Chapter 206: Keep it going!

Luke lowered the spear before the man with the hooked pole reached the wagon. The narrow gap beside the wall gave neither of them room for a wide swing, so the stranger drove the hook straight toward the shaft. Luke shifted the point and stepped back along the rear wheel, keeping the gate behind his shoulder.

"Cut the ropes!" someone shouted from the upper window.

The poleman tried to reach past him. Luke struck the man’s wrist with the wooden shaft, forcing him to withdraw the hook before it caught the canvas. Behind Luke, the mare stamped hard enough to rock the wagon.

Harl’s voice stayed firm. "Keep that shield toward the window. I’ve got the horse."

Lauren braced the shield’s lower edge against the front bench and angled it upward. She remained crouched behind it while Harl gathered the reins and set the brake. Luke heard the lever catch, then the scrape of metal as the driver drew his sword.

The poleman retreated into the open road. Luke started to follow before noticing that the man’s eyes had moved past him toward the window. Above, wood creaked as the crossbowman brought his weapon around. Luke pressed back toward the wall beneath the projecting stone lip.

A bolt struck the wagon’s rear gate, and the poleman rushed him before the shaft stopped quivering. Luke let his weapon slide through his rear hand, shortened the grip, and brought the butt across the man’s forearm. The hook scraped along the spear without catching it. Luke turned the point back into line and thrust, opening a cut along the attacker’s upper arm. The man swore and stumbled away, clutching the wound while the hooked pole dragged through the dirt.

Luke kept the spear pointed at him as blood darkened the torn sleeve. The poleman backed several paces out of reach, then dropped to one knee when the weapon slipped from his bloodied hand.

At the front, the man in the brown cap had left the handbarrow and approached the driver’s step. He raised his blade toward Harl’s legs and demanded that he climb down. The driver kept his sword between them, but he could not move the wagon through the obstruction.

"Can you keep the rear clear?" Harl called.

"For now."

"Then we need that barrow out of the road."

Lauren’s blindfold brightened briefly. Luke waited beside the wheel while she checked the next few moments, and her warning came before he stepped into the open.

"He aims at whoever approaches the barrow."

Luke looked toward the unused shield hanging inside the rear gate. He could not move the obstruction while fighting with a spear in both hands. Several paces behind him, the poleman was clamping a torn strip of his coat over the wound.

"I’m taking the spare shield," Luke called. "Cover me while I move the barrow."

"Leave the front one to me," the driver said.

Luke laid his spear lengthwise on the load, with the blade clear of the canvas, and took the shield in his left hand. He had to move before the poleman recovered. Above him, the crossbowman was bent over his weapon, working the loading lever.

The shield pulled at Luke’s shoulder when he raised it. He adjusted the angle twice before it covered his head without hiding the road completely, then hurried along the wall side of the wagon.

Violet light flickered across Lauren’s blindfold as he reached the front wheel. "Higher on your left."

Luke lifted the shield and kept moving. Harl had climbed down beside the mare, holding the reins in his left hand while the sword in his right kept the knife away from the harness. The man in the cap backed toward the barrow, forcing Luke to stop short of its handles. Harl pulled the mare one step away from the knife and drove his sword forward.

The attacker jumped back. His heel struck the barrow’s crooked wheel, and the knife dropped low as he struggled to stay upright. Harl struck his weapon hand with the sword’s guard, knocking the blade into the dirt.

"Move it!"

Luke caught one handle with his free hand. The barrow resisted until he dragged it backward far enough to dislodge a piece of wood wedged beneath the axle. Its supposedly broken wheel straightened.

The crossbow snapped overhead. A bolt slammed into the shield, jolting its rim against Luke’s shoulder. He flinched but kept his feet, then shoved the barrow sideways until its load of branches scraped against the storehouse wall. The barrow’s wheel cleared the wagon’s track, leaving just enough room for the loaded wagon to pass without taking its wheels onto the bank.

Harl kicked the fallen knife beneath the barrow. The man in the cap abandoned it and fled around the far corner of the building. Harl sheathed his sword, reached back to release the brake, and urged the mare forward.

"Back aboard, Luke!"

Luke held the shield toward the window while the mare pulled. The loaded wheel rolled past his boot with inches to spare, and he stepped after it rather than trying to squeeze between the moving wagon and the branches. Harl walked beside the mare until the rear axle cleared the obstruction, then climbed back onto the driver’s step.

The poleman came around the back, his injured arm clamped against his side. Luke had just lowered the shield enough to reach for the gate when the man swung the hook with his good hand. Luke caught the blow on the shield’s rim, and the metal bit into the wood. The man pulled, dragging Luke half a step away from the moving wagon.

Luke turned with the pull instead of bracing against it. The shield twisted edge-first, freeing the hook, and he drove its rim into the attacker’s chest. The man stumbled backward with a breathless grunt.

Luke let him go. He caught the rear gate with his free hand, put one boot on the step, and hauled himself aboard before the wagon gathered speed. Lauren called his name from the bench.

"I’m on."

He set the shield inside the gate and retrieved his spear. The poleman followed for several strides, then slowed when Luke lowered the point toward him. From the upper window, the crossbowman fired once more.

