Samou and his merchant friends sat around their dwindling fire in a somber mood. Nobody spoke as we approached, nor moved from their seats. Without asking, I knew why they grieved. Their companion, Habib, must not have survived the night. Now, because bandits were allowed to operate without a response from the royals, these merchants had to go home with empty pockets and one friend short.

  As much as I wanted to help eliminate the threat, I had second thoughts. To make us appear to be simple merchants on our way home after selling our wares, they would need to give up more, including their last empty wagon. They had very little left.

  Samou finally glanced at me. He pointed to the fire, where two partially eaten squirrels rested, still impaired by the sticks they were cooked with. “We have little appetite. Feel free to fill your bellies. We’d hate for good game to go to waste.”

  I was about to decline the offer, but Miles’ belly growled loud enough to make Victoria flinch. After thanking Samou, I handed a squirrel to each of my crew members. Pulling a small piece off them and tossing it into my mouth. “If we come in contact with these bandits, Habib will be avenged.”

  Samou stood and nodded to Hamet. “Get them the clothing and the wagon.” He turned back to face me. “Even Habib’s clothes wouldn’t fit you, but you might camouflage best by appearing to be their security.”

  I shook my head. “We can’t take what little you have.”

  “Removing the bandits from this realm is well worth the cost. But I would ask more of you, if only out of desperation.”

  “If what you ask is within my ability, I shall be happy to lend a hand.”

  “We have loaded Habib onto the wagon. Would you bring his body to his family in Kusi Vilca?”

  I nodded. Bringing a body back to the family was a custom practiced by the Nasar Wigon, as they preferred to bury their relatives in the family garden, so the magic of their body strengthens the ingredients they grow for future potions. During the war, I discovered that humans practiced a similar ritual. Not for the body’s magic, but to put their loved one at peace. Blood Wigons practiced neither, since we realized the shell was now empty, and the one we once loved had been born as another. But it wasn’t a subject I wished to broach at this time. I hunted Void Wigons, not Nasar.

  “We are heading that way.” I watched as Hamet dragged the cart over. It wasn’t the type that attached to a horse, but was designed to be drawn by a yaksha. “We will leave the wagon with his family, along with the merchant clothing you provided and any of your wares the bandits still hold.”

  Samou’s posture stiffened. “Do be careful, Stevyn the Ghost, for they have two men to your one.”

  For a moment, I considered correcting him by mentioning that my title had been changed to the Cursed, but little would be gained from such. Instead, I waited silently as Miles and Victoria put the merchant clothing over their own. Then I lifted the wagon, resting the two handles on my shoulders as I pulled it. It was designed for a much smaller man. The back nearly brushed against the ground as I moved.

  Samou’s warning didn’t go unheeded. Two men to my one meant I would face six bandits, likely yaksha fighters who have experienced combat. Miles and Victoria would not participate in the fight. Neither had the training nor were in the condition to battle.

  Taking down six infantry soldiers would have been an easy task when I was still the Ghost. I’d down my preferred cocktails, giving me armored skin, immense strength, and enhanced speed. My hammer would crush even the strongest armor. But I hadn’t such potions. At best, I could drink the one that gave me armor. Since I suspected the bandits acted on orders from a royal or one of their knights, there was a decent chance they had their own supply of potions.

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  My best strategy was to make an example out of the first one I could reach, frightening the rest. Scared men fought worse than angry men. And a man that fought with either clouding their mind, experienced a deterioration of their skills.

  By Midi-Petra, I began worrying that the bandits wouldn’t attack. The weight of the wagon started taking its toll on my shoulders. I’d likely have blisters where the handles touched the skin. Sweat dripped from my face as the yellow rays emanated from Petra’s position, directly above us.

  Right as I stopped to drink water, I noticed movement in the trees to my right. Ahead, two wagons sat beside each other in the dirt road, blocking our path. I scanned the tree line to the left, finding what I expected, two figures hunched down. They were likely waiting for us to go a little further before springing their trap. My best move was to act in a way they wouldn’t expect.

  I fished the armor potion out of my satchel, popping the cork and holding it next to my leather water pouch. Pretending to drink the water, I downed the potion. Then I whistled, a signal I had discussed with Miles and Victoria earlier. They both turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. The bandits wanted to line their pockets, meaning they were more likely to stay with the wagon, then chase them. If my theory was correct, and they meant to disrupt trade in the area, then they had accomplished it without catching the two fleeing merchants.

  Men emerged from both of my sides, and from the wagons blocking the road, two in each direction. All carried shields and maces--weaponry of soldiers, not of thieves and assassins. In my many winters as a Mallma Knight, I had confronted my share of bandits. One thing each group had in common was the diversity of the weapons they used. Usually, they carried an assortment of swords, daggers, and bows. On a few occasions, a brute would swing an axe or a war hammer much smaller than mine. But never had I seen them all carrying the same.

  I studied the movements of the men to my right. They had fought together in actual battle. I had no doubt about that. Now, I only wondered if they went out on their own, or were following orders.

  I walked around to the back of my wagon, taking care not to move too quickly. I didn’t want them to charge. Since the two yaksha from the front were farther away than they had planned, the fighters on the side would likely take their time, allowing their friends to get in place.

  As they slowly closed in, I pulled my hammer from under a blanket in the cart. Heaving it into the air, I rested it on my shoulder. I nearly crumpled when the unforgiving wood from the long handle collided with the tender part of my shoulder—the part that had practically rubbed raw from the cart handle. “Who is your leader?”

  One yaksha to my left scoffed. “We answer to nobody.”

  “Everyone answers to somebody.” I smiled, walking toward the one who spoke. “On this night, you answer to me.”

  He held out his shield and changed his footing, preparing to absorb an attack, while his partner moved in place to counterstrike. Both were foolish, not adjusting their fighting strategy to the conditions on the field. His shield might block a common weapon, but against my hammer, it would be as effective as stopping a wild horse with a handful of mud.

  Once he was but six paces away, I broke into a sprint. My explosive short-term speed had a habit of taking my foes off guard. Before either yaksha could react, I jumped into the air and brought my hammer down hard.

  The bandit dropped his shield and mace instantly. The top of his helm met the base of his neck in the blink of an eye. Thick yellow blood sprayed from every opening in his metal armor, covering me and his partner with the sticky liquid. The front of his breastplate split in two, right down the middle of his chest.

  As I yanked my hammer free of him, his mangled form slapped against the dirt road, sending up a small cloud of dust. My hammerhead landed in front of him, creating its own dirt puff.

  His partner moved toward me, raising his mace into the air.

  My muscles, already fatigued, could barely lift the heavy hammer. Using everything I had, I managed to lift it to knee height. I swung it forward, smashing against the second bandit’s leg. He screamed out in pain as he crumpled to the ground.

  The other four bandits stopped their forward movement. They glanced at one another. At first, I thought they were trying to signal the others to attack at the same time, hoping all four would be able to take me down. Instead, they all turned and took off, sprinting into the trees.

  I let out of gust of air, a deep breath I had held without realizing it. What my enemies didn’t know, is that I lacked the strength to lift my hammer another time. If they had jumped me, I’d be reduced to using fists.

  After dropping my hammer, I picked up the mace of the dead soldier and walked over to the one that was wiggling on the ground, holding a leg that was bent the wrong way. “I have some questions for you.” I stepped on his injured leg. He howled louder as I applied minimal pressure. “If you answer to my liking, I might allow you to keep your other limbs.”