “That’s him,” the voice shouted, “the man who killed Cio and Sakar.”

  ***

  Jace wouldn’t have recognized the man if he passed him on the street. But from the accusations, he knew it was the robber who fled Cio and Sakar’s camp.

  “Conceal your numbers and erase your tracks,” Zarek Mikolas had lectured. “No one can righteously charge you with an action if they don’t have an eyewitness.”

  The Master Archer had ruthlessly killed the five marauders who robbed and cut Uncle Dryas.

  “Never start a fight you don’t intend to finish,” Zarek instructed.

  Leaning against the cart, Jace looked down at the blood on his hands.

  “I didn’t expect,” the twelve-year-old stammered.

  “It’s never easy,” the archer acknowledged. “But in the end, it was their lives or ours. Would you have a different outcome?”

  “No. This had to be done. I knew that after sewing up Uncle Dryas’ ear,” Jace admitted. “Should we dig graves and offer prayers for the dead?”

  “Whenever possible, cover your tracks and erase all the evidence of your campsite. The goal is to leave as little a trace of our activities as possible. For a File of archers on an assignment, it helps hide how many bowmen are present, and their direction of march. For us, burning the cabin and the bodies, like collecting the arrows, hinders anyone coming after us.”

  “Someone might come after us?” Jace asked.

  “We just murdered five soldiers of Rhodes,” Zarek remarked as he tied the straps on his quiver. “Surely they have friends, relatives, comrades, and commanders.”

  “Master Mikolas, forgive my leniency at letting the third robber get away,” Jace whispered to the memory of his mentor.

  He ran to the wagon and retrieved his war bow and a quiver of arrows. Taking a position behind the carriage, Jace notched an arrow and gripped four more between his fingers. Then he began to pick targets.

  A few raging ones at the front would slow the mob. Next, he’d drop a couple of the loudest ones to stop them from urging the crowd forward. After that, he’d wound a few rioters to dissuade the more timid.

  “Thank you, stranger,” the carriage driver said as he stepped up beside Jace. “I was afraid this would happen.”

  Confused by the comment, Jace glanced sideways. The driver of the carriage held a small shield and a short sword. Braced for combat, the teamster faced the mob.

  “It’s the least I can do,” Jace uttered as if he understood the situation.

  “Get him,” someone deeper in the crowd bellowed.

  Two big men raced ahead. Considering their shabby clothing, it came as a surprise when they drew steel swords from scabbards.

  Zip-Thwack!

  Having learned his lesson, Jace’s arrow split ribs and pierced the first man’s heart. From a sprint to his knees, to the ground, to dead, took no more time than Jace needed to notch another arrow.

  Zip-Thwack!

  The next arrow cut through the second man’s throat. A shaft jutting from a neck gave the men behind him pause. They slowed. But rioters on the side missed the warning of the gore.

  Two charged into the carriage driver. He bashed one rioter to the ground with his shield and parried the other’s sword.

  Zip-Thwack!

  The rioter on the ground ceased to be a threat.

  “Hold,” a voice from behind the mob ordered.

  In most cases, a single word would not break the momentum of a mob. But the voice cut through the mania as sure as a bolt of lightning cut the night sky.

  “Hold or die,” the voice said again.

  Jace peered over the heads of the crowd to see five cavalrymen. Their lances leveled at the backs of the mob and their steeds snorting from anticipation.

  “About time,” the driver spit out. Then he faced Jace. “What’s your name, tradesman?”

  “Jace Kasia, Cretan Archer and bow maker,” he answered.

  “When you get to the west side, find me at the Indíbil compound. Ask for Belos. A guard will find me.”

  The driver marched to the carriage and spoke to the occupant before climbing to the driver’s bench.

  ***

  “But Captain, he killed Cio and Sakar,” the third robber protested.

  The mounted officer nudged his horse into the crowd.

  “That’s not possible,” the cavalry officer replied. “On the way in, we passed Cio and Sakar on the road. And this mob wasn’t after retaliation. To me it appears to be an attempt to rob and assault a Lord of the Ilergetes people.”

  After being stopped and having the hidden motivation for the riot revealed, nefarious men began drifting away. And, with the news that Cio and Sakar lived, the rest dispersed. All that remained were the dead and no one seemed interested in removing them.

  “Put your bow and the arrows away,” the Captain ordered as he rode by Jace.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  The five riders sat behind the carriage as the ferry touched the stones on the bank. Shortly after the arriving wagon left the flatboat, the carriage rolled onto the ferry. Then the ferryman approached Jace.

  “Lord Indíbil wants you to cross next.”

