The Bandits of Infinity Forest

Chapter Two

I wake in the morning from an icy cold feeling on my throat: a grinning soldier holds a blood-stained sword in readiness to kill me if I move.

Someone else is untying me from the tree.

The soldier taps his blade with a fingernail. "I know how to use 'is, mate," he grins, "an' I'd very much like t' see ya wi'out ya mask on."

"Mmm," the soldier holding the ropes agrees as he steps around the tree. "I don't get why Captain Albert said to leave it. Odd." He ties the rope from the tree tightly around my waist and loops the other end around his wrist.

"C'm' on," he says gruffly as the other man starts walking. They guide me to a line of boxed wagons with barred windows, open the door of the lead one, and shove me roughly inside, locking the door.

I don't bother to resist: since my hands are tied it would be pretty futile.

I look through the bars at the end of the compartment just as they force one of my men into the other wagon-only his hands are tied.

I move away, saddened that they captured more men, and look out of the bars in the door.

Where is she? I think, worry beginning to blossom in my chest.

I look out the small window on the other side and see several soldiers tying our captured horses nose to tail in a long line. Scanning the line anxiously, I spot Black Robin near the middle. Ears drooping, head hanging, her spotless, coal-black coat slick with sweat, blood dripping from an ugly wound in her shoulder.

The sight of my playful, spirited horse hurt and dejected like that fills me with fury. I slam myself angrily into the door, kicking and banging, but it's no use, I can feel the instant I touch it that it's hickory. I'm not going to break it using normal means.

I slump in the corner, dazed.

After a few hours the wagon lurches forward, knocking me into the walls: hickory.

A black mood descends on me as I worry and contemplate our future. Our brave, faithful horses will probably be flogged to death as cart-horses, or slaughtered, me and my men tortured and/or killed, and sooner or later someone will surrender and reveal one or more of our hideouts, and the rest of our colleagues killed or worse.

Oh, Yahweh, creator of Magnum and beyond, please save us, I pray.

Around midday, a slot at the front of my compartment opens and a loaf of bread, along with a skin of water is pushed through.

I sit, staring glumly at the two jovially bouncing articles until thirst moves me. Then I discover a problem: my hands are still tied.

I purse my lips to whistle, but stop in dismay, Yelena! I think. Flint! How could I have forgotten them?!

I wonder what happened to them, there's a small chance that the men managed to drag them away, but it's more than likely that they attacked when I fell and are now lying dead somewhere in the woods. I try not to think about it too much.

Instead, I catch the water-skin in my knees and use my teeth to unscrew the cap. I drain it. I haven't had water since yesterday evening, and it's already early afternoon.

I manage to eat the loaf in the same way.

Hours later we pass through a small village, where we stop for the night.

Someone lets slip that they've captured 'Jedi the Bandit Chief'-which I'm not-and soon there's a small crowd of curious spectators peering through the bars.

I ignore them and pretend to sleep, but they don't leave until night falls. I only manage to sleep for a few hours.