The bolt tore through the canvas. Flour burst from a sack and drifted across Luke’s shoulder. He crouched behind the load while Harl urged the mare along the road, keeping the wagon steady through the first uneven stretch. The storehouse fell behind them, and the next bend put solid stone between the window and the wagon.

Luke stayed at the rear until he could see that nobody was following. His left shoulder throbbed where the shield had struck him, and flour covered one side of his shirt. He wiped it from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lauren’s voice reached him again. "Luke?"

"Still here. One sack isn’t doing as well."

She lowered the shield only after Harl told her they were beyond the window’s line. Her breathing had quickened, but she remained steady on the bench. Luke checked the road behind them once more, then made his way along the side ledge until he could reach her. He touched her hand as he settled behind the headboard.

Harl slowed when the city gate came into view. He raised an arm and called for the guards, bringing two men hurrying toward the wagon. Luke stayed beside the load while the driver described the ambush.

"Three at the old storehouse. One crossbow above the road, two on the ground. They used a barrow to block us."

A guard signaled for the next outbound wagon to stop. His companion asked which window, whether anyone had been hurt, and whether the attackers had followed them. Luke pointed out the bolt in the rear gate while Harl explained where the others had landed.

Within minutes, the road had been closed to departing traffic. A patrol headed out while another guard took their account, including the cut Luke had given the poleman.

Harl drove through the gate and returned to the yard. Once the wheels stopped, Luke secured his spear across his back and climbed down. He lifted the borrowed shield out of the wagon and turned it toward the light. The bolt remained buried in its face, with a short crack running toward the rim.

Harl examined it before looking at Luke’s shoulder. "Can you lift the arm?"

Luke raised it carefully. The movement hurt, but he could manage it without weakness in the hand.

"It caught me when the bolt hit."

"Sit while I deal with the load."

Luke helped Lauren down before sitting beside the tailboard. She rested her fingers lightly against his sore shoulder, then eased the pressure when he drew a breath through his teeth. She waited while he shifted the sleeve aside and checked underneath. There was no blood, only a tender bruise where the shield’s rim had pressed through the fabric.

"You’ll need to mention that when we disconnect."

He nodded and watched Harl count the sacks. The pierced sack needed another bag, but the rest were intact. The driver set it aside and came over with their pay.

"Full amount," Harl said. "You stayed with the wagon."

Luke counted his share of the coins while Lauren completed the quest hand-in, then tucked the money away as the notification appeared. Harl checked the torn canvas once more before folding it back over the load.

[Quest complete: Low Mill Escort.]

[Reward received.]

"Are you still taking that road?" Lauren asked.

"Not until the patrol clears it." Harl glanced toward the gate. "The miller can wait or send his urgent orders by the longer road."

Harl snapped off the exposed bolt shaft and set the damaged shield aside for repair. "I’ll ask for you when it opens again. Come to the yard before taking another posting."

Luke glanced at the gouge the hook had left in the rim. It had bitten into the wood just above his hand. Without the shield, only a thin sleeve would have stood between that edge and his forearm.

"Where do you buy your guards’ equipment?"

Harl pointed across the yard. "Harness shop carries arm protection. Ask for the stock on the side wall, not the decorated rubbish in the window."

Luke stood and offered Lauren his hand. They still had time before disconnecting, and the shop was only a few doors away. She took his arm on the side opposite his bruised shoulder while they crossed the yard.

The shop smelled of leather and oil. Luke passed the polished buckles in the front display and found several plain guards hanging beside the workbench. He tried one over his left forearm, then flexed his wrist and closed his fingers. The leather pinched when he bent the arm. He put it back and selected a shorter one, keeping the fastening clear of his wrist.

Lauren touched the edge after he described it. "Does it interfere with your grip?"

Luke stepped into an empty corner with the shopkeeper’s permission and drew the spear from his back. He moved through a slow recovery and returned to guard, paying attention to where the leather shifted. It stayed against his forearm without catching the shaft.

"This one works."

The shopkeeper tightened a strap and showed him how to loosen it without removing the guard. Luke checked a matching piece on his right arm just as carefully. After securing the spear across his back, he paid for both from his share of Harl’s money. The thick leather covered his forearms without restricting either hand.

Outside, Lauren caught his hand before he could turn toward the courtyard. "We have time to sit down somewhere."

Luke checked the timer before looking toward the river. Nearly twenty minutes remained, and he could see tables beneath a striped awning at the end of the street.

"I’ll find us something to eat."

They bought warm bread and a dish of soft cheese, then took a table where the breeze reached them from the water. Luke rested his spear against an empty chair, set Lauren’s cup beneath her hand, and sat close enough that their knees touched. She traced the new leather on his forearm, finding the buckles before settling against his right side.

He described the boats passing below the wall. A boy on the nearest deck had fallen asleep across a coil of rope, completely ignoring an older man calling for him to get up. Luke was halfway through describing the increasingly irritated sailor when Lauren laughed and reached for another piece of bread.

He passed her the breadbasket and eased his sore shoulder into a more comfortable position. They remained beside the water until it was time to return to the courtyard.