Their cunning enemies converged on them in the forest near Mandawili and Miguel knew deep inside that it wasn't going to end well.

  "Shields up! Protect yourselves!" Miguel shouted as his men panicked to find cover in the ancient forest. He raised his buckler in time as three shafts went towards him. "Come on do what I say."

  The arrows were coming from every direction now and things were going to be worse if they didn't regain their composure back in time. Mallaca ran in between the giant roots of an acacia tree to avoid the onslaught, leaving his satchel behind. He stumbled and almost fell, pants wet with piss and eyes wide in shock.

  One of the crewmen, Bismo, tried to rush towards the direction of the archers but three arrows landed on his thigh. He screamed in agony adding more confusion to the fray. Not a second pass when a spear silenced him permanently. It bit through the weak part of his armor, near his collar. The man died instantly. He didn't even have a chance to draw his sword out his scabbard. A distance away, two other men fell as their attackers pelted them with poisoned darts. One fired his musket before embracing his death, killing one archer in the bush. As soon as their ally fell, three barbarians converge around the fallen crewman and began swinging their blades violently on the already dead man.

  Miguel's blood ran cold, but he couldn't move. It was pointless to do anything else. Suddenly, one of their ambusher leaped out from a curtain of leaves with a stone axe in hand, high-pitched war cry erupting from his mouth. Miguel panicked. My fucking Lord, he thought, realizing that the savage's path was towards him. And he was sure that malice and violence was in his eyes. Miguel scrambled and grabbed Rodigo's musket. Then, he aimed and fired it on his attacker, both hands shaking in fear.

  The loud bang made his ear ring and the choking gun smoke obscured his sight for a couple of seconds. It was nerve wracking to be blinded in the chaos for just a short while. Doubt began to seep through his armor. Did I get him? he thought. Did I kill him? The white smoke cleared and the indio fell as the shot struck his jaw, his face covered in black blood. Miguel dropped the musket and raised his cutlass. He wasn't going down without fighting. He was going to make it out of this alive, he thought.

  He was going to see his daughters again.

  Miguel ducked down as a bamboo spear flew pass him. Its blade close enough to tear the right leather strap of his armor. In desperation, he stood up, cutting the barbarian native down. The enemy's entrails flopped outside his abdomen as he fell, eyes rolling up.

  "Fuck you! And that's for Rodigo," Miguel said as adrenaline streamed through his body, giving him a boost.

  Another savage swung a single-edged sword at him. Clanging metal reverberated as he parried it with his cutlass. He realized something. He didn't have to fight them with strength against strength, he didn't have to. He shifted his weight and his enemy lost his balance, staggering away from him. And before the man could mount another assault against him he made his move. Miguel cleft the man's skull with his cutlass silencing him for good. He felt like a man possessed. He turned, panting heavily. He gave a resounding roar and took a step to find another attacker to punish. Another savage came out from the bushes both hands gripping two short spears. Miguel ran to face his enemy. But his luck was running dry as he fell down, face contorted in pain. His eyes started to tear up as he glanced down his knee.

  "Oh, shit," he said, seeing an arrow sticking out just below his knee cap, that was already drenched in blood. Drenched in his blood. The simple realization seemed to amplify the vicious pain he was feeling. He tried to stand but he fell as a horn blew from the distance drowning his scream.

  Miguel gritted his teeth. It wasn't looking good for them. But he had to try again. If he can't fight. Then, he had to escape all this. "Fuck...fuck...fuck," he said as he tried to move. But pain lance through his thighs, paralyzing him. Crawling was no longer an option for him.

  True despair grew in his heart. This was it for him. No miracle could save him now. This was how his journey would end. To die in an unknown land through the hands of people he didn't even know. Then, the ambushers came out from their cover like emerging devils from the shadows of the great pit. All had tattoos all over their skin. Just like the giant freak, Miguel thought. A handful of them stayed away. Stayed to watch perhaps? Only three or four ventured near the massacre. Are they going to loot our belongings? he thought.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Miguel laughed through the agony. "Bad luck guys were poorer than rats." he said, face covered in cold sweat. He raised his head to look for Mallaca but the effort made him groan in pure pain. The slave was lucky to find cover but it seems his fortune was running out too, he thought. You should've fought with us, Miguel said to himself. Now you're going to regret it when they torture you.