  “What about the farmer and the cavalry?” Jace inquired.

  “Don’t know,” the man admitted, “and don’t care. The Lord wants you across next. And that’s all that matters.”

  Although grateful for the chance to be away from any revenge by Sakar and Cio, Jace worried. Officers of calvary weren’t accustomed to being shoved aside for tradesmen.

  “Captain?” he inquired.

  “You did a service for Lord Indíbil,” the cavalry officer stated. “He wants you across and that’s all that matters.”

  Chapter 6 – In the Hunt

  Jace parked the wagon beside the landing on the west bank and unpacked for the night. To the delight of the ferrymen, on their last trip across the Segre River, they found a cookfire glowing on the shoreline.

  “I’m new in town, and for days, I’ve been alone on the road,” Jace explained. “And there’s so much meat and wine, I need help eating it. Do you mind?”

  Hungry from walking and pulling the boat back and forth across the river, the ferrymen dropped down by the fire. One by one, they cut pieces off the pork shoulder and sat devouring the meat.

  “What are you doing in Lleida?” a ferryman inquired.

  “There’s little demand for a solo archer,” Jace told him. “And only slightly more for a craftsman of hunting bows. But if I put them together, I can earn a living.”

  “How’s that work?” another asked.

  “I sell a bow then instruct the new owner in the proper use of the weapon,” Jace described. “Maybe even take him hunting so he gets the bow hunting experience.”

  “And you earn a living doing that?”

  “I’m not rich but I support myself,” Jace replied. “But there are things about Lleida and your people that I don’t understand.”

  “In that case, my friend,” a ferryman assured him, “you have the right dinner companions.”

  Another ferryman took a stream from a wineskin.

  “Our passengers don’t notice us when they travel across the river,” he informed Jace. “They forget we’re close enough to hear their private conversations. And they talk openly.”

  “My cousin is a bodyguard for a high-ranking man,” Jace offered.

  “Then you know important people often ignore the help. What do you want to know about Lleida and our nobles?”

  ***

  Before daylight, Jace waded into the river and washed. Back at the wagon, he put on a clean woolen shirt and pants. Then with the mule harnessed, he headed into town to look around.

  A lone man strolling by shops before they opened might be suspicious. But as a tradesman with a wagon, Jace received no scrutiny from guards patrolling the streets.

  Once he was familiar with the roads and alleyways, Jace stopped one of the patrols.

  “Can you direct me to the Indíbil compound?” he inquired.

  “It’s to the west of town,” the NCO answered. “Just look for the stone works. You’ll find the compound next door.”

  Jace knew the location from the ferrymen. But it never hurt to be able to say a Corporal of the Guard gave him directions.

  ***

  A reason the crowd on the east side of the river switched, from attacking Jace for murder to targeting Lord Indíbil, came into view after the last residential building. Scrawny men hauled large stones, gaunt stonemasons chipped out shapes, and underfed porters carried the shaped stones to piles. Their misery told the story. Cruelty in the name of profit wasn’t rare. But using neighbors and fellow tribesmen in such a foul way was unusual. It appeared Lord Indíbil made enemies with the way he treated his employees. The mob, then, had used the attack on Jace as an excuse to try for revenge.

  A mounted guard trotted from the entrance of the stone works.

  “What are you doing here?” the rider demanded.

  Jace glanced back at the last building of the city, then at the misery in the stone works.

  “Taking my mule for a morning stroll,” Jace told him.

  “You’re what?”

  “I said…”

  “I heard you,” the guard roared. “Move along before I search your wagon for contraband.”

  “That’s not advisable,” Jace offered.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the wagon is full of weapons,” Jace stated.

  “Yo,” the guard shouted to a group of mounted men, “trouble. He has weapons.”

  In response, two riders galloped from the stone works. In moments, the three circled Jace, threatening him with the steel tips of their lances.

  “What’s the problem?” one asked.

  “This one says he has a wagonful of weapons.”

  “What are you doing here?” one of the newly arrived guards questioned.

  “Taking my mule for a morning stroll,” Jace repeated.

  “Let me rephrase and be careful how you answer. Where are you going?”

  “To the Indíbil Compound to see Belos,” Jace replied.

  The tension between the three guards broke with the explanation. They walked their horses away from the vendor.

  “Move along,” the first mounted guard advised.

  “Thank you,” Jace acknowledged.

  But the shout, the targeting of a tradesman, and bits of the loud conversation reached the guards at the gate to the Indíbil compound.

  Jace jerked the bridle. The mule and wagon began moving towards a gathering of men-at-arms. They clustered around the gate to the compound as if preparing to defend it against an army. Consequently, while the guards from the stone works had been curious, Lord Indíbil’s household guards appeared downright hostile.