  A shrill whistle punctuated the war cries, echoing all through out the ancient forest. It suddenly stopped when silence came.

  Miguel didn't know what was happening. All he knew was most of them were either died or dying. And his knees weren't getting him anywhere anytime. Someone spoke beyond his periphery, but Miguel couldn't understand the native's langue. He turned to Mallaca but the slave's eyes were close, busy praying for a miracle. That's not going to happen slave, thought Miguel. We're good as dead already.

  ***

  "I have to confess that I still prefer a bow in hunting," the man said as he walked in front of Mallaca. "A musket may blow the prey's head off but an arrow to the knee...oh it makes me giddy. Somehow there's purity in there and I like it."

  The young man who spoke, notched an arrow to his bow and walked casually passed Mallaca. He smirked and closed the distance between his 'prey'. "I still prefer the glint of desperation in a man's eye who knows he's going to kiss the mud than the glassy eyed corpse who didn't saw it coming." The young man's hair was slick and long, meticulously combed to perfection. Gold chains encircled his neck like unruly vines. He was a man of good taste. He was of royal blood.

  Mallaca opened his eyes and realized who their ambusher was as he turned and smiled at him.

  "Ah, preference," the princeling said. "Now I get it why that whore chose that filthy dog over me."

  Mallaca stifled a cry. It was none other than Zullah's son, Halang.

  "Young prince, need I remind you that your father wants this fast and decisive?" the warrior serf with a birth mark that covered his left cheek said as he joined the young royalty. There was an air of coldness in his demeanor that was most unsettling.

  "Oh, shit on you, Balat! I'm trying to enjoy myself here," Halang snarled at the warrior serf. "Give me a fucking break you hideous shit."

  Halang casually approached the bleeding Miguel. The pale stranger was about to plead for his life but the young prince let his arrow fly point blank. Surrender was not on the table between them. Miguel slumped in the grass, face in between confusion and fear, half of the arrow embedded on his forehead.

  "Did you see what this shit did too Kadyaw?"

  "Yes," Balat said, inspecting the carnage with the proficiency of a carrion bird.

  "Gods that was gruesomely awesome. Never thought a man like Kadyaw would end like that." The young prince passed the bow and quiver to his servant, Balat. Some shaft clattered and fell on to ground, missing the warrior serf's open arms.

  "Oh, come on, Balat," the young prince said, annoyance clear in his tone.

  "Sorry, my prince." Balat gathered the arrows and stooped over to pick the leather satchel.

  "Ah, it's fine you clumsy oaf. Just go tell father of my gratitude for letting me borrow his 'toys' and tell him I concede. It's marginally better."

  "Yes, my prince."

  "Ah. What about the pale man's slave?"

  The brawny Balat turned his head to the quivering Mallaca. Mallaca seemed to shrink as their ambushers stared straight at him. "Your father said to collect him. Humabara made plans for him."

  "But he's a witness. Is it better if we dispose of him now?"

  "It's your choice my prince but I would much prefer if we followed the regent and your father's orders."

  "Ah, you keep answering me like that. I really don't like it when you do it like that." He turned his back to Balat and loosened his linen belt and loin cloth to piss. "You really don't know what the fat shit is planning?"

  "No, my prince. Master Humabara's goals are still unclear."

  "I think its another pointless thing but he's the regent. What else did father told you?"

  His piss fountained down between a banana stump where one of Miguel's crewmen sprawled and a huge black boulder the size of a wooden barrel. The dead crewman's hands were still on his unsheathed sword, three arrows sticking out his chest.

  "Lord Zullah said that we should take the Captain General's letter and make this mess look like Kalipulako's doing."

  "Angering the pale strangers and making them do the hard work. Well, that's done and taken care of." Halang turned to walk to the other direction but paused to glance back at Balat.

  The warrior serf wrangled Mallaca using his sinewy hand.

  "Oh, before I forget tell father that my men are ready to strike any time," Halang added. "All he need is to call and I'll be there."

  Balat gave Halang a curt nod and proceeded on dragging Malaca.

  A raven who stood witness of the slaughter flew from her perch, cawing to call the other carrion birds and share her feast with them. But the heavens started to pelt the ground with heavy raindrops again, drowning the raven's call.