  ***

  “That’s close enough,” an officer instructed. “Why are you here? And what kind of weapons are you hauling in that wagon?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Jace beamed. He walked the mule around until the rear of the wagon faced the gate. “This, gentlemen, is the finest weapon in the hunt or on the battlefield.”

  Jace reached into the bed of the wagon. In response, the guards snapped their shields up and formed a shield wall. When Jace stepped back holding a bow and a quiver, their spears dropped to the top of the shields. While the guards stood braced against an attack, Jace pulled an arrow from the quiver. He paced off a hundred feet to the side and stabbed the arrowhead into the turf. Then he pulled a silver coin from a pouch. After displaying the small object to the alert guards, Jace rested the coin in the notch of the arrow.

  “Say this is the heart of a deer or a foe,” he announced while strutting back to the wagon.

  “It’s kind of small for a heart,” a household guard challenged. “More like an eyeball.”

  “Alright, we’ll go with that,” Jace exclaimed. “Say this is the eyeball of a deer or a foe. And you need to end its life.”

  “I don’t understand,” another of the household guards stated. “Nobody aims for an eye.”

  “No one, my friend, aims for an eye,” Jace concurred as he drew an arrow from the quiver. He whipped the arrow overhead, inserted it on the bowstring, spun to face the silver coin, and pulled.

  Zip-Thwack!

  All the guards stared at the empty notch of the arrow.

  Without looking, where the tiny target had been, Jace finished, “because nobody has a superior weapon like a bow customed made by a Cretan craftsman.”

  “Where’s the coin?” a guards inquired.

  “It’s there in the grass,” Jace answered. “Go see for yourself. If you find the coin, you can keep it.”

  Three household guards jogged to the arrow and began searching the ground around the shaft.

  “It’s not here,” one scoffed. “Probably a trick.”

  “An arrow from a Cretan bow travels fast and delivers power against an enemy,” Jace informed them with a wave. “Try farther out.”

  The trio spread apart and moved away from the arrow while scanning the ground.

  “I’ve found it, I think,” one boasted. He held up a halfmoon of silver. “At least I think this is the coin.”

  “A trick,” one of the guards declared as he inspected the bent coin. “You couldn’t hit that dead center with an arrow.”

  “Would you care to put a few coins on it?” Jace asked.

  The shield formation broke apart as the household guards dug into their purses for coins to bet. Soon, stacks for or against Jace spilled over from their height.

  “And just so no one thinks I’m using a trick coin,” Jace proposed, “I need someone to put up a new coin.”

  “I’ll have this back and my share of the winnings,” the guard officer claimed.

  He rested a silver coin in the notch of the arrow. But, while bent over, he twisted the shaft. When the officer rose to leave, more of the coin’s edge then the silver face presented itself to Jace.

  “Wait,” a guard protested.

  Before he finished, the officer snarled, “Shut your mouth.”

  Intimidated by his commander, the household guard walked away without mentioning that the twist made the target much smaller.

  “This is the finest weapon in the hunt or on the battlefield,” Jace repeated the claim. “You’ve shown your faith, or mistrust of the bow, with your coins. Now, let’s test the accuracy.”

  Jace sorted and selected a wide bronze arrowhead with one blade made of thin, but sharp bronze. It topped a flexible shaft. Once satisfied with the missile, the archer dropped his foot back and lifted his arms.

  While pulling the bowstring across his chest, the guard officer shouted. Nothing specific, just an outburst meant to unsettle the archer. And it worked.

  The arrow left the bow at an upward angle. Almost floating, the shaft pushed through the air rather than cutting a straight path.

  Moans came from the believers. And the nonbelievers started to laugh, knowing their bets were safe.

  Then the arrowhead dipped, the shaft leveled, and the arrow bent around an invisible corner.

  Zip-Thwack!

  Two shiny pieces from the silver coin flipped away from the notch.

  As with most cheaters, the ones attempting to change the odds were the most vile about losing.

  “He cheats,” the officer exploded. “Seize him. I’m confiscating his wagon. He can pay off his debt in the stone works.”

  Jace placed the bow behind his knee and bent the arms. Once the tension lifted, he unstrung the bow.

  “You asked when I arrived,” Jace emphasized, “why I was here. I’m here at the invitation of Belos. Would someone run and fetch him for me.”

  Belos stepped through the gate and declared, “No need, I’m already here.”

  In the presence of the Lord’s bodyguard and driver, the guard officer shuffled to the rear of his detachment.

  “Don’t you people have better things to do?” Belos challenged.